“Oh?”
“I mean if you’re wondering why you haven’t heard from him.”
“I’m not.” She placed her hand on his wrist, and he stilled. “Laurent, knees.”
He slipped from his chair and settled himself before her. Hands, palm up, on his thighs, he bent his neck in a genuine reverence.
“Look at me.” She purposefully did not touch him when he obeyed. “I’m very glad you came to me, but I’m going to say this once. You don’t have to worry about anything that happens between Steffan and I. Two Doms butting heads is as common as clouds. It has nothing to do with you.”
“So you and Steffan did argue.”
She shouldn’t have let that slip. Worse, her rising irritation irked her. She was better than this. “Laurent, cut me another small piece.”
He expertly cut another small corner of the cinnamon bun and held it out to her. She took it from him with her fingers, and her stomach immediately let off an unladylike grumble. She chuckled. “Okay, perhaps I skipped breakfast, too.”
“Steffan can cook for you,” Laurent said. “He makes his own sauces and homemade bread.”
“Talented.” She licked sugar off her fingers, his eyes trained on her mouth.
“And, a good man, Mistress Sarah.”
“I know, Laurent. You two have unprecedented loyalty to one another.”
“He’s the most loyal person I’ve known.”
“I’m sure you are the same.” She really didn’t want to talk about Steffan any longer. The last few days, she’d worked to organize her memories of his warmth, his scent and put them in their proper place. She determined she could admire him as a fellow Dom. She could not get romantic notions.
“Now, I could use your help. Please rise.” She stood, and he immediately joined her. “Care to model some of the pieces for me? I’d like to put some outfits together.”
“Mistress Sarah, I would like nothing better. Well, except …”
“I’m afraid I left my handcuffs at home.”
“Pity.”
She laughed, feeling rather good about their conversation. Laurent had a talent for smoothing things over, perhaps? Had things needed to be smoothed over? Hadn’t he needed reassuring? Their roles moved back and forth like liquid—the power of taking care of one another shifting back and forth like sand rolling under an ocean wave. It felt nice. Responsibility was a heavy load, and being with Laurent was so easy, unlike Steffan. She wished she’d known he was out of town. She could have had Laurent here like this, all to herself, without anything in the way of getting to know the man.
“Laurent, when did you say school started?”
“In a few months.”
Hmmm, a little time. She rather liked having Laurent around more, so she made another instinctive move when it came to him.
“What do you think about coming to work for me until then?”
17
Sarah’s good feelings from her time with Laurent lasted through two hours of fitting Laurent with Armani, vintage Pierre Cardin, Gucci—all wrong for him—and Brunello Cucinelli. Those positive vibes lasted through the drive home, through a sudden spring thunderstorm that slowed traffic to a crawl and choked the streets with tentative drivers. They only vanished when her headlights illuminated her front door. Christiana stood huddled under the portico of her front entrance, water running in sheets off her red raincoat.
“Christiana, what’s wrong?”
The girl’s cheeks were wet and not only with rain.
Sarah got the door open, abandoned her umbrella, and pushed the young girl inside.
“I took the metro.” Christiana’s teeth chattered as she tip-toed in, water splashing on to the hardwood floor, her arms hugging her chest.
“That’s five blocks away.” She threw off her own coat, yanked a shawl off a nearby chair and threw it around the shivering girl. Her sneakers squeaked on the floor as Sarah placed her in the entrance hall chair.
She wrestled the girl’s sneakers off. “Let me get a towel.”
She padded to the bathroom and back, bringing a stack of towels the maids had laid out for her. She dried the young girl’s feet.
“What’s going on?”
Her answer was a sob—a burst of emotion that sat Sarah back on her heels. At the same time, Christiana’s phone buzzed in her hand. She hadn’t noticed she’d been holding it.
“Tha-that’s Jonathan,” she said.
Sarah took it from her and answered.
“Christiana, tell me—” his voice was angry, pained.
