Beautiful White Lies Duet

by K L Clare

  Ethan once said something to me that resonates in my heart this morning. Blood is blood . . . always to be protected . . . no matter the circumstances.

  Now I see how carefully Ethan articulated during our conversations, making sure his words to me weren’t ever really lies at all. It makes me wonder if he hadn’t intended all along for me to be the one who discovered what he’d done to protect Lissie.

  We were different, he’d said when I had pushed him on whether or not he had loved you. Placing his words in context with his actions, I clearly see that he loved you in a different manner than Will loves me. Ethan loved you as a sister.

  As misguided as Ethan’s actions were all along, he believed he was protecting his family, that he was keeping Lissie safe while still watching over her. I suppose he had his own logic for what he did and for allowing us to assume you two were lovers.

  It’s no longer for my own losses that I grieve. It’s for yours. A child, a husband, a life. You loved David, but never experienced an insane love like the one I have with Will.

  I miss you, Isobel.

  I wonder. . . . If I continue with our boy talks, can you hear me? Can you feel me?

  Last night Will waited for more than an hour on the balcony of our apartment while I dressed for our first date in Paris. There are few things in life a man like Will can’t control. How I present myself to him and the time it takes for me to feel comfortable with it belongs in that small category.

  I came out of the master suite wearing dark makeup and a revealing black dress. He had moved the dining table and chairs from the center of the room to clear the space.

  Will stepped inside onto the elegant parquet and asked for my hand. His eyes filled with stormy emotion as he explored the details of my body. His lips parted, but no words came from them. He wore black trousers and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves folded back to reveal his forearms, one covered with the tattoo that bears my name.

  God, I couldn’t wait to touch his clean-shaven face.

  When I offered my hand, he did not pull me in for a kiss. He bowed, then raised our joined hands into the air above my head. I twirled beneath his arm, and he led me across the wood floor in a waltz. There was no music. Only what we heard in our own heads.

  There is masculine grace and refinement about Will when he moves. It’s marked with a predator-like edge. It is delightful and stirring.

  My husband led me through a few dozen flawless box steps before lunging to the side to lower me into his arms. “You are so lovely,” he said. He then bent his tall frame and pressed his lips to mine. “What you do to me . . . I can’t find the words, Elle.”

  Your brother surprises me this way, with unexpected gestures that create romance in a timeless sense. No other man could love me the same. Only him.

  I wish you could have known him.

  35

  After a second full day of shopping and wandering about Paris, Elle and I headed back to the apartment to change for dinner. We’d gone to a formal restaurant the evening before, but this time, we were planning a more casual meal. We hadn’t hurried out of bed or rushed through any of our afternoon shopping sprees. The hired car was on my payroll for the duration of our stay, and the mature driver was native to the city, so he was wise to the best sights and shops as well as to the less congested routes.

  Some of our packages would be delivered after custom alterations, and many others filled the sedan’s boot. We would have to ship most of it home when we left France.

  “You looked so handsome in the blue shirt and jacket combo, and it was perfect with the jeans you have on now. And for your eyes.” She dragged her fingers along my five-o’clock shadow. I had surprised her with a clean shave the day before.

  Without thought, I drew her hand to my mouth and kissed it, my words vibrating over her soft skin. “You all right, baby?”

  “Fine. I’m happy, Will. Can’t you tell?”

  “I can. Me too.” My lips moved to the inside of her wrist, where the delicate blue veins were visible and her radial pulse confirmed she was real, that she was mine. “You’re a little pale, is what I meant to say.”

  The chauffeur opened Elle’s car door and dropped his chin. “Madame.”

  She looked back at me as she climbed out of the car. “You worry too much. I feel fantastic.”

  Better be the truth. Maybe she misses our girl.

  I unfolded myself from the backseat and stepped onto the pavement beside her. “Let’s call Lissie tonight. I’ll send her some snaps of the ducks at the river just before we call.”

  Elle giggled. “If anyone ever looked at the photos on your phone, they would never believe you were the dangerous man that you are.”

  “Dangerous? You must have me confused with someone else, angel.” I winked at my wife and grabbed her hand as we hit the stairs for the apartment. “Christ, I’m hungry. You hungry?”

  “Starving. Find us a place while I get changed? The weather is amazing again today. Another walk through the city this evening?” She grinned.

  Before I let her slip away to the bedroom, I pulled her body against mine. “Kiss me before you leave me, Elle.” But I didn’t give her the chance. The back of her head was already in my palm, and I forced her mouth to mine, pushing beyond those luscious pink lips.

  It was a fierce, no-holds-barred kind of kiss. I dove deep into her sweet taste, fucking her mouth with my greedy tongue, urging her to meet me with the same passion.

  Elle broke the kiss and panted against my cheek for a moment. She pulled back and hit me with her eyes. “I will never leave you, Will.”

  She knew me so well. She knew exactly what I’d wanted.

  Reassurance. Demanding it was unfair to her, but my heart required it. I lived with an overwhelming fear that someday, in some way, I would lose her.

  I had done the same thing to her the night before.

