Jezebel (25 page)

Chapter 33

Annabelle

“Wish the best for you. Wish the best for me. Wished for infinity.”

~ Infinity, The XX

“Gabriel is going to lose his shit,” Annabelle laughed. “All that money, he’s going to flip.”

Jezebel gave her a curious look. “Do you think so?” Jezebel asked.

She took a sip of water from the glass set out for her before answering. “Yeah, I mean he wants globs of it and the notoriety that comes with it and here Celeste is about to go and give it to him and he doesn’t even have to put in the work. She’s about to make him the happiest man alive,” she explained.

Jezebel studied her cuticles for a moment before bringing her gaze back to Annabelle’s. Shrugging she said, “Sometimes, it isn’t the money people dream of but being recognized for something that
brings
money with it.”

“So he’s going to be mad?” Annabelle asked.

“Not at all. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been,” Jezebel answered.

“What does that mean? He either was or wasn’t,” she said, pushing Jezebel for an answer. Jezebel stroked the chain of her necklace softly. She looked at Annabelle but she didn’t think she actually saw her. Her eyes were fixated on something far away.

“I think our time is up for today,” Jezebel said.

Annabelle made a face and looked at the clock. “We have thirty minutes before I have to leave,” she volleyed back.

“I have an appointment dear, have to cut our visit short,” Jezebel said.

Annabelle watched her stand up and rummage through a drawer mumbling to herself. Irritated at Jezebel’s clear dismissal she stood and scooped up her purse while jamming her feet into her shoes.

“Whatever, I’ll see you next week,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, yes kiddo, next week,” Jezebel called over her shoulder without looking at her. Annabelle rolled her eyes and stomped out of the suite and down the hall.

“Whoa!” Mark said and caught her by the arm as she attempted to stomp past him. “What’s the issue?” he asked.

“Jezebel,” she grumbled.

Mark laughed loudly, “What did she do this time?”

Annabelle shrugged. Nothing, she’d done nothing, not really. Annabelle was in a rotten mood in general and even her visit with Jezebel hadn’t helped relieve that today. “Nothing. She did nothing,” she said. Her shoulders slumped. Mark stuck his arms under her limp ones and lifted up and down. She pouted as he flapped her arms like wings.

“What are you doing?” she squawked.

“Making you look like a fool.” She scrunched up her nose and stared at him, arms still flapping. Looking left, then right, she noted she
did
look like a fool. In the middle of the hall her arms flapped loosely and Mark stood facing her moving her arms like it was nothing. She tensed her arms and bore down trying to stop the movement but Mark was stronger. She gave up trying to push down as he thrust upward. Her arms jerked up and she squealed as her purse flew off her wrist. Mark raised one eyebrow at her. She wanted to scowl but he looked so adorable and she . . . she looked, so . . . ridiculous.

Annabelle let a huge grin consume her face and laughed. They stood there together flapping their arms and laughing until she couldn’t breathe and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. In her peripheral vision she noticed Jezebel’s head poking out from her room watching them with a grin.

~
***
~

Brant,

Hate to be the bearer of bad news but our mom is an asshole. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m about a thousand things that I can’t even begin to express but I’m all of them. She left. Did you hear me . . . SHE LEFT!

She wrote Dad a note. A NOTE. Me too, actually. It pretty much said nothing. It just said-nothing. I’m sure the death of your child will drive you to do crazy things but seriously-eight freakin’ years later? Why not right after you were taken from us? Why not that first year? Why try for so long only to give up and bail. What was the point of the last eight years?

I hate you right now, too. I hate you for leaving me here alone to deal with this. I hate . . .

As the sun finally sank over the horizon Annabelle was bored and restless. She sat cross-legged on her bed with her laptop open on her legs. She closed her computer and lay back on her bed. Emptying her mind, she slowed her breathing and focused only on the beating of her heart. It struck hard, almost audibly. She breathed deep again but the pounding only grew louder. Groaning she raised a hand to forehead and called out, “Go away!”

