Scorpio Series Boxed Set

by Monique Domovitch

  Brigitte could barely hold back her enthusiasm. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  * * *

  The moment Alex arrived that night, Brigitte told him about the meeting. “And he wants to represent me,” she added.

  Alex listened quietly as he sipped his glass of wine. “I hope you don’t jump into this without giving it some thought. Singing up with an agent, preparing for an exhibition; those are things that will affect our lives.”

  “But, I was already an artist when we met. And of course I want to paint again. I said yes, Alex.”

  This was not what he had wanted to hear, but all he said was, “As long as you’re happy, sweetheart, that’s all that counts.” Then he contradicted himself by adding, “I wish you had consulted me before agreeing. Are you sure you want to deal with this man? You have no idea who he is. He could be a fake for all you know.”

  Brigitte smiled and refilled his glass. “Alex, I’m a nobody in New York. I’m lucky he agreed to represent me,” she said. “Natalia Berenson recommended him. Why would she recommend him unless he was excellent in his field?”

  “I suppose,” he said, not convinced.

  “By the way, Natalia has invited us to a cocktail party on Friday night.”

  Alex grumbled and set down his glass on the coffee table. “I have a lot of work to do. I can’t just drop everything to go to some stupid party.”

  “Please, Alex.” She looked at him pleadingly.

  Although he had not said it, his body language made it clear he was unhappy with her news. For some reason, she couldn’t understand. Alex wished she would be more sensible about things like this.

  “We hardly ever go anywhere. A party would be fun.”

  He shrugged, scowling. “Tell you what? You go on ahead and I’ll join you later.”

  Brigitte threw her arms around him. “Thank you, mon chéri. I promise you, we’ll have a great time.”

  * * *

  On the night of the party, Brigitte dressed carefully. She slipped into a sleek, black cocktail dress and put her hair up in a smooth chignon. She applied her makeup with painstaking effort, painting on the eyeliner with practiced strokes and brushing her lips with her favorite red. It would be the first time she and Alex went out since their arrival in New York, and she wanted her husband to be proud of her.

  On the appointed night, Brigitte took a cab over to the Lower East Side where the party was being held in a dark, cavernous warehouse. She walked into the decrepit building, her eyes noticing the cigarette butts strewn all over the floor. Her ears slowly adjusted to the deafening music blasting from the large speakers. The rhythm reverberated through her body until her insides vibrated.

  Natalia held court at the entrance. She was decorated in all her finery and dripping with diamonds. She greeted each guest effusively, handing them a glass of champagne and then sending them merrily into the crowded darkness beyond.

  From the doorway, Brigitte squinted into the madness inside. There were men in formal attire, others in jeans. Women wore everything from elaborate evening gowns to tight jeans and completely transparent blouses. Her brows jumped up at the sight of one girl wearing nothing but a minuscule pair of gold lamé panties and matching body spray. Never in her life had Brigitte ever witnessed such a scene.

  “Brigitte,” Natalia exclaimed when she noticed her. “I’m so glad you could come. Where’s Alex?”

  “He had some work to finish. He’ll be here later,” Brigitte shouted over the blasting music.

  Natalia rolled her eyes. “It’s too bad he’s not here. I could introduce him to a dozen people who could be of great help to him. You tell him that when you go home.”

  “You can tell him yourself. He promised he’d be here later.”

  An attractive man with salt and pepper hair and blue eyes stood next to Natalia. Brigitte could feel his gaze on her. “Hi, I’m Gerald Masson,” he introduced himself. “You must be the artist Natalia has told me so much about.”

  Natalia laughed, sending her entire body quivering and her diamonds dancing. “Please excuse my manners. Gerald is a very dear friend of mine. He doesn’t usually like parties. I had to twist his arm.” Before Brigitte could say anything, Natalia waved her on ahead. “Have fun, darling.” As soon as she thought Brigitte was out of ear shot, Natalia turned back to Gerald Masson, watching him intently. “Let me warn you, my darling. Brigitte is married and very much in love with her husband.”

  “Don’t worry, Natalia,” replied Gerald Masson, with no hesitation. “Since Kate passed away, I have not had the slightest inclination to get involved again.”

  Natalia patted his arm sympathetically. “You still miss her, don’t you?” she asked.

  Gerald Masson did not hesitate. “Every moment of every day,” he admitted.

  Feeling sorry for him, Brigitte looked around the packed room. In the middle was a small stage which people danced on with abandon. The atmosphere was filled with merry madness, but she felt unable to join in the fun. She circled the room, pausing here and there to accept an hors d’oeuvre or a glass of wine. She felt lonelier in the joyful crowd than she did by herself at home.

  I wish Alex would get here, she thought. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her arm, and she turned around happily. “Alex, m—,” she began and stopped. Gerald Masson was smiling down at her. “Oh, it’s you,” she said breathlessly.

  “Sorry to disappoint you. You were expecting someone else?”

  Brigitte quickly regained her composure. “I’m sorry. For a moment I thought you were my husband.”

  “I saw you looking bored,” said Gerald. “And I thought you might like some company.”