  The moon had been high and the breeze warm when we’d left the restaurant. We had decided to walk round the city for a while before driving back to the apartment. We had ended up along the scenic walkway of the Right Bank. The city had been fully awake, the reflection of its lights dancing on the Seine. What was more, the way the moonlight had painted the contours of her face, her body, the way it had clung to her long hair as we walked along the river had taken my breath away.

  After leaving the riverbank, I’d backed her into a dim alcove and pressed her body against a brick building with mine.

  Lock your arms round my neck, and do not remove them, I had said.

  Her breath had quickened as she submitted to me. As she had breathed out, I had breathed in, her rhythm completing mine.

  I need to touch you . . . now . . . here. You will be quiet. Because you are mine. Your moans, your cries—all mine.

  Her pupils had grown large, and her breath had accelerated.

  I need to touch you too, she’d whispered close to my ear.

  Not this time. I had tucked my thumb under her chin, pulled her mouth to mine, and sucked on her bottom lip. Your hands are exactly where I want them to stay. Understand?

  She’d nodded, and I had dropped my hand, sliding it up her thigh beneath the hem of her dress. When my fingers had brushed the lace on her knickers, a small whimper had hit her throat.

  Covering her mouth with mine, I had kissed her savagely. She’d met my tongue with hers, falling into the moment with me. I had pushed my fingers inside of her, wringing a soft cry from her against my lips.

  Come for me, baby. Melt into my hand.

  I had wanted to watch. See her lids drop, her head fall back, her skin bloom with heat, and her lips part until her mouth formed a circle that was too small for my rigid cock. I’d wanted to hear the puffs of exhalation that she couldn’t control, to feel her erotic little scream as I captured it with my own mouth.

  She had done all of those things, and I had nearly come in my trousers.

  Sweat had soaked my clothing. My erection had been painfully hard, and I’d ached for relea
se. The urge to feel her soul complete mine had been more than I could stand. That’d been my punishment for all the horrible shit I’d done, for the selfish acts I had committed—to watch something so beautiful, to hold someone I loved more than myself without taking anything from her, to drown in my own desire.

  You’re my world, Elle. Without you, it would end.

  I won’t let it end. I’m yours, Will. Always.

  * * *

  About an hour later, after Elle had freshened up and slipped into a casual dress for dinner, she and I walked hand in hand through the middle of the brick-paved streets until we heard the lapping waves of the River Seine.

  The comforting aromas of freshly roasted coffee and sugared brioche and vanilla cream drifted out to the street as we passed by one of the city’s thousands of cafés.

  Neighborhood flower markets lined the pavements along the way. I’d noted one in particular earlier that day, located close to Pont Neuf, the bridge we would cross on our way to dinner.

  I pulled Elle along by the hand as I weaved through that market’s tables and floral displays, plucking individual fresh-cut flowers from tubs filled with water. When she realized that I was creating a hand-picked bouquet for her, she blushed. I grinned.

  “Je veux une rose blanche parfait,” I said to the market owner.

  “Les roses sont à l’intérieur.” The woman scuttled inside and came back holding an exquisite white rose over her arm. “I grow the roses myself,” she added.

  “It’s beautiful,” Elle said.

  The woman met my wife’s eyes with a smile. “Merci, madame.”

  Elle hooked her arm in mine after I paid for the flowers, and we headed for the bridge. Pont Neuf was the oldest bridge in Paris. It was made of stone, with architectural arches and ornamental mascarons along the length of the exterior wall. Displaying sculpted mythical faces in that way seemed strange to me, but it had always been part of the sixteenth-century design.

  The old stone bridge offered a paved walkway for pedestrians in both directions. The two stretches of walkway offered stone niches with wide benches where people could duck out of the foot traffic to admire magnificent views of the Louvre and the Notre Dame Cathedral or steal a kiss.

  “You are the only man who’s ever given me flowers, Will.” The words were soft and honest, followed by a childlike smile. “There is only you,” she added in a whisper.

  There it was—the innocence that drew me into her deeper with each passing day. It was light and goodness and lived infinitely within her soul. It was what held me together through the madness. Her innocence healed me . . . completed me. I was addicted to it, and the craving was nonstop. I longed day and night to possess it, to possess her.

  Unfortunately, there was no help for it or for me. The compulsion had to be satisfied. In an abrupt move, I pulled Elle into my arms and backed us into a niche to kiss her.

  I owned her mouth with the same fierce passion as I had earlier, before we’d left the apartment. Something more was building between us, if that was possible, and I had no idea how or what the fuck it was. I only knew that there was more for us.

  “Will,” she whispered, her eyes full of unshed tears. She panted from the kiss. The sweetness of her breath hit me and caused the hair on my arms to stand on end.

  Her tears started to fall.

  The tears were different. No fear or pain or grief tainted them.

  Something else overwhelmed her.

  “Will,” she said again.

  I held her face in my hands, wiping her cheeks with my thumbs. Tears fell faster. They wouldn’t fucking stop. I kissed her lips. “You don’t have to say anything, Elle. Please don’t cry.”

