The Mistress (28 page)

30

THE QUEEN

N
ora lay on her side on the floor. She’d been left alone in Marie-Laure’s room. It seemed that they’d lost interest in her now. They’d expected something, something that hadn’t happened. It scared her, this sudden lack of loathing, lack of fascination with her. Marie-Laure’s obsession with Nora’s stories had kept her alive for a couple of days. Now she wanted no more stories.

No more stories, no more Nora.

Alone on the floor Nora prayed her last prayers. If she did die today she prayed it would be clean and quick. She hated the thought of dying screaming and shitting herself. At least if they’d gotten bored with her, then they might simply put a bullet in her brain. One blink and she’d be gone.

She prayed for her mother, too, prayed she would be okay, wouldn’t be broken by losing her only child like this. She prayed for Wesley, that he would find someone else to love, someone who would give him everything he wanted and deserved—marriage, children, an equal partner and an undivided heart. For Kingsley she prayed, too. She prayed he’d understand that she never wanted to steal Søren from him, that she never begrudged Søren’s love for him, their friendship. She prayed he’d forgive her for not having his child and not asking what he wanted. She’d been so afraid of the answer she hadn’t dared ask the question. She prayed he would find peace with Juliette and everything else he needed.

For Søren she prayed that he would survive losing her, that he would remember his faith and know that he’d only lost her a little while, and she would be with him again someday.

Her final prayer she devoted to Grace and Zach, who ached so badly to have a child. Maybe the final prayer of a condemned woman might get God’s attention.

As the sun finally showed itself over the edge of the horizon, Nora finished her prayers and closed her eyes.

Even when she heard footsteps coming her way only minutes later Nora kept her eyes closed. She had no desire to look death in the face. She stayed safe behind her eyes, hiding in her heart where she kept all her most beautiful memories of Søren.

“Wake up,” came Damon’s voice from above her.

“Five more minutes, Mom,” Nora said from the floor.

Nora cried out as her side exploded in pain. She curled into the fetal position and choked on her own tears.

“I said ‘wake up.’ I’ll kick you again if you want me to.”

She opened her eyes and painfully sat up. Every breath hurt. He’d cracked a rib kicking her so hard.

“I’m awake.” She looked up at Damon and met his eyes. She saw a delighted fire burning in them.

“Good. He’s here.”

31

THE KNIGHT

W
esley woke up early. Too early. The sun hadn’t even quite clawed its way up into the sky yet. But now that he was awake he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again until complete exhaustion overtook him. He crawled out of bed and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. He forced himself to focus on the basics. He needed to eat something, check his blood sugar, take a shower. He shouldn’t make things worse for everyone by going into DKA again. Nora needed to be the only thing anyone worried about. Saving Nora...getting her back, getting her safe.

Alone in his room Wesley checked his blood sugar and took his insulin. As he put away his supplies he noticed what was beneath his feet for the first time. An Oriental rug covered the floor. Peeking out from the edges of the rug, Wesley noticed darkly stained hardwood flooring. He walked to the edge of the rug and kicked it back, baring the floor beneath.

He could do this. Of course he could. If Nora did it, so could he. Bumps and bruises...nothing bad. At worst he might get a shiner and a headache. With one deep breath Wesley let himself fall forward, barreling face-first toward the floor.

In an instant and only an inch from the floor, Wesley’s hands shot out and caught himself. He rose up in a high push-up. Maybe from here, from a mere two feet from the floor, he could drop down and let himself hit the floor. For a solid five minutes he held that pose, daring himself to let go.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself fall.

“Dammit, Nora,” he said to himself as he stood up. Wesley left the room and his failed experiment behind him. Across the hall was Laila and Grace’s room. Grace was already up but Laila still lay in bed, her body bowed into the fetal position. Did she always sleep like that? Curled up tight into a ball? Or was she cold and that’s why she had her legs pulled into her chest? Without waking her, Wesley grabbed the spare blanket from the closet and covered Laila with it. She looked so pretty in her sleep, so calm and peaceful, with her long, dark eyelashes resting on her cheeks. Weird a girl so blonde would have such dark eyelashes. Hard to believe a girl this gorgeous had made it to eighteen still a virgin. Then again, he wasn’t hideous, as Nora always said, and he’d made it to eighteen, nineteen, twenty even. Must be hard having such an intimidating priest for an uncle. Even if she liked a guy, no way would he be able to meet her uncle’s exacting standards. And Laila seemed so smart, so sweet, and she wasn’t even freaked out by the needles and the shots. No, a girl like Laila definitely deserved the best. Something else he and Søren agreed on.

God, he missed hating that man.

Wesley left Laila sleeping in her bed. He didn’t want to be the weirdo creeper caught staring at an unconscious girl. Especially not by Søren, who would probably kill him as Laila had warned last night.

