Page 27 of Shades of Red

“Chérie,” I scold, looking down at her with a scowl on my face. “Don’t lie to me.” I stroke my knuckles over the bruises. “Did someone hurt you? Do I need to gut someone and use their entrails as sausage casings?”

“No, of course not,espèce de psychopathe. I fell. I’ve always been clumsy. Hell, the first time I met you I had blood on my knees from slipping on my bike, remember?”

My frown deepens when she mentions the first time I saw her hurt. I tend to get suspicious when girls have a lot of accidents. My stepmom had a lot of accidents, until one day sheaccidentallyfell down the stairs and broke her neck. Then my sister started having accidents instead. I want to press Aurélie on it, but she seems determined to shutme out. Maybe I’ll have to pay a quiet visit to her father and make sure he’s treating his little girl the way he should be. If not, it might be time fordaddyto have the same sort of accident that befell my father when he took things with my sister too fucking far.

“Okay, if you say so,” I reply, doubt thick in my voice. I lean down until my lips are brushing against that sensitive spot behind her ear. “But if I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll give you worse than whoever gave you those bruises.”

She shivers under my touch, and I’m almost certain my twisted girl is at least half-enticed by the idea of me hurting her. I can only hope she hasn’t grown to enjoy pain because she’s only ever been shown the kind of love that hurts.

My bed wasempty when I woke up the next morning. I fell asleep with Aurélie in my arms and woke to a note written in red lipstick that she had to go and didn’t want to wake me. I didn’t take it personally on the first night. Or the second night. By the third, I started to think that I’d found the only girl in Paris so afraid of attachment that she spent her nights walking the streets alone at midnight. And after three weeks of waking up to a cold bed, I’m starting to think Ishouldtake her rejection personally.

I rush toward the open doors of the kitchen, fixing the skewed buttons on my white uniform as I go. The restaurant is deserted. Beneath the dark cover of early morning, I would typically be considered more than punctual. But at five minutes after six, I’m late to look over the morning produce with Aurélie. I usually sleep like shit, never staying in bed past five, so I’ve never needed an alarm clock. But for some reason, sleep slips in like a thief in the night when I’m with her, and yesterday night I had the best sleep I’ve had in ages.

I hate waking up without her tucked against me where she belongs.Tonight, I might just use one of my ties to fix her to the bed, and then she can’t leave. The idea of her naked and trussed up puts a smile on my face as I sweep into the kitchen. My smile falters as soon as I turn on the lights and see the restaurant isn’t quite as deserted as I thought.

There’s a girl bent over the pristine white counter, her legs spread wide and her familiar golden hair fanned out over the marble. There’s a man behind her; he’s tall and well-built with dark hair and a distinctly French tan to his skin. He’s got one of his hands wrapped around the back of her neck and the other between her thighs. A more studied glance reveals that her panties lie on the ground in a puddle of red lace. I recognize them because they match a few other pairs that have been scattered around my apartment during the past several weeks spent in a love-drunk haze.

For a single, blissful moment, my mind can’t process what I’m seeing. Those panties aren’t familiar because they belong toher, and there’s no reason formy girlto be bent over the counter while another man fondles what’s mine. But slowly logic starts to erode the pretty little fantasy spun in my head like spider silk, and reality takes its place. The girl sprawled out on the counter is definitely Aurélie, although I don’t have a flying fucking who the dick is with his damn fingers between her perfect legs.

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask, my voice vibrating with fury. I clench my fists at my sides as I eye the very enticing row of sharp tipped knives at the nearest prep station. I tamp down the urge to see how easily they can slide into skin. Some of those knives can even cut bone. It’s lovely, really. All that red.

The two of them swear in French as they right themselves. The man seems furious as he jerks Aurélie’s panties back into place and holds her against his side. His hold is possessive, one hand wrapped around her wrist, the other digging into her hip. I recognize the dominance in the gesture; that’s how I fucking holdmygirl too.

“Aurélie?” I say, unable to keep the sharpness from my tone. Her name used to taste like champagne on my tongue, sweet and intoxicating. Now, it tastes bitter as I see her in the arms of a man she seems very familiar with. I reach for her, but she shrinks more into the man at her back. The gesture feels forced—her body pulling away as her periwinkle eyes beg for me to hold her.

“Blaise,” she says to the well-formed man beside her, her voice trembling. “This is Grey, one of Matis’ chefs. Grey,” she pauses like she knows what she’s about to say will shatter me, “this is my husband, Blaise.”

Which it fucking does.What. The. Fuck.It’s only when the man scowls at me that I realize I’ve said thatout loud.

“Excuse me?” the man asks in offense to my slip, his English heavily accented.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble listlessly, trying to read whatever Aurélie is blaring at me with her pretty blue eyes. At the very least, I can discern that we probably shouldn’t discuss how she and I have been fucking like depraved maniacs for the last few weeks. “I just didn’t expect to be meeting Aurélie’shusbandin the kitchen today.”

Her small sigh of relief is the only sign that I haven’t fucked up as I keep talking. “We’re meant to be managing inventory today, and I was already late this morning. Don’t you just hate when things don’t go according to plan?” I ask with a laugh that sounds almost genuine. I’m not sure that the husband buys it.

“Tout à fait,” the husband agrees with a touch of menace.

Aurélie bites down on her lip before trying to match my lighthearted mood. “Yes, it was such a surprise when Blaise came home from his work trip a few days early! I just couldn’t say no when he asked for a tour of the restaurant this morning. I hope you don’t mind the small inconvenience, Grey?”

“Not at all,” I retort through gritted teeth, still trying to paste afake smile on my face while my head is reeling. She’s married. I’ve been falling for this girl all summer, and she’sfucking married. And she was going to play us both for fucking fools.

“I thought it was time to see what all my money has purchased,” the husband,Blaise, offers in explanation.

“Money?” I ask in confusion. This prick is apparently connected to the restaurant, and I haven’t heard his goddamn name mentioned once.

“Yes, Blaise is the main investor in Dix,” Aurélie answers, her red lips twisting with guilt.

“Matis had the vision, but I had the fucking euros,” Blaise chimes in. “He guarantees me it will be the most successful restaurant in Paris in six months. We’ll see if his fantasies hold up to hard figures.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about the restaurant whereyour wifemight be made sous chef,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.

He laughs. It’s a terrible, cloying sound that grates at my nerves. “Mon chatonwill never be made sous chef. She just begged me to have a little fun in the kitchen when I had plans to be out of the country for most of the summer, and I allowed it.” He smiles at me conspiratorially as his fingers dig harder into Aurélie’s side. “She’s just so convincing when she’s on her knees, if you know what I mean?”

Yes, I fucking do. And I hate him so much for getting to see her in that position that I want to cut out his eyes with the dullest butter knife I can find and feed them to him on a piece of baguette like a tartine with faisselle and jam. “I can imagine,” I answer finally with a touch of acid.

Blaise’s expression goes dark and dangerous a moment before he masks it again. “Well, I need to speak with my wife for a moment,” he says, his hold on Aurélie turning harsh. “And then I’ll let you two get to sorting vegetables. Now that my traveling for the season is over, I’msure we’ll be seeing more of each other, Grey.”

“Can’t wait,” I snap, not even trying to mask my distaste for the man holding the girl I came inside of less than twelve hours ago like he owns her. Which I suppose he kind of does. If anyone is the dick in this situation, it’s me. I’ve been fucking his wife all summer while he’s been away. The thought makes me feel filthy—and not in a good way.

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