27. Pain Perdu
PAIN PERDU
*gets its name from bread that has been discarded.
I woke to a pale London morning light filtering through slits in the blackout curtains, my body pleasantly sore in places I’d never known existed.
I was also extremely warm, although a quick glance down my body informed me that was because, once again, I was wrapped up in Lucas Lyons.
His arm draped across my waist, heavy with sleep, his breath was deep against my neck.
Through the warmth of his chest pressed against my back, I thought I could feel the steady thump of the heartbeat that had lulled me to sleep last night.
Bits and pieces of the night before washed over me.
My sudden (or maybe not so sudden, given the last few weeks) decision to knock on his door naked, of all things.
The way he’d kissed me once he realized he was, beyond a shadow of doubt, what I wanted.
The gratitude that shone in his eyes when he moved inside me.
And the way I’d completely broken in his arms, shattered into tiny pieces that he managed to put together in his calm Lucas way, even while shattering himself.
Only when it means something , he’d assured me while wiping tears from my eyes.
So it meant something to him, right?
He had said so, in the beginning.
It certainly meant something to me.
Even now, it was hard to imagine a world that existed beyond the man whose arms held me so tightly, even in his sleep. Who called me his “Sweet Marie” and cradled me like someone precious even when he took me like an animal.
Admittedly, I was spiraling. And badly in need of a reality check.
In ten days, you’ll be back in New York , I reminded myself. Back to the real world, where he was Lucas Lyons, CEO and patriarch of one of the wealthiest families in America, and I was Marie Zola, the cook above the garage.
Right now I might feel giddy and even close to that four-letter word I didn’t even dare to think, let alone say. But when we got home, there would be acres of distance between us.
The sooner I accepted the fact and enjoyed the next ten days for what they were, the better.
“Come here, sweet girl.” Lucas mumbled something in his sleep, squeezed my waist, and kissed my neck before his breathing fell back to normal.
Okay, that was going to make that reality check a whole lot harder.
Fortunately, there was at least one person in my life who definitely wouldn’t be mad if I woke her up in the middle of the night with news about my new status as no-longer-a-virgin. And she would also be more than willing to tell me exactly what to expect after.
Carefully, I extracted myself from Lucas’s arms, trying not to wake him.
In sleep, the harsh edges of his face softened, making him look far younger than his forty-one years, and I had to fight not to slide right back into bed with him and wake him up with kisses over the tiny, relaxed lines above his brow.
God, he really was lovable.
No . I couldn’t think that way.
At least…not yet.
I tiptoed out of the room and across the hall to Sofia’s room, where I pulled on the robe leftover from the onsen, grabbed my phone, and padded down the hall and up to the rooftop before I dialed.
Joni answered on the second ring. “Mimi?” Her voice was groggy and rough. “Are you okay?”
“Hey, Jo, yeah. Sorry to wake you up. I’m okay. I just…”
“What happened?” She wasn’t my twin—not quite—but sometimes the ten months between us really felt like nothing.
I sank onto a bench between a flowering hydrangea and a jasmine bush and pulled the edges of the robe around me to ward against the chilly morning air. “Nothing. And, well, kind of everything.”
There was a long pause followed by sounds of rustling movement when she got out of bed, shushing Nathan on her way. “Go back to sleep, babe, it’s just Marie.”
“Jo?”
There was a sound of a door opening and shutting.
Then: “You slept with your boss, didn’t you?”
My jaw fell open. “How did you even?—”
“Mimi, please.” Joni’s voice dropped into the smug, singsong register that had always driven me crazy.
“There is exactly one reason you would be calling me at this ungodly hour. One thing that would freak you out enough to ask for my advice over our four older siblings, one of whom is in your freaking time zone. You gave that shit up, didn’t you? ”
I groaned, pressing my palm to my forehead. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” she chirped back. “Was it okay? Are you okay? It was him, wasn’t it? The scary boss man, not the pretty fuckboy?”
“Lucas isn’t so scary. And yeah. It was…more than okay.”
There was another long silence before a loud squeal that almost pierced my eardrum. “Oh my God, you did it! You finally had sex! I have been waiting for this day for years and years and years !”
