Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

For about an hour, Jean-Pierre showed me around.

There was three buildings on the huge estate—the mansion, servant quarters, and guest cottages.

The mansion was three levels. Hand-in-hand, Jean-Pierre led me through every room and floor, describing the history of this and that.

His mother had bought the property and designed it. She’d decorated the property with bright colors and adorned it in the highest standards of luxury. It was all white and possessed an elegant design.

Here, there was splendor. Nothing over the top. Marble floors and sparkling chandeliers. A fully stocked library and wine cellar. From the rooftop terrace, there was a breathtaking view over the sea. There was a summer kitchen, in addition to the regular one controlled by the main chef. On the outside, an outdoor lounge stood complete with a barbeque area, two pools, a small waterfall, and an oval hot tub with turquoise water.

Wow.

That evening, we had dinner with his aunts. They told me some of his childhood stories and threw a few in of Rafael. Both had me laughing.

It took me several hours of trying to remember everyone’s names, but I was sure I had them memorized. Aunt Aimée loved roses. She wore earrings and two large diamonds in the shape of them. Anytime Jean-Pierre came close to her, she tussled his hair like he was a wicked little boy. Aunt Delphine had married six times. They’d all died a few years after each wedding. She’d reminded me about it six times during the dinner, explaining everything that each man had left her. Aunt Océane smoked marijuana. I could smell it on her, and she’d asked me if I wanted a joint later that evening. I’d declined, still wanting to get a feel of everybody, before I just started getting high and partying around them. And then there were the twins, Aunt Camille and Aunt Charlotte. They had the most outrageous stories of romance. Somehow, they’d always lived together through it.

At one point, Jean-Pierre whispered to me, “Is my family scaring you yet?”

“No. I love them.”

His aunts left us alone for the rest of the evening. With full stomachs, we strolled his property. The moon hung above, readying itself for the eclipse. Almost full, but not there yet.

The calm sea was a dark slate along his property. Little boats scattered out further at the neighboring mansion’s dock.

Jean-Pierre squeezed my hand. “What do you think of my family so far?”

“I think that they are very nice and patient with my horrible French.”

“Be happy that you can’t perfectly communicate with my aunts yet.”

“Why?”

“They would be hassling you for children.”

“Already?”

“They know how serious I am about you.”

My heart warmed. I glanced in the other direction, so he wouldn’t see my blush. It was hard to not feeling like a crushing schoolgirl around him.

No regrets.

Chapter 4

Surprises. Surprises.

Eden

The next day came with a big surprise. For the first time since we’d been sleeping together, Jean-Pierre woke me up and showed me the sunrise. It tickled me to no end. I had actually decided to sleep in that morning.

It was always amazing starting the morning with him.

He kissed me. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“When I’m here, my aunts expect me to eat breakfast with them.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“They like you.”

“How can you tell?”

“They’ve left me alone. Usually when they don’t like the woman, they bother us to no end, knocking on the door.”

A little shy, I asked, “Have they met a lot of your women?”

“No. Just two.”

I didn’t like that he loved before me, but that was a normal part of life. “Who were the two?”

“The first time, I was just eighteen. I thought I was in love. I brought her down from Paris. I never should have. The poor girl rushed back home, crying the whole time on the train. She hadn’t been here for more than an hour.”

“What happened?”

“My aunts and mother ran her off.”

“Those lovely women downstairs?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “The fact that you think they’re lovely means a lot.”

“And what about the second woman?”

“My ex-wife.” Jean-Pierre sighed. “They didn’t like her either.”

“Then, I feel honored.”

“You should. My aunts have good taste. I’m glad to finally be on the same page with them.”

I blushed for the hundredth time since being here.

We headed downstairs for breakfast.

While I thought Jean-Pierre had an extravagant life in Paris, it didn’t compare to the one he led here. Everyone on the estate adored him like he was a king.

He took my hand and guided me into an outside dining area overlooking a beach. I hadn’t even realized this part of the mansion had been there.

Jesus. This place is massive.

He yawned. “Let’s go eat. I’m sure the staff put together a little something.”

Jean-Pierre’s concept of a little something equated to a royal feast. Coffee and tea. Champagne and freshly squeezed juice. High end and top brand. Massive portions of bacon and eggs. Stacks of croissants. Bowls of fruit and anything else that one could imagine, roasting and steaming. Cooling and simmering. All from their garden on Jean-Pierre’s estate. All smelling delicious. All served on thick china plates and heavy silverware probably ageing over a hundred years old.