“Belle, love, it’s me, can I come in?” her father said in his most ingratiating voice. Of course it was him, who else would it be?
Her mother?
she scoffed silently. What a joke.

“Why?” she answered. She heard him try to laugh but the sound didn’t come out quite right.

“Belle, yes or no? Are you decent?” Annabelle laughed, low and throaty, at his question.

“Yeah Dad, I’m decent,” she called out and promptly rolled her eyes.

The door yawned open and her father stepped over the threshold. She tilted her head to the side and her dark hair fell over her forehead, veiling her eyes. Annabelle looked at her father. Disappointment was more and more etched onto his face as time passed and her mother didn’t return. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking very much like a boy who’s just had all his fun spoiled. A cold, hard fist of anguish in the pit of her stomach made her cringe. She rolled over on her side so he could no longer see her face.

“Belle . . .” he started. She felt the mattress shift as he sat on the bed.

“Uh huh?” she offered.

“I thought, maybe, we could do something?” he said softly. Annabelle rolled over to face him.

“Do something?”

“Yes. See a movie? Go to dinner?”

“Why?” she asked. Her father sighed and dragged a hand down his face.

“We should try Annabelle,” he said.

“Try
what?
” she answered.

“Try to be a family,” he said. One hand absent-mindedly clenched and unclenched at his side and she wondered if he truly wanted to try or was just doing so because it was expected?

Annabelle thought about his offer, his suggestion. Did she even want that anymore? In two months she would be packed and moved into her dorm at college, free to turn a new page and be the kind of person she wanted to be. Happy, free, grounded in the present instead of trapped in the past.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she answered.

Her father stared at her a beat before standing and nodding. He heaved a sigh, and left her room, shutting the door quietly behind him. For a brief moment something like guilt hit her but it passed quickly. Madison was due to arrive with pizza any moment. Cracking her neck, Annabelle yawned and pushed herself from the bed to head downstairs.

~
***
~

“Hey,” Annabelle called as she stepped through the threshold into Jezebel’s suite. Music was cranked up loud and Jezebel stood at the window watering her plants and swaying her hips in time with the rhythm.

Jezebel whipped around, shook her shoulders and grinned at Annabelle. “Hey is for horses,” she said. Jezebel crooked a finger at her and beckoned her over. Annabelle rolled her eyes before casually making her way to the window. “Look at that,” Jezebel sighed, pointing to the view from her window.

A lush garden in all its summer splendor bloomed below in the courtyard. Bright reds, oranges and purples, and lush greens filled the space symmetrically.

“It’s pretty,” she said.

“It’s pretty?” Jezebel mocked indignantly.

“Yeah,” she said.

“That’s it? Look at those colors . . . the symmetry. The way the sky looks impossibly brighter blue against the flowers.”

“Alright, it’s beautiful. Better?” Annabelle asked giving Jezebel a lazy smile.

“You. Are. Hopeless,” Jezebel answered as she walked to the stereo and turned the music to a low din before sitting in her chair and sweeping her hair up into an effortless loose bun. Annabelle rolled her eyes at the woman before following her lead. “How was your week?”

“It was good. Madison came over a couple of times. I cooked dinner for Mark one night. He met my dad, finally,” she said.

“Oh? How was that?”

Annabelle tucked herself comfortably into her chair. “Good, I think. I mean Dad asked all the perfunctory questions, Mark answered, and we ate,” Annabelle said.

“That sounds promising.”

“Oh! And, weird, Dad asked me if I wanted to do dinner and a movie with him. Alone. Together,” Annabelle blurted.

“Why do you say that as if it’s strange kiddo?” Jezebel gave her a curious look.

“Because it is.”

“You won’t know that until you actually do it,” Jezebel answered.

Annabelle shrugged. “I guess, but we haven’t done anything together in years.”

“You haven’t been happy in years either, do you think it’s strange to want
that?
” Jezebel asked.

“No. Point made,” she said before lifting her hair from her neck and securing it in a ponytail. “Do you have any random appointments today that will cut our time short?” Annabelle snickered.

“Touché dear. No. I do not.”

