Kendra takes a break and licks her pouty lips. I don’t know where her story’s going and it’s making me uncomfortable. “Kendra, I need to get back to work.”
“Please don’t go. The really good part is coming and it won’t take me much longer.”
Curiosity gets the better of me and I let her continue.
“Armed with a headshot, I headed back to Roman’s headquarters, which were conveniently located not far from NYU, and left an envelope under the front door along with a letter. Saying how much I wanted to work for him and admired his creations. To be honest, I didn’t know shit about his line. Luck had it, his business was expanding, and he needed another fitting model. Forty-eight hours later, I was in his atelier, his deft hands all over me, draping yards of gorgeous fabric around my torso. Except they were also around hers. And he touched her in ways he never touched me. His lips gliding down her luminous flesh, lingering on her slender neck, and working their way to her mouth and every other place he could bestow her with kisses. His love. She was the star. I was the extra. I needed to find a new way for him to need me.
“To make a long story short, using my marketing and finance skills, I worked my way up to becoming his business manager—the fool had no head for numbers—and eventually his partner after I received the last installment of my inheritance from my grandparents. I sunk it all into his business. My life savings—my future!—which he robbed!”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I break in, my voice unsteady.
She paces the room, weaving through the shimmering gowns. Swatting at some like flies on a wall. “I’m going somewhere with this story. Patience is a virtue though—ha!—I’ve never known that.” An evil laugh spills from her lips.
“No matter how much I tried and did for him, Roman only had eyes for her.” Her eyes cut to me, narrowing with contempt. Bitterness. And a spark of madness.
“Do you know what it’s like for your heart to eat itself because it hungers so much for one person?”
I shake my head. Truth: I do. My heart ached so much for Roman when I was at my parents’ house I thought it would burst through my rib cage and out of my chest.
Another snicker. “Of course not. Roman came crawling to you like a fire ant. You’ve never had to work for his affection!” She taps her pursed lips with a thumb. “So, where was I before digressing?” A knowing smile. “Ah, yes. I remember.”
“Fast-forward ten years. Approaching thirty, the bitch got pregnant with his child. He doted on her. Put her on a pedestal. Spent morning, noon, and night with her. I nearly vomited every time he kissed her fucking baby bump. I’d had enough. Then, I found out they were getting married. That he was proposing to her at some romantic inn in Connecticut. That did it! Desperate times called for desperate measures. She had to be eliminated. Once and for all. It was a piece of cake to find someone to mess with the brakes of that piece-of-shit car he bought and to jam the passenger seat belt. A few hundred bucks can get you a lot.”
I process her words as bile peels away the lining of my stomach and spirals inside me. Oh my God!
“You killed Ava!” I cry out.
“No, I saved Roman. She was a total, unnecessary distraction.”
She was his everything. His heart. His soul. The love of his life. The mother of his child. Oh God! The guilt and sorrow this poor tortured man has had to endure all these years! The unbearable pain! The anguish! My heart aches so much for him that I want to rip out Kendra’s.
“How could you do that!?” I fling the words at her, fighting my physical urge to take her down. To hurt her the way she hurt Roman.
“How could I not? She got in my way.”
Get out of my way. The words she spit out when I fell down the stairs whirl in my ears.
“Roman could never be with anyone like you! You have the wings of a vulture!”
She scoffs at me. “Very cute, Butterfly. And now, you’ve gotten in the way too.”
“What do you mean? I didn’t keep Roman from you. Or take him away.”
She eyes me up and down with her predatory eyes. “You’ve been nothing but another distraction to him.”
“What do you mean? I’ve been his inspiration! Without me, he would have never created his new line. His Butterfly Collection is born out of his love for me. And my love for him.”
“Love! Puh-lease. What do you know about love? You cost him the deal with Bernard Altman.”
“That deal meant nothing to him!”
“Well, you cost me almost fifty million dollars! My exit plan. You fucked things up royally!”
Rage is rising inside me like an inferno. Every molecule burning, every cell on fire. “You’re a deranged psychopath, Kendra!”
