Rouge (25 page)

His shoulders dropped, and he went to the doorway. But when he got there he stopped and looked up the passage. Then he turned back to me.

“Then let me stay here. Just to hold you, be sure you’re safe.” He stepped forward and reached for me. “I have to be here in the morning anyway, and it’s not like anyone would know.”

Or care,
I thought. The image of us as lovers invaded my thoughts. I pushed away the bad parts and instead remembered waking up in his
strong
arms, the lovely sensations, his bare chest against mine. He wanted another chance. He deserved another chance.

I reached for him, and he quickly stepped forward, covering my mouth with his. His kiss was long and gentle and full of love. His hands smoothed my hair on the sides of my face as our tongues slid together.

I turned his proposal over in my mind. A terrible path lay before me, but once I did what I had to do, I could give him the chance he wanted. We could try to make a life together.

He leaned back and kissed my nose. “What do you say?”

“I… well…”

I knew what I wanted to say, but as always, there was more than just me.

“I would let you stay, but Teeny sleeps here.”

He exhaled and then nodded, releasing me. “I might sleep outside your door regardless.”

“Don’t. I’ll be safe for tonight.”

We held hands the short distance to my door and stopped there. For a long moment neither of us spoke. His lips tightened, and he leaned down to kiss me once more. Then he wrapped his arms strong around me, and we held each other a little longer. Saying goodbye suddenly felt so hard.

I shut the door behind him and closed my eyes, imagining myself still in his arms. I wondered if he was serious about staying outside my door for the night, and I softly turned the knob, peeking out into the passage. It was empty. I sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. Teeny would be back any minute.

Roses still filled my dressing room, surrounding me in thoughts of his proposal as I went back to my table. I reached up and removed the few pins still holding my hair back and watched as it slid down around my face. I traced my finger across the glass, thinking of his kiss, his embrace. My eyes landed on the gold band on my finger, and I slid it around with my thumb. Such a simple thing. No diamond, just a small band. But it was a very real promise. I held out my hand and looked at it a long time.

* * *

The show was coming to the end of its run, and Roland was busy most days working out the new songs for our next production. He’d been writing new numbers since the day we started
Chat le Rouge
and now we were learning them. The flowing melody he’d played the day I was so angry with him was one of the main songs in his new production, and for this show the theme was slightly different. Instead of disillusionment and fantasy, he was writing about love and tragedy.

“What’s the backstory here?” I asked, glancing over the lyrics he handed me. I read one line aloud. “I will love you until my dying breath?”

“The audience will swoon,” he said as he walked to the piano. He fanned the tails of his velvet jacket out before he sat and began playing the rippling notes I’d heard before. “Still sound like breaking dishes?”

I smiled and looked down. “I was very angry with you that day.”

“You always hurt the ones you love,” he said, blowing a long puff of smoke. “Let’s hear it.”

I sang out some of the verses, and he joined in harmony on a few of them. All about two lovers separated by one thing after another and ultimately death.

“Will I kiss Frank?” I asked, reading the program notes. “Carla might object.”

“Can Beau sing?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Suddenly the piano music stopped and Roland stood, pulling my hand up by my ring finger. The tiny gold band was still there from the previous night.

“Who gave you this?” I pulled my hand back and tucked it in the folds of my skirt. “Marry him,” he said, sitting down to resume his music.

My eyes flashed up to his. “But what about…”

“Teeny, Teeny,” Roland breathed. “I’m so sick of you using her as the excuse for everything. Beau’s in love with you.”

“I was going to say what about Guy. And there’s still the issue of Freddie,” I argued, feeling around my neck for the locket. It was gone. I frowned trying to remember the last time I’d even thought of it.

“You’re not in love with Freddie, and Guy’s not here.” Roland’s voice was bored, as if I were his petulant daughter.

“If there was only some way I could know she’d be safe.”

He banged the keys of the piano hard and stood up in front of me. “I’ll keep her safe. How’s that?”

My eyebrows pulled together. A week ago he was arguing with me about who to protect and who to let perish, and now he was saying he’d look after her?

“I can’t talk about it now,” I said. “After. We’ll talk after it’s done.”

“After what’s done?” His eyes fixed on mine.

“I meant Freddie,” I lied. “I’ll decide when Freddie comes back, and that’s done.”

He didn’t believe me, but I turned back to the music. Nothing could be settled until Guy was dead, and the only person I could trust to finish that job was me.

By Sunday I had to get out. The pressure of waiting was becoming too much, and while I was hesitant to leave Teeny unprotected, Guy still hadn’t returned. I knew she would be safe for a few hours with Evie. My excuse was that I needed sunlight and fresh air, but my goal was something much more specific—I had to find the only person who could take my mind off the task in front of me.

After breakfast, I pulled on my heavy coat and the hat I still had from the men’s wardrobe and set out walking. I didn’t know exactly where to look, but after a few turns, I was approaching the square, walking straight to Philippe’s. I stood outside the shop a long time staring in the dark windows. It was closed.

I went down to where the artists were setting up their wooden easels, some facing the cathedral, some facing the storefronts lining the flagstone courtyard. I surveyed sketches of the statue, the cathedral, passersby who had been convinced to sit, but I didn’t see him anywhere. I stopped when I reached the front of the church and looked up, recalling Beau’s nightmarish version of the edifice. No sanctuary. Then I turned away toward Joyeaux Bijoux. The window display that had once held my father’s pen was still set up, only my family heirloom had been replaced with another ornate writing utensil. I wondered whose it might’ve been.