After eating his low-carb and no-taste breakfast, Wesley went in search of Søren. He needed updates, information, any news anyone had about Nora. He didn’t find Søren anywhere downstairs. But in the library he found Kingsley sitting behind a big desk, a book across his stomach, his eyes closed.

“Any news?” Wesley asked without preamble.

Kingsley slowly opened his eyes.

“Shall I get you the
Sunday Times?
”

“About Nora.”

“Non.”
Kingsley sat up in the chair and faced Wesley over the desk. “No news.”

“You went there last night. What happened?”

He shook his head.

“Rien.”

“Please. English.”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“You went there and what? Had a picnic?”

“
Oui,
I had a picnic. Then I broke into the house, hid in the servants’ halls, listened to your fiancée speaking—”

“You heard her?” Wesley’s heart leaped with hope.

“And saw her.”

“She’s alive. Oh...thank God.” He collapsed into the chair in front of the desk, his head in his hands. “Was she okay?”

“Okay is a relative term. She was alive, she looked uninjured. Her clothes were on and, although soiled, did not appear torn.”

Wesley breathed through his hands.

“Then what? You saw her. You couldn’t get her out.”

“Not without shooting my own sister in the back.”

Kingsley stared at him full in the face. A hard, cold stare that Kingsley wielded like a weapon. Wesley stared back and didn’t look away. Kingsley seemed to be challenging him, daring him to question his choices.

“I couldn’t do that, either,” Wesley finally said. “Kill someone. Not in the back, anyway. Self-defense, maybe, but no, not in cold blood.”

Kingsley narrowed his eyes as if not trusting Wesley’s words.

“I left her there in the house. I couldn’t get her out.”

“So what’s next, then? What’s the plan? You say there are people there with your sister. People can be bought, bribed.”

“Would you like to go to the house now and write them a check?”

“If I thought it would work, I would. Jesus, we can’t just sit here and wait. We have to do something.”

“I am doing something. I’ve made some calls. I have some help coming. When they get here, we’ll try again. Don’t worry. We’ll get your fiancée back and you two can get married. Please don’t forget to invite me to the divorce.”

“Are you ever going to explain to me why you hate me so much?”

“You’re not interesting enough to hate.”

Wesley shook his head in disgust.

“God, I thought Søren was bad. Could Nora have worse taste in men?”

“I believe you’re the answer to that question.”

Wesley leaned forward in his chair.

“Tell me. Why do you hate me? I want to know.”

Kingsley slammed the book in front of him shut and stood up. He came around the desk and sat on the edge.

“You want to know why? I’ll tell you why,
mon petit prince
. You have never suffered. And don’t tell me you have. I have shoes that have suffered worse tortures than you.”

“You’re right,” Wesley agreed readily. “I haven’t suffered. I’ll be the first to admit I won some kind of cosmic lottery with my family.”

“You have. And yet you think you deserve someone like her. And worse, you think she’s better off with someone like you. You are a child. You are the child who wakes up from a nightmare and stumbles into his parents’ bedroom and sees Daddy on top of Mommy and thinks, ‘Why is he hurting her?’ That’s what you are. An ignorant child who has not lived, has not struggled, has not suffered, has not hurt, and yet presumes to tell his parents that what they’re doing is wrong.”

“And that’s why you hate me so much? Because I’m not kinky?”

“I couldn’t care less if you’re kinky or not. You might as well ask me if I care what sort of car you drive, Ponyboy.”

Wesley glared at Kingsley. He started to protest but Kingsley snapped his fingers in his face, cutting him off.

“I don’t like you because you sit there in judgment of us. I have seen real evil. I have seen the horrors of this world and even committed a few myself. You look at
le prêtre
and you see some kind of monster. If there is anyone on earth who has the right to hate him or to judge him, it is me. And do you know who I see? I see God.”

“Søren is not God.”

“He’s the closest thing to God I’ve ever found. He let his lover leave him and he took her back. She left him again and he would take her back again. He forgives and forgives and forgives.
Mon Dieu,
forgiveness is in his job description. It’s what he does for a living. He forgave her for spurning his love and welcomed her back with open arms. No punishment, no questions asked. When he metes out his punishments, they are deserved and they are fair. His acts of mercy are legendary. His capacity for love is never-ending. And you come along and see him putting a knife in someone’s chest and you scream, ‘Murderer!’ while the rest of us see a heart surgeon.”

“Nice words but you’re the one who choked Nora so hard one night she passed out and hit the floor and had to go to the hospital.”

“Oh, yes, that night. You mean the night she came to me and asked me to teach her how to do breath-play? The night we took turns on each other? I demonstrated on her. She practiced on me. That night between equals, you mean?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t accept that hurting another person is ever okay.”

Kingsley lowered his head until they looked at each other eye to eye.

“You apologize for not wanting to hurt another person? Little Prince, I think perhaps you’ve lingered in our world far too long. There is no honor in what we do. There is no evil, either. You think you know better about what your fiancée wants than she does. You insult her intelligence and maturity and ability to make her own decisions. You insult her, you insult us all.”