“You’re pathetic.” She lets out another wicked laugh. “The sad thing about butterflies is that their life is so short. At most they live for a few months. You’ve far outlasted your life expectancy.”
I try to make sense of what she’s saying. A cold wash of fear courses through my veins. My heartbeat quickens. My hands grow clammy.
“Let me share another little something about myself.” Raking her fingers through her hair, she paces the basement again before facing me. “When I was a little girl, I used to love to catch butterflies—especially those pretty orange Monarchs that fluttered around my parents’ yard in the summertime. Sneak up behind them as they landed on a sunflower. Pinch their wings between my fingers, their yucky orange powder staining the tips. Watch their spindly black legs pedal madly as they futilely tried to escape. Then, carefully, I maneuvered them so I was holding them by only one wing while the other one flapped madly to free itself from my grip. Such determined little creatures, aren’t they? And so rebellious. They had to pay. With my free hand, I ripped off their flickering wing. The hiss was like music to my ears.”
“Stop!” I scream, the image sickening me. Hot bile rises in my esophagus as my command falls on deaf ears.
“Then, I would set them down on the ground and watch as they tried to fly off with the one wing they still had. It was funny . . . like watching a man with one leg running after a bus. I was fair and gave them a chance. But my patience ran thin, and to make things even, I tore off the other wing. Snip.” She snaps her fingers. “Just like that. What amazed me was how ugly and pathetic these creatures were beneath their glory, with their skeletal, naked bodies. Mere shells of what they used to be. Nothing but vermin.”
She makes a face of disgust. Horror is etched on mine.
“And you’re nothing but a sick, sadistic bitch!” Tears wet my lashes as nausea swells in my chest.
She shoots me another diabolical smile, hot venom pouring out of her icy blue eyes. She waves the envelope she’s holding like a fan. “It’s time to say goodbye to your wings, you pathetic little butterfly.”
I have no idea what she means. I’ve had enough of this murderous witch. “I’m telling Roman everything you told me. That you killed Ava and their baby.”
She chortles. “Wishful thinking, Sofi. It’s a shame Plan A failed.”
“Plan A?”
“Pushing you down the stairs.”
Oh my God! I knew it!
“But I suppose that only works in movies. Then, I moved on to Plan B. I was confident Roman would leave you for good if I led him to believe you were Ava’s biological daughter.”
Wait! She forged the original DNA test?
As if she’s read my mind, she laughs another wicked laugh, throwing her head back.
“Sofi, you are so naïve it’s almost adorable. It was a wild shot. I called my uncle’s fertility clinic, thinking they could send me a maternity test template. But they didn’t do DNA testing. On a whim, I asked an old friend of mine there if she could tell me the names of the women Abra DuBois donated eggs to. At first, she said she couldn’t—the information was confidential. But when I offered an all-expense-paid cruise to the Caribbean for her and her husband—on company money, of course—let me put it this way. She had a change of heart.
Imagine my shock when I found out that Madame DuBois was your biological mother. I couldn’t let that unfortunate discovery deter me. A plan is a plan, right? All I had to do was go online and find an example of a high-probability maternity test and the name of a lab. A first grader could have done that! With a little whiteout and a trip to Kinko’s, to print a copy along with an official-looking envelope, there you have it. I’m a genius! Though I honestly must say I didn’t expect you to fall for it so easily. Nor Roman.”
I’m speechless. She created three weeks of hell for the both of us. The worst three weeks of my life.
“It almost worked, until that meddlesome Madame DeBitch intervened . . . and Roman found out the truth of who your real biological mother is.”
In shock, I still can’t get words out. Nor believe how guileless and desperate this sick woman is. My stomach twists at her next words.
“So, now it’s time to move on to Plan C.”
I don’t want to hear it. “Fuck you, Kendra. I’m out of here.”
Taking a breath, more shaky than steeling, I pivot on my heel. Before I can take a single step, a loud click sounds in my ears. It’s not the dismissive click of a tongue. Or the sharp click of a stiletto.
