Sophie smiled at Marc as she left. “À bientôt.”
“À bientôt, Sophie,” he replied. He glowered down at Sera. “Did you have to interrupt? Things were progressing nicely.” He kept his voice low so he wouldn’t be overheard.
“You didn’t think I would make it easy for you, did you?” When his eyes narrowed, she patted his cheek. He caught her hand and she flinched.
“No, but I also didn’t expect that you’d deliver her up to Edouard.”
She tugged her hand from his grasp. “Losing your confidence?”
“Not in the least.”
“Are you sure? That didn’t sound very convincing.”
Marc turned back to the sink and continued to wash, not bothering to respond to her comment. He placed the clean dishes in the rack to dry. Sera dried the dishes methodically. Marc didn’t say another word, but the tension crackled between them. Every faint touch or brush of an arm added to the feeling and she wanted him to defend himself, show her that he wasn’t as cocksure as he seemed. When he finished washing, he drained and rinsed out the sink, drying his hands on a towel as he left Sera to finish up.
Frustrated, Sera left the rest of the dishes to dry in the rack and followed Marc out to the main room. She’d had the last word, but she didn’t feel victorious.
Marc didn’t bother to join the group. Instead he walked over to the window and cracked it open, lighting a cigarette. Edouard and Sophie were talking quietly, and Colette and Anna were chatting about the theatre while they waited for Jerome to regain his equilibrium.
“He’s looking a little worse for wear,” Sera commented to Anna.
“He’ll be okay in a few minutes,” Anna said. “We’ll catch a cab so he won’t have to stumble home.”
“Walk home,” Jerome corrected her. “I’m fine.” Anna looked at him, showing a rare trace of annoyance.
“You’re not fine,” she told him sternly. “And I’m not dragging you home if you pass out in the middle of the street.”
“I’ll help you get him to a taxi,” Colette said. “As long as we can keep him from falling down the stairs, the rest should be easy.”
“And I’ll help,” Edouard said. “Sophie and I were going to be on our way, so it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Anna looked at her husband. “We’d best go before they change their minds.”
“Whatever you wish,” Jerome said, getting to his feet unsteadily. “Sera, your dinner was lovely.” He kissed her on both cheeks and staggered to the door. Edouard took his arm after giving Sera a smile and a wave, and they went down the stairs at a slow pace. Anna followed, giving Sera an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry we’re leaving earlier than usual,” she said. Sera smiled. It gave Edouard and Sophie a chance to leave without Marc to follow.
“That’s no problem at all, Anna. Have a safe trip home.” She gave Anna a quick hug, then hugged Colette.
“Tell Marc to cheer up,” Colette whispered in her ear. “He looks annoyed.”
“He’ll get over it,” Sera replied. “Bonne nuit, Colette.”
Sophie came and gave Sera a hug. “Thank you for dinner, Sera,” Sophie said. Sera kissed her cheeks.
“We’ll have to go for coffee soon,” she told Sophie. “Have a good night.”
“Bonne nuit, Sophie,” Marc said, stepping up beside Sera. He bent to kiss Sophie’s cheeks, but didn’t linger as he had before. Quite a change from the other night. Sera felt a frisson of victory.
“Good night.” Sophie went to the door, giving a little wave as she left.
“That’s a shame,” Marc said after the door closed. He drew his cigarette case from the pocket of his black blazer and walked back over to the window, lighting his cigarette as he went. Sera could smell the sharp scent of the newly lit cigarette, and it reminded her of all the other times it had just been the two of them. She would join him at the window and they would look over the rooftops and talk while he smoked. She missed those times, but she didn’t want to think about how he’d take out his cello and play for her, any piece she asked for. The music between them was the most intimate of all. She started clearing the empty tumblers from the table.
“A shame that you’re going to lose our wager?” she asked. “Maybe you should just pay up tonight.” She heard him snort as she took the glasses into the kitchen.
“You have a lot of faith in Edouard, ma chère,” he said as she came back into the room. He turned to face her. “I don’t think he will be so quick.”
“She likes him better.”
“That won’t matter.”
“And if she’s faithful to him?” Sera asked.
“It’ll just take a little more work on my part, a little more convincing. And it’s not like they’re married. You’re acting as if they’d said their vows already.”
Sera poured herself another glass of wine and went to sit on the divan. She kept herself from going to stand at the window with him; it had been such a habit that she would have done it without thinking. She could tuck herself under his arm, against his warmth. Instead, she curled her legs up under her on the divan. She was better on her own.
“The way she acts with him makes me think that he’s her first love.” As she said it, she realized how silly that sounded. Marc confirmed it with a derisive chuckle.
“That’s a bit idealistic, don’t you think?”
“Can’t you remember the first person you fell in love with?” she asked him. She could. It wasn’t hard when he was standing right in front of her.
“My first love?” He shook his head, his gaze turning downward, glancing out the window. She saw him take one last drag off of his cigarette before he flicked it into the street. “There have been so many.”
Sera looked into her glass, tilting it to watch the wine shimmer in the light. The flare of sudden disappointment at his words startled her. All women were insignificant to him, ciphers in his black book. Why had she expected anything different? She felt the divan sag a bit as he sat next to her. She kept her gaze firmly on her glass.
