Chapter Five
T he apartment was on the top floor of an old Haussmann-style building a short walk from the Bonne Nouvelle metro station.
Not that the woman would be caught dead taking the metro.
Mathias had been here several times and hadn’t mentioned anything to Rayan.
It felt like something that was better left separate, an unnecessary imposition to burden the man with.
After all, that was how Mathias had always viewed her—as an unnecessary imposition.
He knocked on the door and, within moments, heard the purposeful clip of heeled footsteps. He smelled her first, the waft of perfume that conjured a lifetime of splintered memories. She’d worn the same scent since he was a child.
Marguerite smiled when she opened the door, as though expecting him. Which couldn’t be the case, because he never told her when he’d be in the city.
“Mathias,” she said, holding the door open. “Come in.”
Six months after he’d left Montreal, his mother had reached out to him in France.
He’d given her a number in case she ever needed to make contact—a number he had hoped she would never use.
She’d been distraught over the phone and told him there was nothing left for her in Canada.
After forty years, she wanted to come home.
The move had been simple enough to arrange.
He’d used a company to relocate her things and found her an apartment in her old neighborhood in Paris.
When she arrived, he went—albeit reluctantly—to collect her from the airport.
There was something humbling about her when she stepped out into the arrivals area of the terminal.
It was one of the few times he’d seen his mother truly disheveled.
She appeared panicked until she spotted him and then reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly, the closest thing to an embrace Mathias could remember.
After that, he’d come to see her a handful of times when business brought him to the city. She’d returned to her polished ways, but the humbleness hadn’t left her. It was as if his leaving had shattered her and she was attempting to put herself together anew.
“The humidity has been horrendous.” She stood at the sink, filling up the kettle under the tap. “I’d forgotten how hot it can get in early autumn.”
Mathias flipped through the newspaper she’d left out on the kitchen table. “Hmm.”
“How’s the work?” she asked as the kettle boiled. The work was code for whatever he did that allowed money to appear in her bank account each month—the nature of which was not up for discussion. “Business is good?”
She wrung her hands in this new way of hers—this altered version of his mother, who asked questions and listened attentively and always seemed to be watching him. The sudden interest was jarring. Mathias wasn’t sure he liked it any better than her self-absorbed prattling.
“Same as always.”
“I have some of those pastries you liked.” She withdrew several spiral-shaped Danishes from a brown paper bag and placed them on a plate, which she ferried over to the table. “When you were little and we came here, you’d pick out the same ones in every bakery we visited.”
Mathias stared at them. They didn’t look familiar. He couldn’t recall ever having liked pastries, or sweets for that matter. Then again, there was so much from those ill-fated trips that he’d blocked out.
His mother stood, looking on expectantly.
“I’ve eaten,” he said.
They sat and drank their coffee, and his mother spoke of reconnecting with old friends and visiting places from her childhood.
She seemed more at ease than when he’d first arrived, the flutter of panic receding.
When he was done, she walked him to the door and stopped, reaching up to brush a stray piece of lint from the shoulder of his jacket.
Mathias’s first instinct was to recoil, a deep-rooted reaction that he had to rein in carefully.
The gesture of familiarity was alien, like she was playing the part of the doting mother and he the obliging son—although neither of them knew much about that particular performance.
“Who is she?” his mother said with a knowing smile, her blue eyes catching his. “The girl that’s brought this out in you? I’ve never seen you so…” She trailed off, the word floating in the air.
Happy? Mathias thought ruefully. Has she ever seen it in me so as to recognize it now?
“Goodbye, Mother.” He turned to leave, and all the things that remained unspoken stretched between them.
Mathias hailed a taxi from outside his mother’s apartment. It was late afternoon, and knowing Elise, they wouldn’t be done until the museum closed for the day. He had the driver drop him off at a bar several streets from the hotel and went inside for a drink.
The city had gotten under his skin. He was irritated, unsettled. His mother’s comment was lodged in his mind, and he kept returning to it, unsure why it rankled. These days, it felt more and more like he’d become someone else entirely.
By the time he left the bar, it was early evening, and the streets were backed up with cars.
Not wanting to sit in traffic, he decided to walk the remainder of the way to the hotel.