“You’re not going anywhere, So-fee.”
I spin around and gasp. Kendra’s pointing a gun at me, holding it firmly in her gloved hand, her bag now on the floor beside her. My heart beats double time as terror floods my entire being.
“Put the gun down, Kendra! Please!” I beg.
“Seriously?”
“What are you going to do to me?” My voice shakes so much I can barely form words. Fear knots my stomach, with every rapid heartbeat, every harsh breath.
She smirks. “It’s not what I’m going to do. It’s what you’re going to do, you cunt.” She tosses the letter-size envelope she’s holding in her other hand at me.
“Pick it up and read what’s inside.”
My body frozen, I don’t move an inch. Not even the blink of an eye.
“DO. IT!” she shrieks, her voice shrill with rage.
Slowly, with my eyes never losing contact with hers, I bend down and retrieve the envelope. The gun still aimed at me, the barrel pointed straight between my eyes. I shiver, the envelope shaking in my hand as I rise. Roman’s name is written in block letters on the back. The envelope unsealed, I slide out the folded contents. A single sheet of paper.
“Read it,” she orders. “Aloud. I want to hear how it sounds.”
I glance down, my heart already clenching as I unfold it and silently read the first line. Dear Roman . . . My eyes sweep down the typewritten page. Oh my God. It’s a cold-hearted suicide note and it’s signed with my name. But just like on the DNA report she forged, she’s spelled it wrong. Sophie.
“Out! Loud!” barks my captor.
I keep my eyes glued to the note, subtly shifting them left and right. The words before me a blur. The words in my heart crystal clear. I begin . . .
“Dearest Roman~
Kendra may have ended my life, but she will never take my love for you away.
Wherever I am, I will love you with all my heart and soul.
Like the wings of a butterfly, we will always be two hearts connected by body and mind.
Forever~
Your Butterfly”
“What the fuck?!” Kendra reddens with rage, her eyes blazing with fury. “That’s not what I wrote, you bitch!”
“Roman will never believe your note!”
“Shut up! You’re one bullet away from your last breath! Put the note back in the envelope.”
My hands shaking madly, I do what she asks.
“Now toss it to the floor.” I don’t. “What the hell are you waiting for?”
I need to stall her. My mind races; my heart gallops. On the verge of panic, I fidget with my lucky butterfly pendant. Think, Sofi, think! And then like a burst of energy, an idea pops into my head. I have no choice. It’s worth a shot! In one swift, single move, I yank the enamel pendant off the chain and hurl it at Kendra with all my might. Not blinking an eye, I watch the butterfly fly across the room—so fast it’s a blur—and smack her in the face.
“Ow!” she cries out. The pendant falls to the cement floor with a clink. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rubs the welt on her forehead.
I have a small window of opportunity to escape her. I won’t make it to the elevator, but I can duck and cover. Tossing the envelope with the suicide note, I make my move.
“You fucking bitch! You’re going to pay for this!” she screams as I scramble under the layers of one of Roman’s voluminous black gowns. Like a butterfly hiding under a leaf to protect itself from a predator. I hug my knees to my chest as her mad voice bounces off the walls.
“Where the hell are you? Come out! Come out from wherever you are!”
She fires a wild shot in the air. The explosion rattles my bones, sending seismic tremors of fear to every part of my body. My nerves crackle at the smell of gunpowder.
She fires another shot and then another.
It’s only a matter of time until she finds me.
I’m doomed.
CHAPTER 55
Roman
I run my fingers across the bolt of sumptuous white silk fabric, then unroll a yard and scrunch it in my hand. Mmm. The texture’s so rich and sensuous. The color so pure. Bruno’s sustainable factory in Lake Como came through for me. It’s positively divine. If sex were a fabric, this would be it.
“You like it?” asks Abra, standing beside me.
“No, I don’t like it. Je l’adore.” In other words, I fucking love it! It’s going to work perfectly for what I have in mind. I unroll more of the fabric and bunch it up, molding it into the shape of a poufy skirt. With its layers of tulle, the gown is going to be extraordinary. Have a life of its own and take flight down the runway.
