“Oh,” was all I could manage. I wasn’t sure what I was attempting to get out of him, but I didn’t mean to imply the child was a bastard. However, that did give more credence to my theory.
“She insisted on the name Emory for the son. There is also Emory, who is her grandson.”
“Oh.”
He smiled, something that seemed foreign to the build of his face. The smile was a bit crooked given the plumpness of his lips. He took my hand without preamble, placing my palm against his, covering it with his other. The ballerina ring was hidden from sight.
“I must leave now, Scarlett Rose Poésy, most beautiful dancer, but would you mind accompanying me to a secret dance tonight? I believe you will enjoy the atmosphere. Emory accompanies me from time to time. It is meant for dancers. And those who enjoy dancing.”
We stood that way for a minute or two. The curious nature of his eyes stayed on me the entire time, but all thoughts were on theoldEmory Snow. Did he even know that he had a son? Bigger question, what was I going to do about it?
“Scarlett?” The end of my name had lingered on his tongue in that fluid, breathy French way.Scharlettt.
I blinked and found Olivier Nemours again.
He leaned in closer and whispered the address in my ear. His breath smelled of wine. “Wear something that you would not dance ballet in.” A second later, he disappeared down the street, one hand tucked away in his pocket.
The area where the secret club was located was familiar to me, but I didn’t know Olivier or Emory, or if there was truly an Emory. There was no way that I would miss the opportunity to seek him out. I had to see this Emory for myself. I had to ask him questions.
Colette had agreed to accompany me. The place Olivier had mentioned caused her eyes to lift in a way that told me she was pleased, and then she had grinned, sealing the deal. Colette was the definition of aloof. For something to please her was rare.
After folding Maggie Beautiful’s letters up and the article Emory Snow had sent to me, I tucked them in my bag. I slipped on my Ray-Bans. Time to get ready for tonight.
Chapter Four
Scarlett
Colette and I called a cab to pick us up. This was not the norm for me; I usually rode my bike or walked the city, or if neither would suffice, took the Métro. Since neither one of us was familiar with this place of dance, we decided it was safer to have a getaway car.
The temperature was another consideration as well. Not that the cold bothered me much. I liked the numbing effect it had on me. Colette, on the other hand, had claimed that she was much too delicate of a petal to walk in such harsh conditions.
Olivier had mentioned the dress code, and the clothes we wore were not made for winter. I had decided to stick close to my dance roots, but not traditional: a long-sleeved, black boat-neck leotard with an elastic belt made of black diamond studs and a sheer piece of tulle stretching from hip to hip, which swept the floor with dramatic flare. To add a bit more drama, I used smoky colors above my eyes, glitter below my lower lashes, and a matte pink lipstick. Nude pointe shoes became the finale.
“Scarlett?”
I turned my attention away from the lights of Paris to find her watching me. “Yes?”
“Do you listen to me? Pfff.Chiffres.”Figures. “I remember the name now. Nemours! Olivier Nemours. He is the owner of Sous Rosa.”
“Is Sous Rosa the name of the club?” Sub Rosa in English: something done in secret.
She shook her head, her bright blonde hair glowing in the darkened taxi. “No. Euh. You see. It is not a true club. It is underground, existing within the catacombs. I have only heard about it through the vines. Only the who’s who can obtain a coveted red rose. Occasionally, a guest of the restaurant above will be invited below. This is rare. If it happens, the woman or man is never seen again…well, not by their partners.” She tapped the beauty mark above her lip. “Now. Let me see it.”
“Olivier didn’t give me a rose.”
The cab driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror; I held his eye. He looked familiar but I couldn’t seem to place him. I would’ve remembered speaking to him before. Nodding at me once, he broke the connection afterward.
“Hmm.” Colette pondered the lack of a rose seriously for a moment, bringing my attention back to her. “Pfff. Perhaps he was a fake? This does not concern me. The restaurant is delish. We shall have a good time regardless.”
The restaurant turned out to be an upscale establishment in a building that had probably been there for over two hundred years. A red glow bathed the inside and the crowd of people dining in it. Cool air swirled with wine and exotic spices that drifted from the kitchen.
A woman with a pointed nose and angular face looked us over briefly and then turned back to her companion.Pff!—indeed.
Colette searched the area. “I do not know who I am looking for.”
The moment the words were released, a man clad in black tie strode up to us and bowed. I noticed that half of the patrons stopped whatever they were doing and stared.
“Mademoiselle Poésy.” He stood directly in front of us now. “Voulez-vous voir notre cave à vin?”Would you like to view our rose cellar?
