Dark Chocolate Murder (19 page)

Relieved, Pierre swam alongside her, their bodies moving in tandem with the water and the wind---and each other.

Chapter Fourteen

Back at the hotel, Belinda was towel drying her hair and shaking water out of her ears. 
Her clothes were matted with salt and coarse with scattered sand.  Pierre emerged from a hot shower with a pensive expression on his face.  “Today was fun, Belinda.  Except for the part where you were a rascal and went too deep into the ocean!”

“Now you know better not to dare me,” Belinda shot him the sassy retort.

Unsmiling, Pierre continued, “It was fun, but I think sometimes our conversations should be as deep as the ocean.  Fun is wonderful, but shallow.  I want to talk to you about deep topics.”

Belinda was floored.  With every man in her dating history, she had always been the one to initiate a meaningful conversation.  Generally, the man’s reaction had been to s
quirm like a cornered animal or crack jokes as a defense mechanism.  Daniel’s avoidance tactic had usually been to scramble for the remote and drown her out with the cranked up volume of a football game.  But now, a man was imploring her to dive into a real discussion and reveal private details about herself.  It almost seemed against the natural order of things.  Belinda struggled to formulate a reply.  “Yes, uh, I agree.  We should have deeper conversations.  What did you have in mind?”

“Well, to start with…y
ou know, it’s okay if we talk about our marriages a little.  I think it’s important for us to be able to discuss that,” Pierre mulled his words over as he said them, as though he wasn’t sure if he really did want to broach the topic after all.

“Okay
, we can do that,” Belinda said slowly, even though revisiting the hideous topic of Daniel was the last thing she felt like doing.

“Well, I already told you why my marriage ended.  Juliette was too self-absorbed and obsessed with her career.  She was even upset when she found out she was pregnant.” Pierre’s features
hardened in disgust.

Belinda flinched and said sharply, “I can’t imagine a woman being upset over such a miracle.  My ex and I weren’t
even able to have children.”

Pierre extended a hand to caress Belinda’s cheek, knowing she had just revealed a very painful and persona
l detail to him.  “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

“It’s for the best, though.  I would hate to be tied to Daniel for life, and that’s how it would have been if we had children,” Belinda sighed wistfully.

“Unless he was like Juliette,” Pierre sneered.  “I would hardly call myself tied to her.  She only speaks to Marc twice a year: on Christmas and his birthday.” Belinda shook her head disdainfully but made no comment. “You know, it’s funny because everything started out perfectly with Juliette and me.  We spent our honeymoon in Malibu and went out almost every night in New York City.”

Belinda felt a pang of jealousy hearing about these memories and was forced to be reminded of her roughin’ it Wyoming ‘honeymoon’ with Daniel.

Pierre continued, “But it all ended up as an ugly mess.  She and I can’t even be friends.  And with you and me, here we are on the run and things have had a difficult start, but I believe we will have a happy ending.  I really do, Belinda.”

Belinda was speechless; his sentiments felt like a fairy tale, yet this man was really in front of her.  A happy ending was a quaint idea she had given up on before coming to Monaco and meeting Pierre, but now, it actually felt possible.  She basked in the warmth of his palm on her cheek, leaning into his touch more
and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“
We’re just getting started.  I want to know more about you.  I want to know
everything
about you, Belinda.  Even the little details.  Like, who is your favorite singer?” Pierre inquired curiously.

Without hesitation, Belinda replied, “Anita Baker.  She’s by far my favorite singer!”

Pierre chuckled as Belinda shot him a quizzical look.  “I’m sorry.  That was a joke, right?  It sounded like you said ‘I need a baker.’  You’re always thinking about dessert, aren’t you, sweet stuff?”

Belinda regarded Pierre with amused disbelief.  “I need a baker!  Are you kidding me?  Oh my goodness, Pierre.  You’ve never heard of Anita Baker, the queen of the quiet storm?”

“What is a quiet storm?” Pierre asked blankly.