“Good, then let’s get crackin,’” Annabelle replied. She settled back into her chair and waited.

“Very well. Paris, nineteen ninety-four,” Jezebel said. Annabelle studied Jezebel as she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths before diving in.

Chapter 34

Celeste

Paris 1994
April

Celeste headed to Gabriel’s favorite café. She wanted to tell him about the meeting with Taylor over delicious food. She parked a block away from the café, the closest spot she could find, and walked briskly to her destination mulling over the absolute craziness of her morning. Who the hell was Dr. Basle? For a man she thought she knew, knew well, she was beginning to think he had a lot of secrets.

Her breath caught in her throat as she entered the cafe. A hollow feeling overcame her.

“We need another sample,” Monique said as the two of them waited in line to place their lunch orders. Celeste stayed put just behind the display case that blocked her from her husband’s view.

“Shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll bring one in tomorrow,” Gabriel answered casually.

Celeste watched. They stood close.
Too
close. Something in Gabriel’s smile announced his intentions, and Monique responded in kind with a bright smile, her cheeks rosy as she laughed at something he said.
La vérité va sortir (the truth will come out),
Celeste thought. Monique’s belly was swollen just enough to notice. Gabriel’s hand reached out, his fingers spread wide, feeling his very single assistant’s pregnant stomach.

Celeste turned on her heel and bolted from the cesspool of activity without being noticed. Her heart splintered as she sprinted to her car. If she had known she was about to enter the gates of hell she would have chosen to remain blissfully unaware. But like the inescapable pull of gravity, there was nothing she could do about it now. Perhaps it wasn’t what it looked like. Perhaps, Monique was dating someone and Gabriel was merely excited to somehow be a part of a pregnancy. Any pregnancy. Her heart and throat constricted painfully as she slid into the driver’s seat. Slamming the car door shut she cranked the engine and peeled out of her spot needing the comfort of her home.

She had watched the sky change from the yellow cheer of afternoon to the soft oranges of dusk and into a cool navy night. The key made a turning sound that echoed severely in the silent house. It was nearly midnight. She peeled her heavy body from the restraints of her refuge and walked down the stairs. It felt like the longest journey. What would he say when she told him?

Gabriel’s eyes never left her, his feet rooted to the floor of the foyer, his face drawn tight, lips flat as he watched her approach.

“Where have you been?” Celeste asked. Her heart thumped, kicking her ribs as her fingers gripped the polished rail secured to the stairs. Gabriel swallowed and took a breath. She took a step forward, thinking if she could touch him, if she could reach him, if only—but Gabriel took a stride backward, keeping the distance between them. Her hand fell and hung limply at her side. There it was. Clear as day. Muddy and cold and rotten—like his deceit.

Gabriel’s expression softened. “Work, as always.”

She laughed then, loud and punitive. Celeste knew every curve of this man’s lips, every expression of his face, and the moment she laid eyes on him tonight, she had known. It was in the tilt of his head, the angle of his shoulders. Before, she had been living with eyes wide open but somehow fast asleep; not anymore. He was lying to her. She wanted to hide, to turn away, to run . . . but something held her there, something kept her from running.

“Gabriel . . .” her voice faltered. “I stopped by the café to pick up lunch for us. You were already there though.” The planes of the face she loved so much sharpened as quickly as they’d smoothed, and he spun abruptly and walked into the kitchen without a word. Celeste closed her eyes as her pain stretched out before her in agonizing silence.

Unable to quell her anxiety or face her husband, Celeste walked ten steps forward, yanked the door open and walked through it. She jumped in her car at just past midnight and drove out to her former employer’s home. Not a light was on as she approached, and a fresh wave of grief engulfed her. Too many thoughts and emotions competed for her attention but she shoved each one away, unwilling to face any of them. How had her life been turned so upside down? How would she get through this? Would he go to Monique now seeking solace-a shoulder to cry on? Would he worry about her and stay put?