“Do you remember yours?”
She nodded, taking another sip of her wine so she wouldn’t have to answer.
“Who was it, Seraphina?” he pressed. “Was it a charming man like Edouard, back home in Marseille?”
“No. Maybe if it had been, things would be different.” She glanced up. He was so close, and the temptation to touch him made her look away.
“Who was it?”
She didn’t want to answer. If he didn’t already know, she wasn’t about to tell him. She was already vulnerable; between him and Royale, there was no safety.
“You know what I miss?” she said, ignoring his question. “I miss being able to listen to you play.” She risked another glance at him when he didn’t immediately reply. He looked pensive.
“It was simpler then,” she continued. “Just the music. And us.”
“It was,” he said finally. He caressed her shoulder, running his fingers down her bare arm. She stifled a shiver but his touch brought goose bumps. He gave her that half smile, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“What is it?” she asked him.
“The night’s still young.”
“And?”
“There’s always time for music,” he said. “But as I don’t have my cello here, you’d have to come home with me.”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she emphasized. He gave her a reproving look, his brow furrowed.
“I wasn’t going to ask that. Though I certainly wouldn’t have said no if you’d offered.”
She rolled her eyes. Of course he wouldn’t have turned her down. She wanted to hear him play, but that was it. “How will I get home?”
“We’ll get you a cab. Or you can fight me for the bed.”
“If we fight for the bed, I’ll win,” she told him.
“Peut-être. Shall we?”
The trepidation set in as soon as they’d left her apartment and it got worse as they waited for a taxi. It had been
liquid courage that had made her agree to this, and it was fast leaving her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting. It would be easy to head back upstairs to her apartment and leave Marc standing here, but she just couldn’t. Colette would tell her that she was an idiot for spending time with him, especially when he’d been the one to ruin things before.
“If Edouard isn’t successful with Sophie tonight, will you concede our wager?”
Sera came out of her thoughts and shook her head. “No. You’re not getting out of it that easily.” She needed that money. The thought of being forced to service Royale made her nauseous. Jeremy’s companionship only staved off the inevitable. She rubbed her arms.
“I still have fourteen days. That’s more than enough time. Are you cold?”
“Only a little.” She spotted a taxi headed in their direction, and Marc raised a hand to flag it down. He opened the door for her and she climbed in, sliding over on the seat to make room. He rested his arm on the back of the seat and looked over at her.
“If you’re still cold, you can sit by me. I won’t bite, you know.”
“As if.”
He chuckled, his dark mood lessening the closer they got to his apartment. “Only if you ask me to.” She shifted over on the seat next to him and leaned in stiffly against his warmth. Her thoughts went back and forth, and she kept changing her mind every few blocks. When the taxi finally pulled up in front of Marc’s building, Sera was sure that she shouldn’t have accepted his invitation. She’d done well enough on her own in the four months he’d been away, and she had almost convinced herself that she didn’t feel anything for him.
Marc grasped her hand, pulling her up and out of her seat. She followed him to the door, hanging back half-heartedly. He turned to look at her and in the dim light from the street lamp, she could easily imagine that he could see right into her.
“What’s changed?” He let the door swing shut and his keys jingled in his hand as he closed the short distance between them. Sera took a breath. She’d listen to him play and that would be all. She’d take a cab home. She wouldn’t let him get to her.
“Nothing.” She gave him a smile, but he looked unconvinced. “Are we going in?”
“Oui. We’re wasting the evening out here.” He tapped his key fob against the sensor and she heard the lock disengage. He held the door open for her and she ducked under his arm and went inside. He followed her up the stairs, reaching around her to unlock the door to his apartment and turning on the hallway light as they stepped inside. She blinked in the brightness, her gaze going to that spot on the bookshelf. The stack of books looked untouched. She wanted to pull them away, open the box and confront him about what she’d found, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to know if he was a thief.
“Would you like something more to drink?” Marc asked her as they reached the living room. “I still have another bottle of the wine we had earlier.”
“Thank you.” She trailed him into the kitchen and leaned on the counter as he opened the bottle and plucked two wine glasses from the cupboard to his right. He slid a glass across the counter in front of her and poured a healthy measure into both glasses. She lifted hers for a sip.
“Santé.”
They walked back out into the living room and Sera took a seat on the low leather chair, resting her glass on her knee. Marc set his glass on the dining room table, pulling out one of the straight-backed chairs before he went to fetch his cello from a small alcove. He laid the case on the floor and snapped open the metal clasps, lifting the instrument out carefully. The dark wood shone in the lamplight and Sera wanted to reach out and run her fingers over its graceful curves.
Marc shrugged out of his blazer and draped it across the back of another chair. Her eyes followed his hands as he settled into his seat, drawing the bow across the cello’s strings. Even the discordant sounds as Marc tuned the cello made her catch her breath in anticipation. He looked up from the instrument and she knew he had heard her.
“Any requests, ma chère?”
“Anything.” It didn’t matter, so long as he played.
“See if you can remember this one.”