Belinda burst into peals of laughter as she wondered how to explain the American R&B style of quiet storm to this uninitiated Frenchman.  “It’s a soft style of music.  Very romantic and relaxing, u
sually sung by African American artists.  It’s really divine.  You should listen to it.”

Pierre looked sheepish.  “I think I will.  It sounds very appealing.  Maybe we could dance to it some time?”

“Well,” Belinda cooed, “There is a special kind of dance that goes very well with it…”

“Okay
, it’s settled!” Pierre said eagerly, understanding her implication.  “I’m going to get us an Anita Baker record tonight!  Well, not that we need it…”

She smirked
and reciprocated the question.  “What about you?  Who’s your favorite singer?”

“If we’re talking about French singers, I would definitely say Alain Souchon.” Now it was Belinda’s turn to be confused.  She had never heard the singer’s name before.  Perceiving this, Pierre demystified for her.  “Alain Souchon
is very popular in France.  He sings rock and pop.  He’s been around since the 1970’s.  I have some of his music in the car.  Next time we drive, we’ll listen to Souchon.”

Belinda smiled amiably, but inside she was
contemplating for the first time how different her culture was from Pierre’s.  Neither of them had ever heard of the other’s favorite singer.  What else did they not share in common?  When it came to cultural references, the answer was that they probably shared
nothing
in common.

“Maybe we can meet on neutral ground.  Italy.  The whole world has heard of Andrea Bocelli, right?” Pierre asked brightly.

“Yes, I love his voice! Are you a fan?” Belinda wondered hopefully.

“I am a fan, yes.  See, we have things in common.  You were getting worried that we didn’t, right?” Pierre
challenged.

“Maybe a little,” Belinda fibbed.

“I think we have too much in common!”

“How is that possible?”

“We both have a passion for good food and fine wine.  Food is how we make our living.  We’ve both lived in cultures that are foreign to us.  We’re practically the same age.  You’re just a year older than me, right?” He teased.

“No! 
You’re
a year older than
me
! Don’t you dare rush my thirties away.”

Pierre
tilted his head to one side in open admiration. “You’ll be even more beautiful in your forties,” he assured sincerely.

Belinda silently scolded herself for even considering that they had nothing in common.  As Pierre had illustrated, they shared an abundance of similar traits and life experiences.  Their differences, like language and culture, were merely opportunities for them to teach one another.  After all, Pierre C
édaire
was
every woman’s fantasy French professor.

Entwining her hands in Pierre’s waves, she took him by surprise and crushed her lips against his in a flaming kiss.  His response was instantaneous and instinctive as he sheltered her body
with his, gripping her hips intimately.

“Should we put on an Anita Baker song?” He questioned in a low, seductive whisper.

“Quiet storm later.  Loud storm now,” Belinda replied wickedly, climbing onto the dresser and inviting Pierre to join her.

*****

Pierre and Belinda lay sated in the big hotel bed, cuddling as she had become so accustomed to.  She nestled her head against his hairy chest,
in an intimate nook just above his heart.  Their peaceful moment was shattered momentarily with the ringing of a cell phone.  Reluctantly, Pierre reached for the phone on the nightstand.  He frowned and said, “It’s Nathalie.  I have to take her call.”

“
Allô
?” Pierre spoke into the receiver.  As soon as Nathalie began talking, Pierre’s body tensed and he sat up in bed.  Belinda rolled away from him, watching his face with rising concern.  “Oh no! 
Mon Dieu
! This is terrible.  Nathalie, don’t worry. Yes, of course I’ll come. I’ll be there this evening.”

Belinda flinched as he spoke those last words before hanging up.  She looked at him expectantly, knowing she was not going to like what she was about to hear.  With a dry mouth, she asked, “What’s wrong?  Is Marc okay?”

“No,” Pierre answered grimly.  “She says that Marc has come down with chicken pox.  And he has a fever over 100 degrees.  Nathalie has even quarantined him from Xavier and Mathieu because they’ve never had chicken pox before.  He’s been all alone in their guest bedroom for the past day.  He can’t even play,” Pierre informed glumly, lines of worry creasing his forehead.