“Not pawning anything new, I hope.” Beau’s voice made me jump, but his reflection in the glass soothed my anxiety. I’d found him. He was here, and so handsome in his gray work suit and hat. My thumb touched the slender band that hadn’t left my finger since he’d put it on me.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” I smiled, turning to him. I’d been so tightly wound waiting for Guy, it seemed any little thing would provoke a rush of tears these days, but I didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not today.

I cleared my throat and regained my composure. “I was thinking about the last time I was here,” I said.

“That Sunday with Christina?”

I shook my head. “The night we went out.”

I remembered my night of freedom from fear. I remembered our night together, and the comfort of his arms. Longing surged through me, a longing to leave this place, go back to his big, airy room, climb into his bed, and spend the afternoon forgetting everything.

He reached out and took my hand. “I remember you laughing,” he said as our fingers laced. “And the music.”

I remembered seeing Gavin and then Molly. “It was almost perfect.”

His hand was still just as strong holding mine. A promise to me.

“Are you working today?” I asked.

“On my way to open the store now. Walk with me?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He led me back across the square to the small shop, and I watched as he unlocked the door and held it for me.

“How is Philippe’s open on Sunday?” I frowned, knowing the blue laws that kept most businesses shut tight on the Day of Rest.

“Gentlemen with demanding occupations tend to ignore certain things for vanity,” he winked. “And it’s only the first Sunday of every month, so I guess Our Heavenly Father understands.”

I smiled. “You’re doing well here, having a key and opening the store.”

“Vanity or not, Philippe is a firm believer in the Day of Rest.” He followed me inside. “Especially after staying out all night at the taverns.”

I walked around the store looking at the fine coats and hats. The scarves and ties that cost more than some people made in a month. I ran my finger across silky cotton shirts and scratchy wool overcoats.

“That’s some hat you’re wearing,” he said, walking over to lift it from my head and put it on his own. I grinned and picked up a gray top hat and put it on my head.

“Darling, I need your opinion,” I said, imitating Freddie’s voice. “Is it all wrong for me?”

He laughed and stepped toward me, pulling a bright yellow silk scarf from the table and sliding it around my neck. I lifted my hair as he quickly wound it into a cravat.

“There,” he said grinning. “I think you look dashing.”

Our eyes met, and for a moment I wished he would kiss me. But I turned away before he had the chance and took the hat off. I heard him softly exhale.

“So were you on an errand?” He asked, returning my hat to me.

I shook my head and continued wandering around the store. “It’s so tiring sometimes being there. Today it felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Words were forming in his mouth, but he didn’t say them. Instead he turned back and straightened the ties I had disarranged.

“If you’d like to spend the day here, I wouldn’t mind,” he said.

I walked over to where he stood and slipped off the cravat. “I think that would be lovely.” I smiled as I held it out to him. He paused for a moment before taking it, then he glanced at the golden band still on my finger.

The bell on the door rang, and a gentleman entered carrying a cane with a silver knob and a pair of white calfskin gloves. He was dressed in a dark gray suit, and I watched as Beau assisted him in the selection of a hat, two scarves, and finally a watch chain.

A small chair stood behind the glass case that housed the cufflinks and assorted men’s accessories. At one end was the large bronze cash register, and I went there to take a seat while I waited. The man glanced at me once, but didn’t seem concerned with my presence. I realized with my gloves off, the ring was visible on my left hand. And I let him assume what he wanted.

Once finished, the man quickly left the store and Beau walked to the register to open the drawer and insert the money. Then he turned to me.

“You’re so comfortable with them,” I said. “Where did you learn all this?”

“Mr. Brouillette had a taste for the finer things,” he smiled, stepping toward me. “He would’ve loved you.”

I smiled as he slid a stray piece of hair from my cheek. “A singer? A cabaret performer?” I pretended to be horrified. “I can’t imagine a fine, elderly gentleman approving of someone like me.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem attracting the gentlemen,” he tapped my chin and turned back to the counter. I watched as he wrote on the inventory sheet.

“My father was black Creole.” I blurted it out surprising myself. Still, he needed to know this, and I needed to see his response. I waited, but he didn’t pause in his writing.

He finished the form and placed the pencil on the counter. Then he turned and leaned back against it surveying me. “That explains it.”

I frowned. “Explains what?”

He pushed away and moved to stand directly in front of me. “Why you’re so beautiful.” He slid his arms around me.

“Some people would have a different response,” I said, still watching his face for a reaction. “They would say it was sinful.”

He nodded and raised his eyebrows. “It is sinful.”

I slid off the chair and pushed against his arms. He only tightened his hold. “That anyone should be so beautiful.”

He grinned, and I stopped struggling, putting my hands on my hips. “You’re not being serious.”

He released me and walked to greet the next customer who’d entered the store. I watched as he selected a coat and then assisted the man in checking shoulder fit and sleeve length. After several minutes the transaction was complete and we were again alone.

I waited, watching him repeat the same routine of register, inventory log, before I spoke again. “So would that matter to the old man?”

“Yes,” he said without missing a beat. Then he looked at me. “But if you didn’t mind, we wouldn’t have to tell him.”

“What if I did mind?” I kept my eyes on him.

“Then we’d go someplace else.” He went back to writing.

I bit my lip and walked around the counter toward him. He finished, and I considered whether I would say the next words. My
entire body clenched, but
I opened my mouth and spoke.