As Mathias approached the hotel entrance, he saw Elise and Rayan standing on the sidewalk with a young man who was pacing restlessly.
Mathias didn’t recognize him. He was thin and wore all black, his hair dyed silver at the tips.
His face was screwed up in a caricature of fury, and he kept jabbing a finger at Elise.
Then the man stepped forward and shoved Rayan in the chest. Mathias felt the sharp edge of anger and quickened his pace toward them. He watched Rayan’s face harden. He’d seen the expression earlier when the souvenir peddler had approached him in the gardens, and Mathias knew what came next.
“Theo, back off!” Elise cried, stepping between them.
Theo’s eyes swung to Mathias, who’d arrived on the sidewalk beside her. “And who is this?”
“The better question is, who the fuck are you?” Mathias stood over Theo, a good head taller than him, but the man didn’t back down.
“Oh,” Theo scoffed, turning to Elise. “So you’ve got two going at the same time? I mean, I knew you were easy, but this is just pathetic.”
“Oh my God,” Elise whispered, her hands clenching at her sides.
Mathias felt the dull thud of an encroaching headache. He despised the inane flavor of human drama. This dumb kid had his wires crossed, and Mathias refused to waste another moment on their moronic interaction. There was an easy way to clear this up.
“Come, chéri ,” Mathias said, looping a possessive arm around Rayan’s shoulders.
Elise’s mouth went slack, and the hostility on Theo’s face stalled, his eyes narrowing in confusion as Mathias angled Rayan toward the hotel’s revolving door.
“Take care of this, or I will,” he said to Elise as he passed.
They walked to the front desk, and Mathias got a room, not bothering with two—they were done with that fucking charade. Stepping into the elevator, Mathias hit the button for their floor. He and Rayan stood in silence as the doors closed and the elevator lurched upward.
“Chéri?” Rayan said finally, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
Mathias snickered. “You’re far too easy to please.”
He leaned over and pressed his lips chastely against Rayan’s.
The man grabbed the back of Mathias’s jacket and pushed against him, the kiss becoming anything but chaste.
Mathias soon had him against the back of the elevator, one hand on the wall above Rayan’s head, the other slipping beneath his shirt.
The elevator came to a stop, letting out a melodic ping, and Mathias straightened so that they once again stood side by side.
The doors opened, and an elderly couple walked in smiling politely . “ Bonne soirée. ”
Mathias returned the greeting while Rayan tugged at the hem of his shirt where it had come untucked. Mathias took a secret pleasure in his flustered appearance. Rayan had never been as practiced as Mathias at remaining composed.
When they got to the room, Rayan sat down on the sofa across from the bed and kicked off his shoes. “Who was that?”
Mathias dropped the keys onto the table by the door. “No doubt another of Elise’s mistakes.”
“I was about to knock his teeth in.”
Mathias tutted. “So violent…” He walked over to the sofa, and when Rayan looked up at him, Mathias felt the air shift.
“You’ve never called me that.”
Mathias slid his shoe into the space between Rayan’s feet on the carpet and pushed them apart, spreading the man’s legs.
He knew now why his mother’s observation had bothered him—it was disarmingly apt and, at the same time, entirely misplaced, seeing and not seeing.
It had dislodged a feeling of rebellion he didn’t fully understand.
Rayan began to rise, but Mathias put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back against the sofa.
He reached down to unbutton Rayan’s shirt and splayed it open to reveal the smooth plane of his chest. Then Mathias knelt between his legs and tugged Rayan’s pants below his hips, the man’s cock springing free. Rayan made a noise in his throat.
“Like me on my knees, don’t you?” Mathias drew his mouth across Rayan’s bare chest and brought his teeth down on his left nipple.
Rayan gave a slight jerk and a murmur of pleasure, and Mathias traced his mouth lower to the feathering of hair below his navel.
He smelled of soap and the lingering scent of Mathias’s cologne where it had rubbed against Rayan’s skin as though marking him.
The thought sent a surge of blood to his cock, and Mathias reached down to free it from his pants.
Rayan moved to slip the jacket from his shoulders, but Mathias pushed his hand away, concerned only with the man’s arousal, which curved ardently toward his stomach.
Kneeling in a Brioni suit. I have well and truly lost my mind.