  “I-I don’t know anyone here, except for Natalia, and she’s busy being the hostess,” explained Brigitte, feeling embarrassed. “But I’d like to dance if you don’t mind,” she added, peeking up to meet his eyes, and then dropping her gaze to his shoes, suddenly embarrassed at her forwardness.

  “It will be my pleasure,” replied Gerald Masson as he escorted her to the center of the floor.

  For the rest of the evening, Gerald Masson gently, but efficiently took command. When the music changed from rock to a slow number, he gallantly guided her off the floor and introduced Brigitte to a few people. Whenever her glass needed refilling, Gerald immediately saw to it. For the rest of the evening Brigitte did not have a dull moment.

  From a distance, one of the fashionably gaunt guests approached Natalia. “Who is that redhead in the black dress with Gerald Masson?” she asked, breathless with curiosity.

  Natalia, instantly on guard, smiled benignly. “Lovely isn’t she?” she answered easily. “Unfortunately my dear, there’s no gossip there. She’s Brigitte Dartois, a very talented artist I’ve recently discovered. She’s also very married. Her husband couldn’t come until later. Gerald is simply being courteous until he arrives.”

  The woman continued eagerly. “My goodness, what a shock I had when I first saw her. She looks just like Kate. For a moment, I almost thought she was Kate. I can’t imagine what Gerald is doing with her. Of all people, he must be aware of the uncanny resemblance.”

  “Really, Daphne, you are exaggerating. The only similarity between Brigitte and Gerald’s wife is their hair color. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must speak to Arnold,” said Natalia, hurrying away. I refuse to play along with that woman’s quest for gossip. Gerald Masson has suffered enough, she thought as she crossed the room in search of the nonexistent Arnold. The last thing Gerald needs is Daphne Morris to make up a ridiculous story about him.

  The party was winding to and end. Guests drifted away and Alex never showed up. Although Brigitte tried valiantly to cover her disappointment, Gerald Masson had been aware of her growing frustration with each advancing hour. He turned to Brigitte. “Would you like me to drive you home?” he asked. “My car is right outside and I would enjoy a short drive before I head back to my apartment.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, if it’s not out of your way.”

&nbs
p; “I’m absolutely sure. And I insist,” he said, directing her toward the exit.

  Gerald helped Brigitte into the passenger seat of his car, an impeccably kept late model Jaguar, and then crossed over to the driver’s seat. “You’ll have to direct me,” he said, turning the key in the ignition.

  The drive was short but pleasant, and Brigitte found herself relaxing in the company of the quiet man. Once in awhile, she could feel his eyes on her in the dark and had the strange impression that he was on the verge of saying something. Whatever it was, though, he kept it to himself. When the car pulled up in front of her building, he hurried over to help her out.

  Brigitte turned to him. “Thank you. I had a very good time tonight, thanks to you.”

  “That’s kind of you to say,” he answered, and hesitated for a moment. “You are a very lovely lady. Your husband is a lucky man,” he said softly, and returned to his car.

  Just before he left, Brigitte had a disconcerting thought. I wonder how his lips would feel, she wondered, and then she hurried inside, guilt overwhelming her. What is the matter with me? A man pays me a small compliment, and I get all silly. I am a married woman with a wonderful husband.

  A few minutes later, when Brigitte walked into her bedroom, she was astounded to find Alex fast asleep under the covers. He didn’t even try, she told herself in disbelief. He let me wait for him all evening and he didn’t even try to come.

  She tiptoed out of the bedroom and changed quietly in the bathroom.

  Chapter 4

  In his penthouse high above the city, Gerald Masson stared out below at the view of Central Park. It seemed like only yesterday that he and Kate had strolled together along the park’s walkways and trails. Could it be that ten years have gone by since I asked her to marry me? He closed his eyes.

  They had spent Sunday in the park, stopping at the fountain at the top of the hill. Kate was talking about a documentary she had seen, too excited to notice him retrieving the ring from his pocket until he held it out in front of her and sank to his knees.

  “Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me, Kate?”

  She had thrown her arms around him, shouting, “Yes, yes, yes,” while tears ran down her cheeks. It was only after they had resumed their walk that Gerald realized some of the moisture on his face was from tears of his own.

  Next to their wedding day, it had been the happiest of his life; and for nine short years he’d had the privilege of loving the most wonderful woman in the world—until cancer took her away. He swallowed hard, remembering her last few months. Since her death one year ago, he had been convinced that he could never love again. Until tonight, when Brigitte Ivanov walked into his life.

  “I’m sorry, Kate,” he whispered in the darkness. Somehow, he felt peaceful. I know you understand. The last thing she had said to him before closing her eyes was that she wanted him to love again.

  “She’s so much like you, my darling,” he whispered to the silence in the room. I just wish she wasn’t attached.

  * * *

  Over the last few months, Alex’s discomfort with being married continued to grow. Although he had a wife he loved, he had no idea how to be a husband. He would have liked to be a happily married man and rush home to his loving wife at the end of every day, but he felt resentful and trapped.

  I love my wife, he told himself daily, almost like a mantra. But I’m not the domestic type. She has to understand that I need to make something of myself.