“Please don’t say it like that.” I glanced toward the roof’s entrance, as if Lucas might have actually heard her and come to check. “It’s sex, Joni. I didn’t get a Ph.D. or anything.”
“How was it? Did it hurt? My first time hurt like a motherfucker. Was he at least gentle about it, or did he ram it in there like a toilet plunger?”
“Joni, oh my God!”
“Did he make you come, at least, beforehand? Did he hold you, or was it from behind? Ooh, did he make you come during ? Don’t tell me that happened, or I might really have to fly to London to cut you. Did he?”
My silence apparently spoke for itself.
“MARIE!” my sister shrieked loud enough that I had to hold my phone away from my ear.
“You had an orgasm your first time, you bish! Do you even know how lucky you are? It took me three months and a very determined showerhead before I knew what I was missing, and then I had to teach that sorry jerk how to do it.”
“Joni, please stop.”
“No! This is historic! Lucas Lyons needs a freaking trophy, or at least a billboard in Times Square. Or, on second thought, maybe not, since you probably don’t want to advertise to the women of New York that your man is worth the earth and has a magic penis.”
“Joni!”
“Marry him,” she rattled on. “Don’t come home. Don’t even leave the bed wherever you are. Just stay there and screw his brains out until he puts a ring on that finger, all right?”
I slapped a hand over my face. “Don’t say that. Don’t even joke about that. He’s not my man, and I’m not his wife, and oh my God, Joni, it was just the one time.”
There must have been something in my voice.
“Hey.” She was much calmer now. “Are you okay?”
I shoved my hand back through my hair, uncaring of the way it was likely standing all over the place after sleeping on it wet. “I’m fine. But, Jo…” I swallowed. “Is it normal to feel like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like I can’t think about anything but him. Like he’s in my skin. In my head. Like if I don’t run back to that bed right now and wrap myself back up in him, I might actually fall apart?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Is this…love?” I felt like a fool for even asking.
“Oh, Mimi.” Joni heaved a big sigh. “I’m probably the wrong one to ask.”
“But you and Nathan…”
“Nathan wasn’t my first time. Not by a long shot. You know that.”
I didn’t ask her to elaborate. I’d heard all her stories about her exes over the years, and I doubted she wanted to repeat any of them now.
Still, I had to know.
“Just…was it like this for you? The first time?”
Another silence, heavier now.
“In a way, yeah,” she admitted. “Not as good, obviously. But I was so young, and I remember feeling desperate, you know? Like I couldn’t get him out of my blood.” She sighed, and I could hear the weight in it. “But Shawn was bad news, Mimi. He used that shit against me. You remember.”
I closed my eyes, my chest tightening with guilt. I did remember—mostly because she had been just so young when it happened. And shitty sister that I was, I had judged her for it instead of stepping in. I was too scared to do anything. Always too scared.
“I’m not saying this to freak you out,” Joni continued. “But…yeah. You might want to be careful. Don’t give pieces of yourself to someone who doesn’t know how to keep them safe.”
My heart ached, but not with fear. With understanding.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you more,” I blurted out. “Back then, I mean. I didn’t understand. I didn’t really know.”
“It’s okay. We’re here for each other now, aren’t we?”
“Yeah. We are.”
There was another pause, warm and heavy, before my sister’s voice perked up with a wicked grin I didn’t even have to see to feel. “Finally, I have someone to share all my sex tips with!”
“Oh God,” I groaned. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Babe, you need me now. I have charts. Techniques. So many things I can teach you?—”
“Goodbye, Joni.”
“You’re welcome, Mimi!” she called as I pulled the phone away, still cackling. “Now go seduce your billionaire with a yummy breakfast. He’s gonna need it after burning all those calories.”
By the time I was back in the apartment, I had decided that Joni had actually given me some good advice. I wasn’t a master at seduction—not by any means. But people did say the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and that seemed to be true on Lucas’s part.
I rustled around the kitchen until I found enough ingredients to make pain perdu —otherwise known as French toast.
Cooking gave me something to focus on besides the ache between my thighs and the way my heart raced every time I thought about Lucas’s heated words.
That’s it, sweet girl. You’re doing so good. I knew you’d be perfect at this.
