“So, I’m off to a family dinner for Christmas with my dad, and then we’re flying to Italy until New Year’s Eve.” Adonis’s attention was on his phone, texting abundantly.
“That’s great you’ll be able to spend more time together.”
“Right.” He snorted. “He’s just missing his yacht. Sometimes he cares more about it than his own son. Anyway, do you have any plans with your uncle?”
“Of course.” I beamed.
Uncle promised we would eat a Christmas dinner together for once. My uncle wasn’t perfect, but he was my only family left. My father hadn’t acknowledged my existence since the day I was born, and I never knew any of my grandparents.
“That’s cool.” He stopped in front of my building, putting away his phone, which kept on vibrating inside the pocket of his suit trousers. “I guess my dad is getting impatient. Anyway, there is something I wanted to tell you.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
“New Year’s, you and I, we’re going to a masquerade ball.” My lips parted, and before I could ask anything else, he added, “Not negotiable. I’ll pick you up.”
Recreating a formula was an easy task for me. But I’d tried countless times to create a revolutionary perfume, and it always ended up soulless and uninspired. Mom used to say I needed to create a masterpiece. She was right—the world would never be handed to me on a silver platter. If I wanted an empire, I would have to give my whole soul for it.
Truth was, I wasn’t satisfied with any fragrances I created. I erased them. Trashed them. Broke them. I gave all of myself to my creations, drowning my loneliness in them. Scents had shaped my reality—they were my life—and I was laying the foundation of a boring average.
I tucked the fruity fragrance I’d reproduced from my uncle’s favorite perfume inside a wrapping paper, then added a ribbon to my gift when I heard the angry honking of cars on the street filtering in, the wall of my slums cracking, and the old landlady of the building complaining to my neighbors. Madame Laval.Crap.
She was probably grumbling about the way I cleaned the bathrooms. They had to be cleaned often, since none of the rooms on the upper floors, including mine, had toilets included in their chambers.
I rushed to find the keys to my apartment, grabbed my vest, and headed downstairs in a hurry. I’d made a deal with Madame Laval three years ago: I would clean the entire old building in exchange for thechambre de bonneon the roof. This opportunity had given me time to study and to focus on my perfumes.
Plus, my uncle lived just downstairs. It wasn’t that bad. From my window and the ramp of the roof on my balcony, I could peer at the Eiffel Tower when the sky was clear. I’d made a promise to myself years ago that one day, I’d have the world.
I bolted down the wooden staircase carpeted in a vibrant red. Thankfully, Madame Laval was inside the tiny elevator, which was squeezed in the middle of the stairs. I successfully avoided being seen through the metal cages by hiding behind the railing.
Finally reaching my uncle’s apartment, I uncovered the key from under the doormat and unlocked the door. “Hi, Uncle! It’s Lily.”
He didn’t reply. I wandered across the apartment searching for him, wrinkling my nose. It smelled terrible. Probably from the dirty clothes on the floor and the flies near the trash.Uncle Eugene, you’re a mess.
I sauntered past a note on the fridge.
I left you a piece of Christmas log. I’ll probably be late, don’t wait up. Merry Christmas, my Lily!
Not again. He promised. I didn’t think twice before calling him. I waited for him to pick up, my fingers rubbing against each other. One beep. Yet another. I tapped my foot on the floor.
The beeps stopped. I hastened to speak. “Hi, Uncle, where are you?”
“I’m sorry, my car broke down halfway between Normandy and Paris. I won’t be able to be here tonight,” he excused himself. He didn’t seem to be by a highway. There was a din in the background that sounded like laughing children.
Frowning dubiously, I ignored the gut feeling twisting my stomach. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Can I do anything?”
“Did you get my gift?”
Gift?My gaze flicked over to a wrapped gift on the table. “Oh wait, let me see what it is!” I put my uncle on speaker mode, sat on the chair, and tore up the paper eagerly.
Excellence.The last Carmin perfume.
I swallowed my disappointment.
In the face of my silence, my uncle spoke again, his voice laced with worry. “You don’t like it?”
Honestly? It smelled like cat piss with an average formula. There was nothing creative about it and no storytelling.
“Sure,” I lied to not hurt his feelings.
