“Who is that? You know I detest poets more than you detest opera.”
Arabella’s heels clack on the floor as she steps deeper into the space. Her hand grazes the metal balustrade of the stunning spiral staircase leading up to the second level. Her brow arches again as she points to the stylised crosses in the metal. “This design is familiar.”
My heart hammers against my chest.Of course she would notice that.
“Er… the design team has borrowed inspiration from many periods in history.”
She frowns. “Whichperiods of history, Gideon?”
“Oh, you know, all the highlights. The Black Death, the Sack of Rome, that time when early humans were painting blobby antelope on cave walls with their fingers.” I throw up my hands. “The Belle Époque.”
Arabella folds her arms.
“Fine. If you must know, I designed this particular piece.” The words rush out of me. “It’s the same design from the railings at La Petite Mort. From the VIP floor, overlooking the stage.”
Arabella’s shoulders tighten. Something that might’ve been grief flickers in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can claim it.
“You have an excellent memory.” She wraps her fingers slowly around the balustrade, one at a time, until my tongue has stuck to the roof of my mouth.
I wait for her to berate me or brandish a testicle-chopping knife, but she merely nods her head at me and moves deeper into the house. I follow her as if she’s the one giving the tour.
As we continue through the house, I point out more features that have my clients so enraptured with Sanctus – the wet bar with special storage for blood. The comfortable feeding room with built-in sound system and views over a picturesque stream. The dressing-room with the custom inbuilt cabinets she requested. The bathroom with its clawfoot golden bathtub.
Arabella studies it all with detached indifference. If I didn’t know her, I’d think she found it all boring.
But Idoknow her. I know that inside that perfect skull of hers, she is plotting,scheming.
And when she accidentally-on-purpose brushes against me as we exit the closet, I know that some part of her scheme has to do with me.
Why is she torturing me?
I know why. Her acerbic teasing, her touching me, and that incredible outfit… This is all about revenge.
Maybe she’s simply trying to show me what I missed out on, what I can never have. Given how tight my balls are and how I have to keep adjusting myself to hide my erection, it’s working.
But Arabella won’t be content with that. If she blames me for her theatre burning, she won’t stop until she burnsmydream to ashes. And Sanctus is too important for her to ruin it over a vendetta, especially when the Conclave have me in their sights.
So where does that leave me?
It leaves me utterly at the mercy of the woman I once loved.
7
Gideon
Then
Little Prince, I have work for you. A furniture store owner named Jean-Luc hasn’t paid his debts. You know what must be done. You are to go to him during the day and leave your message on his sleeping form. He may have sold his bed, so he sleeps in some unconventional way.
Do not fear him, but do not visit him after sundown.
Lucien
IHURRY ALONG THE BANKSof the Seine. I’m late. Already the sun dips below the horizon. But I slept too long and when I wasn’t sleeping, I lay in my bed, conjuring the sultry eyes of one Arabella Macquart.
My boss, Lucien, is still sleeping off his night in our luxurypied-à-terre, along with his other two bodyguards. This isn’t unusual – I’ve never seen him up before sundown. He conducts his business at night, meeting his clients in private clubs or entertaining them at the opera, while I do his more unsavoury work during the day. Usually, I sleep while they party, but last night, Lucien had wanted to “treat” me for my good work.
There’s only one treat I want from Lucien – to have my brother back.