The thought of Gabriel’s infidelity made it hard to breathe. She couldn’t get air. He’d refused to admit verbally to anything but she didn’t need him to. She could see it written all over his face, pronounced in his posture. Her heart was alone, shrouded in darkness as she pushed through the kitchen door of Dr. B’s house and let the tears come. Silently walking to the study she let her thoughts wander dangerously. She entered and stood stiffly, taking in the mess that needed to be cleaned up before the funeral and subsequent gathering here.

“My God, what has happened to my life?” she sobbed and collapsed into one of the stately wingback chairs adorning the room. She looked up to the ceiling and said a silent prayer that the baby wasn’t Gabriel’s. She could overlook his betrayal, his infidelity-but she couldn’t overlook a child. Gabriel was her sun. Her gravity. She’d thought she was his as well. The pain cut deep, a dull knife dragged through the very core of her.

Alone in a safe place she let the tears come. She hung her head and cried for her marriage. For Dr. B. For the dreams and hopes that somehow slipped through her fingers.

“Cece,
fiore mio,
I’m right here, you’re not alone.” Matteo’s deep soothing voice cut through the silence. Celeste turned her head marginally. “What’s got you so upset?” he asked, kneeling beside her. She stared into Matteo’s handsome face and felt a tug in her chest. Her Matteo. Always there. Always true.

“Gabriel, he . . . today . . .”

Her voice faded. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud. She didn’t want to make them true. She didn’t want any of this. “What are you doing here?” she asked instead of saying those dreadful words poised too closely at the tip of her tongue.

Matteo sighed and rubbed the top of his head. “I’m having trouble sleeping. I thought I’d get a head start on making this place presentable.” She wanted Matteo to wrap his arms around her. She craved comfort.

“Well that makes two of us,” she said despondently and looked away. She couldn’t bring herself to ask for what she needed.

“Let’s just focus on the study tonight,” Matteo suggested.

Celeste nodded her head and Matteo offered her a hand up from her seat. “I’ll grab some trash bags,” he said. When he was out of sight, she spun around taking in all the items they needed to clean up. She busied her mind. An envelope stuck beneath Dr. Basle’s chair caught her attention, for a second time. That had been there when she found him. Partially tucked under the area rug and partially stuck beneath the foot of his chair it seemed odd. She walked on numb feet to the last place she had seen the doctor and bent to retrieve it.

She turned it over in her palm. A familiar FogPharm logo adorned the top left corner. What business did Dr. B have with her parents’ company? Matteo appeared at her side. She looked to him, hoping, on a whim, that he would have an explanation.

“What’s that?” he asked. His breath tickled her neck and a shiver ran through her.

“It was stuck under his chair. I noticed it when I found him but in all the hubbub forgot about it,” she answered. She ran her fingers over the penned
Dr. Basle
in the recipient location.

“FogPharm?” he asked hesitantly.

Celeste nodded. “I know. Strange.”

“Monique visited. Maybe that’s why,” he said. At the mention of her name, Celeste cringed and fought tears back. If she never heard that name again it would be too soon. It would make sense that Monique had been here if it had to do with her family’s company. “Open it,” Matteo urged.

Celeste tore open the envelope judiciously and withdrew the contents. Unfolding the paper, she stared at a printed table full of numbers. The column headers read: Child, Maternal Grandfather. The bottom of the page showed a percentage rate followed by 99.9996% probability.

“Matteo?” Celeste called out bewildered.

“Celeste,” he breathed, taking the paper from her. He pointed to the
Child
column, under it a date: Celeste’s birthday. “That is Dr. B’s birthdate. And yours.”

“I don’t understand,” she mumbled. She stared harder at the print on the paper as if it would suddenly speak and tell her the secrets of the world. What would prompt Dr. B to think such a thing? How did he get a DNA sample to even test with? Endless thoughts barraged her mind. Too many conflicting emotions; betrayal and hurt, grief and sorrow. Bittersweet agony coursed through her unabashed. Her mind raced and spun until she felt lightheaded.

“Cece, this DNA report says you’re without a doubt his granddaughter,” Matteo stated. He rested a palm on her lower back to steady her as she swayed slightly and blinked. What the hell was going on?