Page 47 of Sinful Beauty

“So you had an open marriage with parameters.”

“Every marriage has parameters, open or not. If you ever settle down, you’ll learn that for yourself.” She steps forward and smooths a hand over the light merino wool sweater I threw on over a pair of jeans. “If you would come with me to brunch, we could talk about your plans. But you would need to change.”

“It’s Saturday morning. My attire is suitable.” A flicker of hope brightens her eyes. “But I have a guest this morning.” And if all goes well, I’ll spend my day with her.

She points a nail toward the elevator button.

“I think you should leave him.”

She pulls her hand back.

“I think you’ll be happier. You live separately. It can’t be healthy to live—” I stop myself from finishing the sentence. I was about to accuse her of living a lie. But that’s not really what I mean. I just…I know that my father’s choices hurt her. She won’t admit it, but I know they do. I feel her pain. She doesn’t have to stay with him.

“I am happily married to your father.” With determined finality, she pushes the button and the doors slide open. The discussion is over.

I step into the garage. She stops and holds out that long nail like she’s remembered something quite important.

“That assistant you’re playing around with. The Brazilian girl?”

“Lucia.”

“She’s smart. A good worker and a company asset. Don’t do anything that makes her leave. Nelson won’t forgive you. It would disrupt his world if she left. She keeps everything together for him. Do you hear me?”

I nod and rock back in my fleece slippers, feeling like an adolescent being reprimanded.

She shakes her head back and forth, muttering as she walks. “I ask him one thing. Stay away from the assistants.”

She gives me one last stern look, and I bite back a smile.

It’s a quick ride to my flat, but the moment the doors open, I sense Lucia’s gone. The place is quiet. Empty.

I set about packing an overnight bag. Within an hour, I’m at her door. An older man with salt and pepper hair and a solid white beard is outside with a tiny dog. The dog barks and growls, but his short little tail wags back and forth.

I nod in the man’s direction while he speaks to his dog in French. The dog continues barking, but it’s such a small dog the noise is high pitched and lacks the ability to intimidate. To me, the man says, “Sparks fancies himself a guard dog.”

There’s no buzzer for me to press to alert Lucia that I’m here. I assume Spark’s owner might live here.

I’ve called her mobile, but she hasn’t picked up.

“I’m here for Lucia. Do you know if she’s home?” What I’m really asking is if he’ll let me in. Knocking on a street level door when she lives in the attic won’t be effective.

“She knows you’re here?”

Before I can answer, the front door opens and an older woman with an apron wrapped around her waist peers out. She doesn’t speak, but it’s clear she heard the dog and is curious.

“I’ve called, but can’t reach her.”

“And who are you?” The woman asks.

“My name is Tristan.”

“I’m Noah. This is my wife Emilia. Emilia, you know if Lucia’s home?”

“She’s home. I’ll ring her.”

She disappears back inside the house. I understand they made accommodations for rentals in this unit, but I think they forgot an important component by not including a way for someone to inquire about those living in the upstairs units.

“What do you do?” Noah asks. In another ten to twenty years, I could see him playing the role of St. Nicholas.

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