I pressed my thighs together, surprised by how my body responded to the memories.
I’d never understood before why people made such a fuss about sex, but now, standing in this sun-drenched kitchen with the scent of Lucas still lingering on my skin, I got it.
I wondered what else we could do together with our bodies.
Whether he would like it if I used my mouth on him.
Whether he would make that same groan. What he would taste like.
I moaned a little myself as I set the coffee in a press to steep.
But it wasn’t just the physical pleasure, though that had been revelation enough. It was the intimacy of it, the trust he’d earned and used to make us both feel so good.
Joni was right, I decided. I was lucky.
More than that, I didn’t want things to end once we left London.
I wasn’t sure exactly how they would work once we were back in New York, but my heart told me I could trust Lucas to find a way.
After all, he had so far, hadn’t he?
I was whisking eggs when his phone, left on the counter the night before, buzzed loudly, followed by a ding.
Then it rang out again.
And again.
At first, I ignored it. Lucas fielded works calls and messages at all hours, so the fact that his phone was going off early wasn’t particularly surprising. But as the ringing continued, I started to worry it would wake him. God knew he didn’t sleep enough as it was.
I moved to silence the phone, but as I picked up the device, the screen lit up with a preview of the messages, all of them from Winnifred Lyons.
Daniel is refusing to do what’s needed. He keeps talking about his little chef.
My hands began to shake as I stared at the screen. More messages appeared in quick succession, each one driving the knife deeper into my chest.
Have you taken care of the problem?
Is she in love with you yet?
If not, maybe it’s just better to leave her there.
Just set her up with a job in London or Paris or wherever the little urchin wants to work.
MY SON CANNOT BE IN LOVE WITH THE COOK.
Tell me where you are. We need you to fix this ASAP.
The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the marble counter with an echo through the sudden silence. I stared at the dark screen, my mind struggling to process what I’d just read.
Have you taken care of the problem?
Is she in love with you yet?
The problem. That’s what I was to them. A problem to be managed, handled, and disposed of like an inconvenient business complication.
And Lucas—Lucas had been sent—or maybe he’d sent himself—to “take care” of me.
To make me fall in love with him so I’d forget about Daniel.
Render me too confused and heartbroken to pursue the son they’d already deemed too good for me.
Every tender moment from the night before replayed in my mind with sickening new clarity.
Lucas’s gentleness, his praise, the way he’d looked at me like I was the key to the entire world he’d always wanted.
All of it calculated. All of it a performance designed to manipulate my feelings, to use my inexperience and loneliness against me.
You are the one I want to do this. If you’ll have me. If I’m safe with you.
Had I actually said that? Had I looked into his eyes and whispered those words while he was hovering above me, right on the precipice.
I had. And he’d answered, You are only safe with me .
I pressed my hand to my mouth, fighting back the nausea that rose in my throat.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have believed that someone like Lucas Lyons could actually want someone like me without an ulterior motive?
I’d bounced from one brother to another like some pathetic, desperate girl, completely oblivious of the games at play with an older man.
Oblivious that it had all been a lie.
My son cannot be in love with a cook.
Well, at least Winnifred Lyons wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.
Moving on autopilot, I set the whisk aside. My hands were steady now, which surprised me. Inside, I felt like I was splitting into pieces, but my body seemed to understand what my mind couldn’t yet fully accept: I needed to get away from here. Away from him. Away from everything about him.
I crept back down the hallway, past the bedroom where Lucas still lay sleeping, one arm flung across the space where I’d been.
His dark hair was mussed from my fingers and sleep, and there was still a faint red mark on his neck I didn’t even remember leaving but was clearly in the shape of my mouth.
The sight of it made my stomach churn.
It also made my next actions that much clearer.
I closed the door, went across the hall to dress quickly in a pair of jeans and a cardigan, then shoved everything else in my bag before grabbing my purse to make sure I had my essentials.
Every movement felt surreal, like I was watching someone else go through the motions. Passport? Check. Toiletries? Check. I stared at the towel I’d left on Sofia’s floor. The girl who had stripped naked and offered herself so boldly felt like a stranger now.
Or maybe, I thought as I rolled my suitcase down the hall, she’d never existed at all.