A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

“Get the fuck out. We’re done.” His voice was low, weary.

She stared at his stony profile, stabbing him with her eyes. “You will always want me,” she declared, smoothing her tousled hair back into place with long, bony fingers. “You will always take me back––because I give you permission to do what no other woman will!” Snatching a compact out of her Chanel purse, she checked her work in the mirror. “We’re not done. We’re not even close to being done.”

Stark silence. Her words didn’t seem to warrant an acknowledgement from him. That sparked more outrage. Her blue eyes narrowed and her face reddened. She tossed the compact back into her purse and slammed it shut. And after an awkward moment spent waiting for an apology that never came, she stormed out of the room, heels clicking all the way down the hall.

He stood motionless for a long time afterwards, mastering his breathing, staring at the door with a faraway expression. As he tucked his shirt back into his pants, his large hands trembled, betraying his cool exterior. Then he took a small prescription bottle out of his pocket and tossed a pill into his mouth. I was lost in thought, speculating about the pills, when his head suddenly snapped up. Wearing an expression that vacillated between bewilderment and anger, his perceptive eyes scanned the area. I froze, anxiety and fear converging in my gut.

Please, please, please go away!

He took a step forward and my mouth went bone dry. The moment seemed to last forever but then, just as suddenly, he turned on his heels and stalked out of the room.

I sat there shaking for a full hour before I ran back upstairs and dove under the covers. It was impossible to sleep after that. All I could think about was the scene I had witnessed.

Who was that woman? The line for this man probably wrapped around the globe. So why was he sleeping with her? He threatened to cut off his privates for God’s sake! What pills was he taking? And why did he look so lost when he thought nobody was watching? I wanted to know all his secrets and he seemed to be hiding quite a few. And my reaction to him was troubling. I didn’t understand where this strange attraction was coming from. I wasn’t some stupid, empty-headed twit taken in easily by superficial attributes. Adding insult to injury, there was no question that I had a profoundly opposite effect on him. After spending the better part of the night analyzing it to death and still finding no answers, sleep finally claimed me sometime around dawn. Only later would I realize that I never did get those books.

Chapter Six

Being A new employee I was obligated to work on weekends and holidays. I didn’t mind––I never slept past six anyway. I never really slept well at all until arriving here. I pushed the linen curtain aside, opened the window, and was greeted by a carpet of anthracite grey clouds that threatened to wash the day away.

A chill blew in that made the delicate hairs on my arm stand up straight. The gaunt, waif look I had been wearing for weeks was slowly fading. I could finally look in the mirror without being horrified by the dark circles under my eyes and the sharpness of my cheekbones.

Mrs. Arnaud made it her personal crusade to fatten me up like an Easter lamb. Daily, she plied me with enough gastronomic masterpieces to make the most committed ascetic lose their religion. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it would be a miracle if I could gain just a couple of pounds, having been cursed with an overly ambitious metabolism that incinerated anything I placed in its path, nor did I want to dampen her enthusiasm to feed me.

I gathered my long, straight hair into a high ponytail, applied a little salve to my generous lips, and brushed the lint off of my navy uniform. Halfway down the stairs, I heard the low rumble of a familiar male voice and stopped in mid-step. He’s back.

The air in my lungs left me all at once. Mrs. Arnaud mentioned he had gone to London on a business trip. I hadn’t seen him since that night in the library, four days ago, but it hadn’t been long enough. I was still embarrassed at my reaction, flushed just thinking about it.

When his determined footsteps echoed out of the kitchen, I continued down. I found Mrs. Arnaud preparing a tray of paper-thin crêpes with fresh strawberry sauce, a few slices of honeydew melon, and a tall glass of the putrid, green drink. “Bon jour, did you sleep well?” she asked in her usual sunny timbre.

“Yes, madame.”

Isabelle walked into the kitchen flipping her long auburn hair over her shoulder. Her cool gaze traveled from the top of my head to my feet while her mobile mouth curved into an insincere smile.