“I want her to be safe.”

“You don’t want her to be safe. She is safe with us. You want her to be saved. You can’t save someone—”

“I know. I know...I can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

“No. You can’t save someone who doesn’t
need
to be saved.”

They locked eyes and Wesley knew Kingsley wanted to stare him down, make him blink first. Fine. He stood up and let Kingsley win. He’d go hang out with Laila or Grace, with anyone who didn’t loathe him. Even Søren made for better company.

At the door Wesley turned around.

“I want to help get Nora back. I will help if you’ll let me.”

“Your hands are clean,” Kingsley said, sitting back down behind the desk. “Keep them clean.”

“I know you think I don’t deserve her. Fine, I don’t. No one’s good enough for Nora. But at least...give me a chance to try to deserve her.”

Kingsley sighed and sat down in the chair behind the desk again.

“Sit down, Wesley.”

Wesley paused in the doorway and gazed at Kingsley suspiciously. Kingsley pointed at the chair and Wesley returned and sat down.

“What?”

“I want to tell you a story. A short one.”

“Fine. Okay. Tell me.”

“I have loved two women in my life. Only two.” He held up two fingers. “A thousand lovers but only two loves apart from him. The first was a woman named Charlotte. I called her Charlie.”

“Why?”

“I prefer women with men’s names. Satisfies a certain deviant side to me.”

“Of course. Sure.”

“Charlie, beautiful Charlie. One of the more sexually open-minded women I’d ever met. Anything I proposed she was more than willing to try. She was kind, too, caring, treated my staff well, adored me. But after a few months, I could tell she was restless. She wanted more than I could give her. She wanted to travel the world, have grand adventures, while I had to stay in the city and mind the Empire. Before me she’d been tied down to her job, her brother. Living with me in my world gave her wings. And so she flew away.”

“I’m sorry,” Wes said with genuine sympathy. Losing Nora that first time had almost killed him, had killed him for a few months.

“I’m not. I wanted something different than what Charlie wanted. As much as we adored each other, we were not a good match. While grieving over my lost love, I went to Haiti. I met my Juliette and in her I found the other half of myself, the half I thought I’d long ago lost and had learned to live without. Had I never met, loved and lost Charlie, I never would have met, loved and kept Juliette. My loss was the key to my greatest gain.”

“Yeah, when God closes a door He opens a window. I’ve heard it.”

“God or no God, it’s true. Welcome to the real world. Shit happens. You get over it. I don’t even miss Charlie and in my more honest moments I know she doesn’t miss me, either. You grow up. You move on. You find someone new. And for God’s sake, you don’t ask the first woman who lets you fuck her to marry you.”

“Shit happens? Move on? This is your big life advice?”

“It’s good advice. I take it myself. I suffered for years before I found real love with Jules.”

“Real love? If it’s real love, then where is she? I don’t see her anywhere.”

“She would be with me if I allowed it. I sent her away.”

“Romantic.”

“I sent her away for her own good. That should sound familiar.”

“Sounds familiar and stupid,” Wes said, his anger rising. Søren lent Nora to Daniel for a week. He shared her with Kingsley. Kingsley sent his Juliette away for God knows what reason.

“It wasn’t stupid to send Juliette away.”

“Why? Why is it right for you to send away someone you love? Trust me, I’ve been sent away. I know what bullshit that is. Søren tells me I’m paternalistic with Nora because I want to protect her. You act like I’ve committed some capital offense because I want her safe. Why do you get to decide what’s good for Juliette if I can’t decide what’s good for Nora?”

“It’s an entirely different situation. Worlds apart.”

“How is it any different? Why do you get to be paternalistic and I don’t?”

“
Paternalistic
is the right word for it. Juliette is pregnant. And yes, in case you were wondering, it’s mine.”

Wesley couldn’t speak. He just sat and stared at Kingsley. And Kingsley didn’t speak, either. He rubbed his chin with two long and elegant fingers, lines of worry crossing his brow.

“She told me after you and your fiancée ran off together. I received a threatening piece of mail. I couldn’t take any risks with Juliette. I sent her away to keep her safe. That is the one regret I do not have about this situation.”

Wesley struggled to find the words, any words, right or wrong to say. He could only come up with one.

“Congratulations.”

Kingsley gave him a look of profoundest shock.

“Congratulations? That’s what you have to say?”

“Well...yeah...kids are great. What do you want me to say? You’re going to be a father. Congratulations.”

“You aren’t horrified at the prospect of a man like me being a father?”

“I have a little trouble imagining you changing diapers. But you have money. You can hire someone to do that part, I guess. No, not horrified. Why would I be?”

“Because of what I am...what I do...”

“Nora’s like you,” Wesley said, hating to admit it but knowing it would be a lie to pretend she was anything other than what she was. “I don’t think her being kinky means she’d be a bad mom. She’s great with kids. She’ll be an amazing mother someday.”