“Oh,
that’s awful! Poor Marc!” Belinda exclaimed.

“I know.  Belinda, I have to go to him.  I can’t let my son be sick and not have his father there.  Already we’ve been gone longer than I anticip
ated.  Please don’t be upset,” he urged, scanning her face for emotion.

Stoically, she said, “Of course you have to go to him, and I wouldn’t try to stop you.  But I have to stay here.  There’s no way I can cross the border right now.  You should be fine, though, as long as they still haven’t reported your
name or license plate on the news.”

“No, I don’t think that they have, fortunately.  But Belinda, I can’t just leave you alone in Italy without a car, without anyone!” Pierre battled with his loyalties, feeling obligated to return to his son but compelled to stay with his lover.

“I’ll be fine!  I mean, you’ll be coming back, right?”

“Yes!  As soon as Marc gets better, I will come back and be with you again.  Maybe Jean-Jacques and Crystal can stay with you while I’m gone?” He suggested.

“I don’t need them to babysit me!  Believe me, I’ll be fine.  Just get in that car and go see your little boy.  Because your big girl can handle herself!” Belinda forced a laugh, although she felt desolate at the thought of Pierre being away for even a few days.  She had gotten so used to the man.  So comfortable living as a couple and waking up next to his handsome, unshaven face and heated embrace.  The bed would feel frigid without his warmth, but she could not be selfish and ask him to stay.

“Thank you for being so understanding.  You do have a mother’s heart, Belinda,” Pierre said quietly, squeezing her hand.

Belinda squeezed back, moved beyond words by the sentiment he had just expressed.  “I love you,” she whispered.

“
Et je t’aime aussi
!” Pierre expressed his love intensely in his native tongue.

Interlacing their fingers, Pierre swooped down for an intoxicating kiss that lingered
on Belinda’s lips even after he had driven away and the sky breathed from sunset into twilight.

Chapter Fifteen

The next morning, Belinda awoke reaching across the bed for Pierre.  Reflexively pulling back her empty hand, she remembered sadly that Pierre had driven back to France.  Tempted to bury herself under the covers and give in to self-pity, Belinda fought this impulse and bolted out of bed.  There was no sense spending the day in bed alone.

Filled with hope, she checked her cell phone, but Pierre had not gotten in touch.  She tried not to let her old insecurities get the best of her, telling herself,
he’s with his son.  He’ll be coming back to me soon.  This is temporary!

She jumped up, startled, when the phone rang.  Her excitement turned to dismay as she saw it was just Crystal calling.  “Hello?” Belinda said miserably.

“Is everything okay?  Belinda, you sound terrible!” Crystal said, instantly panicked.

“Oh, I’m just feeling sorry for myself today.  Pierre’s son caught chicken pox, and he had to go back to
France to take care of him.”

“And where are you?!”

“Still in Italy.  Where else would I be?” Belinda replied, smacking a pillow.  If life on the run had ever seemed glamorous to her through the filter of an action movie, it certainly didn’t now.  There was nothing exciting about watching one’s every footstep or weighing one’s every word.  She was becoming more paranoid by the millisecond.  Even as she had just told Crystal she was in Italy, Belinda cringed at the damaging possibility that a third party had picked up that information.

“You can’t be in Italy all alone!  Jean-Jacques and I are going to have to drive there,” Crystal said resolutely.

“No!  Just stay where you are.  Pierre was worried about me too, but he knows I’ll be fine.  And believe me, I’m not good company right now.”

“That’s not the point, Belinda!  The point is that I want to be there for you!”
Crystal sounded exasperated.

“I don’t think that’s a wise idea.  We’ve already
been lucky enough that you and Jean-Jacques haven’t been questioned.  I don’t want to press our luck. If we were here together, we’d be much more vulnerable to getting caught.”