The Virgin
They were the same.
Juliette came back to Kingsley.
“You have to leave,” she said.
“I’ll go.”
“Leave for good. Leave me. We’re only making it worse.”
Kingsley leaned back against the door frame.
“I want to have children,” he said to her.
Juliette glanced away from him as if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “So do I.”
“I got someone pregnant, and she didn’t want it.”
“That’s why you’re here in Haiti? You’re grieving?”
“Yes,” he said.
Juliette leaned against him, clasping the back of his neck with her hand and resting her head on his shoulder.
“I want to rescue you,” he said. “Please let me.”
“You’re not a real king,” Juliette said, looking up at him. “And I’m not a princess in a tower. He’s not a dragon. We’re real people and a sword’s not going to solve this problem.”
“I know.” The two hardest words he’d said yet to her.
“I can’t save you. You have to save yourself,” Juliette said. “Go.”
She let him go, took a step back and met his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Je suis desolée. She touched his face and walked off, walked away, following the path Gérard had taken.
And Kingsley was sorry, too.
He left the house and walked back to his car, drove to his hut and stood alone on the beach watching the moon glide across the ocean.
Save yourself, Juliette had ordered. He loved her enough to take that order from her.
Haiti and Manhattan were on the same time. He returned to his hut, and dialed a number.
“Hey, boss,” Calliope said when she answered the phone. She sounded sleepy. He’d probably woken her up. “What’s up?”
“I need you to do something for me,” he said.
“Sure. What is it?”
“Book a flight for me.”
“Sure. Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“France?”
“No. Home. I’m coming home, Cal.”
“Seriously?” The joy in her voice was small comfort, but he’d take any comfort he could get. “When?”
“As soon as you can get my flight.”
He heard clicking in the background, her fingers flying over a keyboard.
“Then guess what?” she asked.
“What?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, boss.”
She booked his flight and gave him his confirmation. Then before she got off the phone he gave her three more orders.
He packed his bags and left nothing behind that would let Juliette know who he was or where he’d gone.
Then he did the one thing he’d sworn he would never do.
He left Haiti without Juliette.
28
Upstate New York
ELLE RAN THROUGH the woods chasing after Kyrie. The girl had played volleyball in high school and she ran like an athlete—fearlessly and tirelessly. She sprinted like a gazelle with her long-legged gait, jumping gracefully. Elle pursued her deeper into the trees, following the sound of her laughter, the rustle of leaves.
At the far end of the abbey’s grounds stood a small marble oratory hidden among a cluster of trees. Elle hadn’t stepped foot in it yet, but Kyrie said it was her favorite place to pray. They weren’t planning on praying much tonight.
When she reached the oratory, Elle stopped and looked around. It was night and the moon loomed large above the trees. The spring night was crisp but Elle wasn’t cold even though her breath hung like a cloud in the air whenever she exhaled. After running she had to wipe sweat off her forehead. She had on jeans and a T-shirt but no shoes. They’d both run like hoydens through the woods, heedless of twigs and stones and the cold ground. Angels must be watching tonight. Neither one of them had tripped in their flight from the abbey to the chapel.
But where had Kyrie gone?
“Kyrie?” Elle whispered. Her voice coiled around the trees and sprang back to her own ears.
“Boo!” Kyrie said from behind her. Elle spun around and caught Kyrie by the forearm before she could run off again.
“You’re terrible at hiding,” Elle said, pulling her close.
“I am not terrible at hiding. I’m wonderful at being found.” Kyrie kissed Elle on the mouth and laughed.
“Why are you running from me?” Elle asked.
“Because I want you to catch me.”
“I caught you. What do I get?”
“I have a present,” Kyrie said.
“For me?”
“For you.”
“Is it wrapped up in a white bow?” Elle tugged on the ribbon on Kyrie’s white nightgown. It tied under her breasts and when loosened would allow the gown to fall off her. She wore no socks, no shoes, no veil. Her blond hair hung loose and wild around her shoulders. In the moonlight she glowed like a candle, and Elle followed the light to its source, kissing her on the mouth as she held her in place. Kyrie would not get away from her again.
“Come inside,” Kyrie said against Elle’s lips.
“I plan to.”
Elle pushed Kyrie against a tree and kissed her even harder. She yanked on the bow of Kyrie’s nightgown and pulled it down her shoulders. In the cool air, Kyrie’s nipples had peaked hard and Elle bent her head and ran her tongue over them until Kyrie moaned. She loved making Kyrie moan, making her gasp, making her come. Pleasuring this girl had become the raison d’être of Elle’s entire existence.