“Jay, it’s me, Sarah. She’s here with me.”
The sound of a relieved expelling of breath carried through the phone. “What the hell is going on? I’ve been calling for an hour.”
“Where are you?”
“Hell if I know. Probably somewhere over Kansas.”
“You’re on a plane?” That explained the loud whooshing sound.
She rose from her crouch.
“On my way to San Francisco, and the second we land, I’m taking the return flight.”
She rested a hand on Christiana’s shoulder. “I’m handing you over to …”
Christiana shook her head violently and mouthed please.
“To Christiana.” She held out the phone. “Talk to him, love. Then we’ll talk.”
The girl tentatively took the phone and held it to her ear. “Hi,” she said and then started to cry again. Sarah couldn’t hear what Jonathan was saying, but it was clearly the right thing, as her face softened. She chewed on a fingernail … and continued to listen. She nodded, which made Sarah chuckle a little as Jonathan couldn’t see a thing. But strong emotion often did that—removed one’s sense of, well, anything.
Christiana finally spoke. “You don’t have to do that. My phone battery will die before you land. No. really. Talking to me on an airplane has to be costing you a fortune … Of course you didn’t … Okay.” She took a deep breath and straightened. “I love you, too.” She handed the phone to Sarah. “He wants to talk to you.”
She took it and turned her back, striding into the living room. “That was fast.”
“She needed to be reassured, that’s all. Sarah, please keep her with you. She ran into Avery.”
The sound of that name stiffened her insides. “Avery Churchill? Where?” Christiana shuddered a little at her bark. How could Avery, who put a bullet into Jonathan three years ago, who’d gotten off scot-free thanks to an insanity plea, be out on her own? Last time she’d heard, the girl was in a mental facility for the criminally insane several states away.
“Massachusetts Avenue,” he said. “I didn’t tell you, but—”
“Tell me what?” She walked deeper into the living room—as far away from her future sister-in-law as she could. When she thought back to that time when they’d all almost lost him … she shuddered. She couldn’t imagine what seeing the woman did to Christiana.
“Avery was released a year ago. Now, please do me a favor. Make Christiana talk about it, Sarah. I’ll be there in eight hours. I’m taking a jet back.”
A stupid laugh burst through her lips. “You’re talking about the woman who shot you, Jay,” she said in an angry whisper. A shock of pain ripped through her body at remembering the phone call she’d gotten from Mark, his driver and assistant at the time. Jonathan had recovered, but to this day Sarah held her breath whenever she saw any news related to gunshots on the news.
“Avery is now married to my former assistant, Shane. She also wears an ankle monitor, or so I’m told. I didn’t tell Christiana that I knew all this, so when she called me in a panic, and I didn’t panic back …” He let out a long breath.
“You don’t panic.”
“I might be now. We had an argument, and she’s already stressed to the max. Sarah, I’m begging you.” The steel in his voice made it sound more like a command—the only man who could get away with it in her world. She loved her stepbrother, and there was no way she was letting Christiana out of her s
ight until Jonathan got there.
“Sarah, she’s not going to want to talk at first. Press it. If she doesn’t, it’ll fester—fast. Maybe you can find out what else is eating her. It’s not just the wedding, Claire, the colors, hell, even this. It’s like she’s afraid to move us forward.” He sighed. “She won’t tell me, but I know it’s there.”
It was huge for Jonathan to admit his failure to get the love of his life to confess her true feelings.
“Jay, you’ll need to get to the bottom of this yourself.”
“I will when I get there. Don’t let her bolt.”
“I won’t.” She killed the call.
She returned to Christiana. Her hands wedged under her thighs, the young woman rocked back and forth a little and stared at her bare feet.
“Christiana, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
“What?” She looked up at her. “Oh, sure.”