  To compound his confusion, Alex also realized that as much as he was uncomfortable with Brigitte’s efforts to help him with his project, he resented her decision to pursue her own career even more. Why is it that caring for David and me isn’t enough for her? He swallowed his displeasure and said nothing. Bitterly, he watched Brigitte become busier. Every time he turned around, Natalia Berenson was throwing another cocktail party, inviting Brigitte to yet another social occasion.

  “Socializing is an important part of building my career,” explained Brigitte. Alex never prevented her from going, but he also never joined her. To Alex’s mounting resentment, Brigitte’s career began to take off.

  It was after midnight and Brigitte was sitting up in bed when Alex stumbled in, but she was too happy to mind. “DD sold my first painting today. Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked.

  Alex nodded slowly, masking his displeasure with a tight smile. “That’s great,” he said, his voice strained.

  Brigitte watched him quietly he undressed and joined her in bed. “You’re upset, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m very happy for you. Why would I be upset?” he answered, his voice completely flat.

  Brigitte sighed. “Alex, you’re always so busy with your own career. I have to keep busy or else I’ll just go crazy. As long as I can concentrate on my painting, I don’t miss you as much. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” he said and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he turned back, pulling the blankets over himself. “Good night, sweetheart,” he said, abruptly ending any chance of continuing the discussion.

  Brigitte answered with resignation. “Good night, Alex.”

  * * *

  Exactly one year after their move to New York, Alex finished the renovations on the last apartment in his building. A few weeks later, when the unit was rented, he burst into their apartment in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Tonight we celebrate,” he told his stunned wife. “I’m taking you out to dinner at Lutèce.”

  Brigitte was ecstatic. This would be the first time she and Alex went out together for a romantic dinner. She changed into her prettiest dress, and for the first time in months, Alex noticed.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” he said as they walked into the famous restaurant.

  Brigitte glowed. Maybe now that the renovations were behind them, Alex would finally have more time for her and David.

  The dining room at Lutèce was crowded but the Maitre’D quickly found them an empty table. Alex ordered a bottle of champagne and when it arrived, he raised his glass. “To us. This is only the beginning, sweetheart. Someday, I will have a hundred buildings like this one. I’ll be making so much money, you won’t want to work anymore.”

  Brigitte’s heart sank. Before she could answer, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. “Natalia!”

  Natalia Berenson, covered in diamonds, smiled down at them. “Brigitte, how lovely to see you! And this must be Alex. I am so happy to meet you at last. I was beginning to think you were a figment of Brigitte’s imagination. Come, you must join us.”

  To refuse would have been impolite. “Nice to meet you, too,” said Alex, glowering as waiters rushed about, adding chairs and bringing plates and glasses to Natalia’s table.

  As soon as they were seated, Natalia made the introductions. “Alex, I’d like you to meet Gerald Masson. Brigitte, you two have already met.”

  Gerald Masson shook Alex’s hand. “Brigitte,” he said, “you look lovely as usual. Natalia tells me your paintings have been selling very well lately.”

  “Yes, they ar,.” Brigitte answered, a bit flustered. After Natalia’s party, she had never mentioned Gerald Masson to her husband. There really had been nothing to tell. She turned nervously to Alex. “Gerald and I met at one of Natalia’s parties. Actually, you two have something in common,” she added. “Gerald is also in real estate.”

  “I’m also a great admirer of your wife’s,” added Gerald gallantly. “So you’re in real estate, too?”

  Alex nodded. “Only in a very small way. I’m an architect. I’m working on a residential development project at the moment. The only real estate I own is a building in Greenwich, a warehouse I transformed into modern loft apartments.”

  Gerald smiled politely. “Sounds interesting,” he said.

  Natalia jutted in. “Gerald is in the hotel business. He owns, how many is it now Gerald? Sixteen hotels across the country?”

  “Eighteen. I just o
pened a new hotel in L.A. and another one in Chicago.”

  Natalia continued gushing. “You should see his Washington hotel. It’s absolutely gorgeous. Oh, and by the way Brigitte, I spoke to DD earlier today and he mentioned that Josephine Livingston bought one of your paintings.”

  “Did she?” asked Brigitte, overwhelmed. She turned to her husband. “Josephine has one of the best collections of modern art in the city.”

  Natalia continued, “It’s a huge honor for any artist to have one of their paintings in Josephine’s collection.”

  “That’s wonderful,” replied Alex, his expression contradicting his words.

  As the evening progressed, Alex felt more and more uncomfortable. Although Brigitte kept trying to include him in the conversation, it was painfully apparent to him that he knew none of the people and events they were talking about.

  Brigitte has a whole life away from me. Tonight we were supposed to celebrate the completion of my project. Instead here we are, talking about her success.

  He smiled tightly throughout the evening and waited impatiently for the dinner to end. When the meal was finally over and people began making comments about leaving, Gerald pulled out his card and handed it Alex. “If you ever need help with some project, don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’m always looking for solid real estate investments.”

  “Thank you,” said Alex. “I might take you up on that someday.” Moments later, as the group was saying goodbye, he could not help but notice the way Gerald held Brigitte’s hand a second too long.

  On the way back home, Alex was fuming. “I don’t ever want you to see that man again,” he said to Brigitte.