Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

He had the good manners to not say anything.

Others came out. My men carried Shalimar in that white casket and placed it on the horse drawn carriage—one worthy of a queen.

We walked her to the last place that she would rest. It was all so unfair. I wanted to scream at the sky. Without Eden on one side and Jean-Pierre on the other, I may have never made it to the grave.

Minutes later, we stood around a hole in the earth, ready to be filled with her. Hundreds of red roses covered her white casket. Through the mask, I scanned the sea of black-masked faces. No sun had come this morning—only gray clouds.

The priest murmured a prayer.

I didn’t listen. I never did, when it came to death.

What good are prayers, when they’re already gone?

Everyone remained quiet and somber. No one had been in a good mood anyway. Our fighting with Russians and Kazimir’s bombing had brought a gloom over France.

The President had nicely asked us to take a holiday somewhere else—anywhere else. Jean-Pierre refused to leave France but compromised by getting us out of Paris. Before leaving, we gave millions to rebuild Paris, and we’d be giving millions more.

Still, none of that mattered as everyone stared back at me. I’d worn the mask too. It hid my tears, but it couldn’t conceal the sadness in my voice.

Would it had hurt less, if you’d loved me too, Shalimar? Or would it hurt even more?

I frowned under the mask.

And you never gave me my heart back.

What was a heart anyway? What did it matter if one fell in love? If I couldn’t get the guarantee that the other would love me back, I didn’t want to play the damn game in the first place.

I had her. I had her in my hands. In my arms. I’d wrapped them around her. I’d consumed that mouth. I’d tasted her.

And then I fucked it up.

And I couldn’t get it back. And now she was gone. And we had no more time. And all I had was regrets and guilt. They gathered in the rotting hole in my chest.

At the end of the funeral, everyone slowly walked away.

I remained there.

Several men shoveled dirt into the hole.

The cool breeze twirled leaves near their feet.

Louis got to my side. “You need more time?”

No. Shalimar and I needed more time.

I cleared my throat. “No. I’m fine.”

“Let’s go.” He walked off. “We’ll lift your spirits. I know you miss her.”

I do, and I always will.

I followed. When we made it to the limos, I took my mask off. Louis did too. Cars drove off, heading to the after party.

We believed that one had to celebrate, after funeral. If anything, we were congratulating another person for learning the biggest question to life—what happens after death. Now Shalimar knew, while we walked this earth unsure. She knew, and that was enough to toast to her.

Jean-Pierre stood by my limo.

I didn’t see Eden.

She must’ve already gone inside.

He took off his mask, when I walked up. The bandage showed on his cheek. No one had asked him earlier, when we spotted it. The moment had been too intense.

But now, I shook my head. “What the fuck did you do?”

Jean-Pierre grinned like the stupid bastard he was. “I was proving a point.”

“To who?”

“Eden.”

“That you’re psychotic?”

“And that her scars don’t matter.”

“Something is wrong with you, and that’s a lot coming from me.” I hugged the idiot anyway. “But don’t let her go.”

Not waiting for a response, I moved past him and got into the limo. We were becoming a little new family. Eden sat between Jean-Pierre and I on one side. Giorgio and Louis sat across.

I thought the drive would be silent and sad, but Eden changed that, by telling us the entire story of Jean-Pierre scarring himself. Giorgio found it to be a romantic gesture. Jean-Pierre beamed with pride. Louis called him an idiot. They went back and forth which was always fun.

Sometime in the middle of it, Eden put her arm around my shoulders and leaned her head on me. The closeness felt good. It soothed me.

And I decided in that moment, that Eden was my favorite of all Jean-Pierre’s lovers. None of the others could’ve compared anyway. None had captured Jean-Pierre so much. None had made him so obsessed.

But still it felt good, that I finally agreed with him.

I let out a long breathe. “I like having you around, Eden.”

“I like having you around too, Rafael.”

Still, my heart ached. I needed more than a hug. I needed to be inside of a warm woman. A very soft, warm woman.

Turning the other way, I looked out my window. “Anyone see Gwen there? I sent her plane tickets. It was so many people.”

Giorgio quirked his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because I was wondering if she was coming to the after party.” I rolled my eyes.