Madame DuBois smiles, her crinkly eyes glistening. “Oui, c’est sublime!”
We sidestep over to another equally big bolt of fabric. Handmade Chantilly lace from another sustainable factory in France. I examine it. The delicate floral-patterned lace will be perfect for the bodice. A home for the butterflies.
“Maybe we’ll add some feathers and crystals along the neckline.” My confidante nods in agreement. “Give it some sparkle and whimsy.”
“Oui,” she says. “I have already ordered the crystals from Swarovski. They should be here tomorrow along with the marabou feathers that are coming from Belgium. If they don’t work for the dress, we can surely use them for the headpiece.”
“Excellent.” One more bolt of fabric to examine. The white tulle, also from Bruno’s factory. I was only going to use it as an overlay and to make a crinoline, but as I unroll it, an idea pings in my head. I keep unrolling and unrolling it, my fingers clasping the corners, and walk backwards until the fabric sweeps across the atelier like a thirty-foot sail. The dazzling image almost obliterates my limited vision.
“We’re going to create a cathedral veil. With silk butterflies.”
Madame DuBois dips her hand into a pocket of her smock. “Like this one?”
In her palm, she holds out a white, hand-cut silk butterfly with a tiny inlaid seed pearl. It’s slightly bigger than those white creatures you see flying all around Central Park in the summer. But as splendid and delicate. In my mind’s eye, I can actually see it fluttering in the air. Flapping its silk wings. Dancing on sunshine.
“Yes! Exactly!” Mentally, I marvel at how in sync we are. “We’ll need hundreds of them. Maybe more. Butterflies everywhere!”
She smiles again. “I will put the Romanoffs right on it while I make the pattern for the gown you sketched.”
I take the butterfly from her and slip it into my pocket. This is going to be my lucky butterfly. The Butterfly Bridal Gown will be incredible. A work of art. A museum-worthy masterpiece. It will send the fashion world into a tizzy.
And so will the bride who’s going to wear it at the end of my show. I want to keep it a s
ecret from her. But I’m not sure how we’ll do that. The couture gown will take weeks to make. Almost right up to the show itself.
Suddenly, a blast sounds in my ears, cutting my ruminations short.
“Did you hear that?” I ask Abra, my heart galloping.
“Oui! I think it came from the basement.”
“Stay here!” Bypassing the unreliable elevator, I hurry to the back of the atelier and race down the stairs as another blast bellows.
CHAPTER 56
Sofi
Kendra’s footsteps get closer. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. My heart thuds louder. My breathing grows shallow, coming out in short, sharp pants. Cloaked in darkness beneath layers of black crinoline, I will myself to calm my breathing. I can’t make a sound. She may find me. Even the slightest rustle may be a trigger. Stilling myself, my fingers come in contact with something. A smallish object. Strands of leather tickle my fingertips. It takes me no time to realize what it is. Roman’s flogger! This is where he must keep it hidden.
I clutch the wood handle and a memory zips to mind. When I was in middle school, I had a life-changing experience. Walking home, I came upon a bush where a spider’s lacy web wove around the leaves. Trapped inside it was a magnificent Monarch butterfly, just like Buddy, about to be devoured by a hungry bumblebee. Though deathly afraid of bees having been stung once, an incident that resulted in a visit to the emergency room, I knew I had to free it. It was my destiny. My fate. Finding a thick stick, I swatted at the bee, my heart in my throat, and to my amazement, scared it away. Carefully, I freed the unharmed butterfly. My eyes misted as it did a happy dance around me and flitted off.
I learned a lesson. Fate is not an accomplished fact. Destinies can be altered. Totally changed. The memory is cut short by a whoosh. Light pours into my eyes as the skirt of the dress lifts. I’m exposed! Kendra’s found me! Her sinister eyes make contact with mine.
BUTTERFLY: A Standalone Romantic Suspense Page 23