She led the girl to her bathroom, stripped her of her sopping wet jeans and t-shirt—no easy feat. The girl really did need a wardrobe boost. She wrapped her in a fluffy white robe and got her situated on her couch with a mug of hot tea. Sarah texted her dinner companion that she’d have to reschedule their meeting and then settled in for the vigil.
“Christiana.” She finally steeled her voice to the Dominant she knew would get the girl’s attention.
Christiana lifted her gaze from studying her tea as if divining a prophecy from the tea leaves. “He told you to make me talk, didn’t he?” She sighed. “I’ve never met a man who liked to talk so much.”
“He’s a good Dominant.”
Her eyes misted with tears again. “He’s the best, and contrary to what it looks like around my wedding disinterest, I love him with all my heart.”
“Of course you do. Now, why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Her chin wobbled, but then she stilled and pulled all her emotion inside—something Sarah had seen Christiana do often. Something big was going down, and if she knew anything it was this: Christiana and Jonathan were ordained by divinity to be together.
“Avery was pushing a baby carriage. A frickin’ baby carriage.” A sense of incredulity had crept into Christiana’s voice. “Can you believe that? I was so pissed.”
Good, anger was better than grief, especially when talking about that woman.
“I can imagine.”
“I mean, I finally had the chance to confront her. Slap the shit out of her, and there she was with a … baby carriage. A real, live, gorgeous baby. I sneaked a look. I’m talking Gerber commercial level.”
“And that made you angry?”
“No, it was like it all dissolved. Avery practically ran away from me, as if she was scared of me. It was bizarre. I tried to follow but the carriage was bouncing, and I didn’t want to hurt the baby. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to know why … how … I mean, a baby! The woman starved herself through high school so her stomach was concave. Avery got out her phone and spoke to someone rapidly. I heard the name Shane. So when I called Jonathan, he told me Avery and Shane—his former assistant—got married. He knew and hadn’t told me, Sarah! I mean, he should have told me.”
“I’m sure he wanted to spare you.”
“He doesn’t need to spare me. He needs to stop treating me like I’m made of spun glass. I know I haven’t made it easy by freaking out about the wedding, and now, I’m freaking out about Avery. You know the worst part? He said he wants children. Like right away.” Her mouth dropped open. “Us. I mean, I have just run into Avery Churchill, and he pops out with ‘I want kids.’ Guess what? I may not want kids. Like at all.” She sliced the air with her hand.
She now understood why Jonathan had been adamant about Christiana talking. Once the girl got going she certainly had a lot to say—and honest words, albeit a little mixed up.
“You might change your mind about having children.”
“I doubt it. I didn’t have the best mother role models.”
“Who has?”
“Isabella,” she said quickly. “I love her mom. She’s bossy but in a caring way. I love it when she brushes my bangs from my face. I know they annoy her. Sometimes I let them hang so she does it.”
Sarah could see Christiana doing that, having been so neglected in her childhood. She’d want someone to pay attention to her even if it was to correct her.
“You’re like that, too,” Christiana said. “You’re always straightening the seams on my tops.”
“I’m a stylist. It’s what I do.”
“But you only do it to me outside a fitting. Don’t get me wrong. I like it.” Color tinged her cheeks. “It’s like you care.”
“I do care about you, Christiana. Deeply.” A tickle that presaged tears formed in her throat.
“Didn’t your mother do that to you, growing up? Fuss? I can totally see it …” She snorted.
“Not like you think. My mother was intent on me getting married as quickly as possible. She wanted me to dress up so I’d appeal to men.” Early and often, she thought bitterly. She pushed aside that recurring thought that Claire was more pimp than mother, but this wasn’t the time to revisit old resentments.
Sarah returned her focus to Christiana. “Then turn to Marie Santos or me when you have questions. You know we’re all family by choice right?”
She nodded. “I don’t know what I’d do without all of you. I don’t know what I did—before Jonathan.”
Oh, to be so in love you can’t imagine what your life was like without that other person.
