Dree stole away to the bathroom with her phone and checked for messages.
Her sister Mandi had texted that a lot of money had been deposited in her bank account, and her relief was palpable in Mandi’s texts and updates about Victor.
Sister Ann’s text said that Father Thomas had driven by Peaceful Transitions Hospice, and he was confident his previous description of the minimal facility had been accurate.
Dree couldn’t bring herself to call the police just yet. It wasn’t that she was trying to buy time or that she was trying to cover up what Francis had done, but she just wasn’t sure how to describe it. She didn’t know if she was right or whether she was making things up or seeing something where there was nothing. Maybe Peaceful Transitions had downsized and moved into smaller facilities when the insurance companies had changed their reimbursement policy three months ago. Maybe they had a whole bunch of smaller places now instead of one more substantial building.
Dree was desperate to believe that she could explain this away, but she knew that soon, if she couldn’t come up with some reason not to, she had to call the police.
Later, though time had no meaning until Sir said that it did, supper was delivered before they had to get ready to go to the ballet.
He told her to wear the gray dress with the swishy hemline like a can-can dancer and no panties, and she did.
Chapter Twelve
Edging
Maxence
She wasn’t wearing panties.
Maxence was sitting beside his little blonde, Dree, in their box high above the crowd at the ballet.
Three empty seats stood behind them, and one to his left. He’d bought all six seats in the box, of course, because security was still a problem. He couldn’t decide who the more significant threat was, the enraged Mafia boss or his own brother.
Not that there weren’t other possible dangers.
Under his borrowed tuxedo, Maxence’s skin felt wind-burned. He rubbed his palms together as he watched the ballet. He whispered to Dree, “Are you enjoying it?”
“I know I’m an American, so maybe I’m just a little prudish. The French are far more sophisticated than we are,” Dree said. “But doesn’t this ballet seem a little—erotic—to be out in public like this?”
“It’s about love.”
“Yeah, okay. But, I mean, they’re sliding all over each other. It’s beautiful, and wow, they’re amazing. But I’m pretty sure that guy likes his partnera lot.”
Max leaned toward her, practically resting his chin on her shoulder. Her fluff of hair smelled like herbs and flowers. “The four gardeners, they’re essentially playing the role of Cupid. They grow love, not flowers. They allow each of the couples to bloom together.”
In truth, watching the ballet dancers, most of whom wore thin leotards or tights, leaping into each other’s arms and tilting their heads together made Maxence ready to take his little blonde home and throw her on the bed again.
But he knew she wasn’t wearing panties.
And no one else was in the box with them.
Upholstered walls divided them from the other audience members in the other boxes and afforded them some privacy. A safety wall in front of them blocked the audiences’ view below their waists.
There was a reason why he had reserved one of the boxes on the top row.
He gathered her skirt in his fingers, inching it up. Its hemline crawled up her calves. “Don’t look down. Watch the ballet.”
She did, and her breathing rose higher in her chest.
He told her, “The ballet is called ‘Le Parc,’ and a young French choreographer did the choreography for it. The three acts take place at three different times of the day, and the three duets are three different scenes. The first one was playful love outdoors in the park in the morning. These are the honorable men who are chasing the women among the trees at dusk. The last act is the lunatic women who must accept the men’s embraces at night. The ballet is very French, and it’s about the myths of French culture. It’s as much about Choderlos de Laclos’Les Liaisons dangereusesas it is about Buñuel’s masochistic filmsCet obscur objet du désirandBelle de jour.It’s not about growing up but about emotions awakening.”
His fingers reached the end of her hemline, and his fingertips brushed her bare thigh. The fragile silk of her dress caught on the heavy calluses on his fingertips.
A shiver ran through her body that he could feel where his cheek was touching the side of her face. “I feel like I’m the young ingenue, and you’re the older, sophisticated European intent on debauching me.”
“You’re right.” He bent his neck and dropped a kiss on the upper part of her shoulder that the neckline of the dress left bare and slipped his hand lower on her leg. “Cross your legs.”
