“No, Evangeline!” you scream across the desert sands.
The two most beautiful women you have ever seen—not to mention, the only two women you’ve seen who maybe truly love each other although one threatens to kill the other, who has set an elaborate trap for the first amid intrigue and adventure in Egypt—snap their heads in your direction.
“Delphine has done all of this to see you again,” you say, working yourself up with the romance of the situation. “All of this—this madness to speak to you. She deserves more than to be put out to pasture like an old dog—”
“Well—” Delphine tries to interrupt.
“Or an old cow—”
“I—”
“Or a very old camel with a broken leg that cannot bear to walk unassisted!”
“Ferme ta bouche, nom de Dieu!” Delphine’s pale features turn scarlet. You smile to yourself. Not only are you helping what could possibly be true love to bloom, you have also managed to annoy Delphine.
“I suppose she isn’t entirely wrong. About you deserving your say,” says Lady Evangeline, returning her gaze to Delphine.
“Then I suppose you should lower your pistol,” Delphine says, arching a perfect eyebrow at Lady Evangeline.
“I will lower my pistol but not my guard. I will speak with you, Delphine, but you know why I haven’t until now. You sold secrets I told you, secrets spoken in the confidence of our bed—”
As she speaks these words, you die, but you live, but you die.
“You took English secrets and sold them to the French,” Evangeline continues. “To Napoleon’s people. You made me forsake my husband, forsake my country and king, and now you look at me with your moon-cat eyes and expect what from me? Impunity? Trust? Love?” Evangeline spits in the sand. You think you might hear Fabien swoon the tiniest bit. You can’t be sure over the sound of your own swooning. You definitely can’t hear him over Delphine’s capital-S swoon, though hers is edged in hot, long-held anger.
“I did sell secrets, yes. And I have no shame for doing so. You told me things your late husband told you, and in turn I told them to certain friends with deep pockets.” Delphine seems so cool, so careless, but you know and she knows and even Fabien knows everything is riding on this one moment.
“Friends with deep pockets who were also friends with Napoleon.” Evangeline says, her voice pure icy fire. A chill spreads across this little patch of desert.
“They could have been friends with the devil himself, and I still would have done it! The money from that commerce helped my father recover.”
“That commerce,” Evangeline spits, “imperiled my husband’s reputation in his dying days.”
Now it is Delphine’s turn to spit. “Your husband! That was a marriage of convenience. He had no interest in you! He only had interest in other men!”
“So?” Evangeline laughs. “We were loyal to each other. We helped each other. Do you have any idea how hard it was to heal the rift your betrayal created between us? We were friends, Delphine.”
“So?” Bitter tears now glitter in Delphine’s eyes, like jeweled scarabs in the sand. “We were lovers. Lovers forgive each other, always. True lovers do. And if you had done the same to me, I would have forgiven you. I loved you. I love you. Love forgives.”
“Love betrays!” Evangeline’s golden pistol slips from her hand into the sand. Tears slip down her cheeks in hot pursuit of the gun.
“Love is sorry.” Delphine drops to her knees.
“Love is foolish.” Evangeline drops to her knees as well.
“Love waits. Love returns. Love grows.” Delphine and Evangeline are like twinned obelisks, serving as markers to the gates of heaven. Fabien and you tremble at the sight of them.
“Love—”
But whatever Evangeline is about to say is lost in a rush of silken kisses that have been waiting an eternity to rule again.
You slump against Fabien’s body, much relieved, and a little saddened. You know you should be happy to have reunited these two lovers, after so much space and time, but—
“You feel used,” Fabien whispers to you. You blink a tear from your eye and shake your head.
“Not used, but—”
“The sidekick. The unchosen.” Fabien’s voice aches with desire for you, and you can feel it course through him—and yourself—like royal blood, or the waters of the Nile, strange, dark, and true. “I wish for you not to feel this way, my lady. I wish for you to feel the full height of your power. The full scope of my desire. I wish to choose you. I wish to choose pleasure. I wish you to choose yourself. Choose your joy. If even for this small speck of sand in the hourglass of all eternity, shall we choose to celebrate our bodies, and each other?”
The man drives a rock-hard bargain.
If you take Fabien up on his offer, turn to .
If you’re really just not in the mood, turn to .