I caught Violet’s eye as she watched Mitch watch Jane.
“Such a waste,” he sighed. “You could have any woman you want. Yet you squander the freedom and power.”
“Tell me if two weeks with Penny would come close to—” I allowed the comment to linger as I continued to try and save the magazine.
He speared a piece of sausage, his eyes turning to stone after he glanced at Violet and Mick’s table. She had her head on Mick’s shoulder; he kissed her forehead, and they both smiled at Peter teaching Paul how to play a clapping game.
“That reminds me,” he said, his teeth sinking into the meat. “I need to call Penny before the night’s over.”
Chapter Seven
Brando
“You don’t mind if I look around? Just to make sure everything is ready for the boys’ stay? Paul is pulling up on everything, opening cabinets, and he puts everything in his mouth—”
“Do your thing, Violet,” I said, placing my bags on the floor at the house on Snow. “I need to pack.”
“Brando.” She looked everywhere but at me. “Thank you. For going shopping with me tonight.”
“I had things to buy too.”
“What I really mean is…” She bit her lip. “Thank you for doing this. For letting him stay here.” In response to my prolonged silence, she looked around the house and then said, “Scarlett really misses it here. This place always felt like home to her. She loves Paris. But it’s not her place. The place her soul feels at ease. She’s not herself, Brando. She hasn’t been since she left. It’s getting worse. I’m worried about her.”
“Start in the bathroom,” I said. “Maggie Beautiful keeps the cleaning products in there. Or in the kitchen under the sink.”
She sighed at my lack of communication. Her phone rang and she jumped, startled. She answered and then mouthedI’ll start in your bathroom. I motioned the way, though she had spent plenty of time here with Scarlett when I first bought the place.
“Why are you up so late? Shouldn’t you be sleeping—oh.” Violet stopped midway down the hall and turned to glance at me. “No.” She brought her voice down. “He was with me. I picked him and Mitch up—they’ve been offshore for two weeks—and then we stopped at the diner for dinner. What’s wrong, Sandy?”
The concern in Violet’s voice carried down the hall and seemed to echo even after she shut the master bedroom door. I followed, instinct pulling me forward. When I came to our door, Violet stood outside of it, the phone to her ear, her face flushed red.
“Hold on,” she whispered to the phone. She moved the receiver away from her mouth. “You should…uh, check the bedroom. There’s a toxic spill in there—too many fumes. I’ll wait out here.”
I narrowed my eyes and pushed the door open. Janet/Jane Jones stood before the fire, naked, turning to me when she heard the door reopen. Her nipples were hard, the swirl of her bright red patch illuminated by the flames. A slow song played in the background, too low for me to really hear the words.
“Brando,” she whispered. “I came to make it up to you.”
I removed my work shirt and handed it to her. “Cover up.”
She shook her head and caressed a nipple with a fingertip. “Not until I get what I want.” She licked her lips, the fire making them glow cherry. “I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”
“If I want a woman, I’ll take her. Not the other way around.” Though in all truth, Scarlett had taken me. I was powerless against her, what she could do to me.
Something in my voice must have caused Janet—hell—Jane to believe the words. Her tongue stopped midway through the trace of her lips. She covered her breasts.
“Cover up,” I repeated, offering her the shirt again. She seemed to understand that I wouldn’t say it again. This time she took it. “Tell me how you got inside of our house.”
The shirt was tight around her breasts; she was having trouble with the buttons. “Maggie Beautiful. I’ve been working with her for some time. I help her clean houses. She asked me to hold the key the last time we came. I forgot to give it back.”
After a bit of a struggle, she stopped fiddling with the buttons. Her eyes met mine, determination in their depths. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Brando. I know—I know I’m not her.” She covered her face, laughing, shaking her head. “You still call this placeours. No, of course I’m not her. I’d never try to replace her. She dances. I sing. I know what she does. And I know what I’m about, too. We’re different—with one connection. You. But maybe we could try for…something?”
One connection? You? What the fu—
She showed me her face again. Her eyes had turned hopeful, or maybe desperate. I couldn’t read her. I didn’t know her. I didn’t have the want or drive to even try.
“I don’t believe in one love, Brando.” She plowed ahead, resolute to see this thing through. “I believe we can have many loves. You had your true love. She’s gone. I’m here. I’ll always be here. We make sense, you and me. Everyone says so. You could…you could make room for me. I don’t mind sharing.”
I fucking do, and it’s not you.