Within two bars, Sera knew the piece. Schubert’s Trio in E-Flat. He had played it for her many times before. She took one more sip of her wine before she placed it on the coffee table and relaxed into her chair. She had heard this piece played by a trio once, and she wished that she was a pianist so she could accompany him. He’d tried to teach her the part, taking her up to the music room in his parents’ apartment, showing her the notes on his mother’s beautiful piano. She’d been so intimidated by the shining keys that she could barely focus on his lesson. He segued into a piece by Bach that she recognized but couldn’t name. It was darker in tone than the Schubert, but she loved it all the same. Her gaze kept going back to the movement of his hands; the glimmer of the bow as it dipped, the precise movements of his fingers on the neck, his hands that could be so gentle or cruel as he chose. The bruises on her hips were gone, but the memory was still vivid. She had never understood how she could enjoy the pain the way she did with him, how she could be aroused by it. The music dropped off and she raised her head from the back of the chair.
Marc played the first few notes of 'Ma Chanteuse'. “Will you sing with me?” he asked.
“Now?” She hadn’t expected to sing, and she wasn’t at all ready. He nodded and began the song again. Sera took a deep breath and as her cue came, she sang the first line. Her voice was shaky, but as she relaxed, it became strong and the words came more easily.
Our eyes met in understanding, I forgot everyone but you.
Unlike at the club, Marc didn’t look away from her, and she didn’t look away from him, though her cheeks flushed. As she sang the last lines, she didn’t want the song to end, and yet, a small part of her wished that he hadn’t played it. In the club, she could focus on the crowd, but here it was a repeat of too many other evenings. She closed her eyes against the memories, but they came anyway.
She hadn’t forgotten when Marc had brought her into the living room and made her sit on the sofa. He had been bursting with glee all evening and it had driven her mad when he wouldn’t tell her what the surprise was.
“You might want to close your eyes,” he’d told her. She’d given him a puzzled look, but had done as he’d requested. He’d sung the song to her, his low tenor complementing the music. He had enchanted her. She’d opened her eyes, and he’d looked at her with such passion...
Sera felt Marc’s hand on her cheek and his thumb wiping away the unexpected wetness. He knelt a hair's breadth from her when she opened her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She glanced down, away from the concern in his eyes.
“You’re crying because you’re fine?” His skepticism didn’t surprise her, but she didn’t want to explain. He cupped her face in his hands and she couldn’t look away again. “You can tell me what it is, Seraphina.”
They regarded each other in silence; he stroked her cheeks lightly and all she wanted to do was lean forward that last few inches and kiss him.
“I should go.” She sat back and he let go of her, though his hands moved slowly away, as if reluctant to obey.
“It’s three in the morning, Seraphina. You shouldn’t be taking a taxi at this hour.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” She rose to her feet and he mirrored her movement.
“Stay.”
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t. She’d go downstairs, wait at the nearby taxi rank. She’d be home in her own bed, safe and sound. Alone. Without him.
“I’ll even give you the bed. No fighting required. Unless of course you want to fight.” He winked at her and she took a deep breath. Nothing would happen.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you give up without a fight. I hope your sofa is comfortable.” She teased him to keep him at bay.
“It’ll do.” He bent and put his cello in its case, clo
sing the lid. “You can even sleep naked if you want. I wouldn’t mind in the least.”
“I’ll just borrow one of your shirts,” she told him, turning towards the bedroom. “I don’t want to tempt you.” He followed her into the other room, moving in front of the wardrobe before she could open it.
“Let me find you something,” he offered. She went to sit on the bed and watched as he pulled a pair of pyjama bottoms from one of the shelves.
“Those will never fit me.”
He chuckled. “They weren’t for you. It gets chilly on the sofa at night, all alone.” He began to unbutton his shirt, and her breath caught in her throat. This hadn’t been part of the deal. He took his time with the shirt, giving her the barest glance of skin, skin she knew well. She put up a hand.
“If you think that stripping down in front of me is going to work—it’s not.”
He removed his cufflinks and set them on the antique bureau, then pulled off his shirt and tossed it to her. “That’s all you’ll get to look at, ma chère.” He picked up the pyjama bottoms and walked to the door. “I’ll be in the bathroom, should you need me.”
She nodded, watching him go. His shirt was warm on her lap, and the scent of his cologne compelled her to lift the fabric to her nose and inhale deeply. She caught herself and flushed. If he’d seen her… She changed into the shirt quickly, buttoning it up with furtive glances towards the door, sure that he would come back. She turned off all the lights but the small bedside lamp and crawled under the covers. She fell asleep listening for his footsteps.
Sera woke as she felt the bed shift. Marc’s warm body settled in beside her. “What are you doing?” she murmured sleepily.
“I couldn’t sleep, and I need my rest before I travel tomorrow. Go back to sleep, ma chère.”
She rolled over to face him. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, as if she wasn’t there. Once she would have rested her head on his arm, curled herself around him. She thought of her night with Jeremy. It didn’t match this.
“Thank you for playing for me tonight.” Her vision was starting to clear, and she thought she saw him smile, but it wasn’t his usual pleased smirk.
The Paris Game Page 10