  She smiled through the watery sentiment. Her green eyes were brilliant, but those goddamned tears were still spilling down her face. “I think I should see a doctor right away.”

  My heart stopped. My body became one with the bridge. Immovable stone. “What?”

  I stared at her and raked a hand through my hair. What the fuck was she saying?

  She said my name again.

  It was all I needed then, to understand—my name on her lips, lingering in the air between us with the softness of a tender love song.

  “I think you should sit down,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I need for you to sit.”

  Elle lowered herself onto the stone bench, and I crouched between her knees. Our eyes locked. Her tears had not stopped.

  “The test results weren’t accurate.”

  I dropped my head onto her lap. “Oh, Christ,” I said against the smooth fabric of her dress.

  My wife’s fingers pushed into my hair.

  “We’re pregnant.”

  I shook my head again, my face buried in the folds of her dress. “It’s too soon, Elle.”

  Her fingertips moved gently through my hair. “Do you remember when you gave me this engagement ring, and I said the same thing to you—that it was too soon? You assured me it was not, and you were right. It took me a minute, but I realized that fighting what’s meant to be is painful. And you and I already live with enough pain that is beyond our control.”

  Clever little angel. She was chucking my rationale back at me.

  I lifted my head and met her eyes. She was calm and fearless. Her beautiful face was fuller and her skin was radiant.

  So beautiful.

  I had misinterpreted the signs as a manifestation of her anxiety.

  “You’re going to be a father, Will.”

  I drew breath through my nostrils and nodded on the exhale.

  “We’ll find a way to be happy about it together,” she added.

  36

  Several days later, Elle hopped down from the examination table and into my arms. The doctor had performed an ultrasound and confirmed she was eight weeks into the pregnancy. She rested her cheek against the center of my chest and chuckled. “God, I should have known. Everything you do is bigger and better and more.”

  I secured my arms tightly round her warm body, and we swayed together as if there were music and we were dancing. A chuckle of my own vibrated in my throat. I inhaled against her hair. “Ah, well, you know me. You ask for something, and I give it to you in spades.”

  Christ. We were having twins.

  We’ll find a way to be happy about it together, she had said, her words loving and gentle.

  Elle was right. Together we would find our way through this pregnancy and beyond with our children. It would take more work on my part than hers to find comfort and balance as a parent, but I could feel us shifting in that direction rather quickly.

  None of it was going to be easy. Not for Elle and not for me. There was still a lot of shit for me to sort through in my head, and my wife would not be fooled. She would see my struggle and feel my pain, so there was no reason for me to lie about it.

  She lifted her head and nailed me with those eyes.

  I placed a soft kiss on her lips. And another. One more.

  “We’ll work through this together,” she said. “I’m scared too. But I know we can do this. You’re already a better father than you know, Will. Look at how well you love Lissie.”

  “She’s easy to love. What if the twins are like me?”

  Elle grinned. “I’m counting on it. You can stop giving me things now.”

  “I’ll never stop. And be careful what you wish for, angel. More of my likeness may not serve you well. Now, how about some lunch? We can go find something on the river.”

  “Could we go back to the apartment and order something in? I’d prefer to resume our Netflix-slash-honeymoon-sex binge.”

  I smirked. “Would you? As it happens, that’s my preference as well.”

  * * *

  Thomas was waiting at the apartment when we arrived. The fact that he’d left England and arrived on the Continent without a word in advance was not a good sign. He stood at the far end of the flat in front of the open balcony with his back to us, his hands braced on either side of t
he doorframe.

  Elle and I stopped dead in our tracks and gaped from the foyer. My arm was extended in front of her body to shield her, a reflex of my protective instinct.

  Christ. He was huge. He’d been training hard in the months since I’d been shot. My brother was an inch and a half shorter at six foot four, but he was now broader than I had been.

  “Brother,” I called out across the open rooms.

  I couldn’t see his face when he turned. He was silhouetted by the daylight behind him.

  “Thomas, what are you doing here?” Elle asked. “You didn’t call.”

  He started towards us, his features coming into view as the interior lights hit him. A smile hit his mouth and his eyes. He always lit up for her.

  Elle ran to him then, and Thomas opened his arms to catch her. He glared at me over the top of her head as he held her, and the full force of his truth punched me in the fucking gut. He’d never been furious with me over the security issue because he understood that her safety was my lifeline. He was angry because I’d taken her so far away from him.

  Elle pulled back from Thomas’s embrace and punched him in the arm. “Damn you, Thomas. Next time, return my call.”

  My wife and my brother had been close from the beginning. She loved him. He was the protective big brother she’d never had. The shoulder she’d cried on when I’d let her down.

  Thomas stared at me as he rubbed his biceps, feigning a sting from Elle’s punch to humor her. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You two piss me off with your scheming.” She turned to me. “Did you know he was coming, Will?”

  I grabbed her hand and returned Thomas’s hard stare. “I did not. My brother failed to check with me before crashing our holiday.”

  “Oh.” Elle’s eyes moved between Thomas and me. She squeezed my hand to let me know she recognized the tension. “I’m going to lie down for a few minutes while the two of you talk.”