“Can I ask you something personal?” Christiana’s voice was tentative. “Don’t you want someone—for yourself? You’re so good at taking care of others. I mean don’t you want ‘The One’?” She leaned her head back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “Someone who seizes you and kisses you and you just know?”
She chuckled. “Is that what Jonathan did to you?”
Christiana raised her head. “In the ladies’ bathroom in the Russell Senate Building.”
Sarah laughed more heartily despite that gnawing around her heart. So much love swirled around Christiana it was going to kill Sarah—and not in a jealous way but in its truth about the young girl’s courage—something that, for the first time in her life, Sarah was beginning to doubt she had. It was an unnerving thought for someone who spent her days dominating others.
“More tea?” she asked, more to change the subject than anything else.
“Yes, please.”
When Sarah returned, Christiana had fallen fast asleep. Sarah pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and sat with her until Jonathan arrived, hours later. He marched out her front door, his young fiancé curled asleep in his arms, and a whispered thank you on his lips. She’d merely shaken her head and smiled at him. They didn’t need to talk. Like he and Christiana, she and Jonathan had a silent understanding between them that transcended speech.
Sarah curled up in a blanket on her couch and stared out at the blush of pink that slowly spread over the cement gray sky as morning peeked over the treetops. She gave her imagination free rein to consider what it would be like to be so in love you’d charter a private jet to return you to your lover because you couldn’t bear for her to cry alone. Would she do that for Laurent? Would he for her? Steffan had said Laurent wanted to belong to someone. What would Steffan do then? Go back to Sweden? There would be no reason for him to stay.
18
Steffan threw his keys on the small table inside the doorway and stretched his arms back. He could use a drink, though it’d likely make him fall asleep on his feet. He’d had to run up to New York for a quick overnight trip, and the rain over the last day had delayed his return.
He did a double take at the couch encased in plastic in the center of the room.
“Laurent,” he called.
“Well? You get it?” Laurent strode through the archway leading to the kitchen.
“The grant went through. $250K.” He pointed to the new couch. “Brown, huh?”
“Apparently the color is back in.”
Steffan strode over to the long sectional couch and sank down, the plastic crackling under his weight. “Comfortable. You work fast.” He indicated the large painting of three horses against a turquoise blue sky. “Not bad.” Steffan had to admit the artwork was good—not gaudy but not without life.
“I stopped by Sarah’s office yesterday. She said Dante is an up and coming artist. I thought you’d like it.”
“I do. So, did Sarah invite you over?” He’d been thinking about Sarah for days. Couldn’t shake his brain of her image. If he hadn’t had to run up to New York for this meeting, he’d have been tempted to reach out to her.
“Nope. Made a surprise visit.”
“Ballsy. How’d that work out?”
“Envious?” Laurent plopped down next to him and put his feet, ankles crossed, on yet another new piece of furniture, an iron and glass coffee table.
“Of what? Of being put on my knees for showing up unannounced?” It was a wild guess, but he’d have done it if any of the luscious little things he’d been with had popped into his workplace. By the color on Laurent’s face, he’d guessed correctly.
“What’d she make you do? Pick lint off the floor with your teeth?” he asked.
“She offered me a job.”
He scratched the side of his neck. Well played, Sarah Marillioux. He’d stepped backward the last few days to allow things to settle, to see what Sarah might do next. Consequently, it was Laurent who made the next move. Okay, fine. Seemed to work. Sarah responded to him, but now she’d changed the game by bringing Laurent into her personal life—something she’d seemed vehemently opposed to. It wasn’t the first time he’d see Laurent crack through someone’s walls, have them act uncharacteristically.
“Luring you away from school?” He could appreciate that Sarah was getting to know Laurent outside of Accendos, but he didn’t want Laurent to lose himself completely, or, have boundaries overstepped, such as allowing him to forget why he came to Washington in the first place.
Fearless (Elite Doms of Washington Book 5) Page 10