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Chapter4
Knight
I was drunk. Stars spinning overhead. Could barely pronounce my name. Rip-roaring drunk. And it felt like the world was fucking right-side up for once.
I gazed at the curved ceiling, clutching a bottle of Corban wine to my chest. The smoke lines were always going to be visible. Superficial scars were the least of my problems.
It was a good thing I owned a vineyard. Well, ran the vineyard for now. One day it would be mine. All of this would be mine, including the empire in New Orleans. That was decades away. There was no point in dreaming about something intangible.
The bottle was empty. So was the other one rolling on the floor a few feet away. I started to push myself up off the floor, but I fell backward with a thump. It wasn’t worth the effort to move again. I resigned to stay where I landed.
After a few weeks I was used to nights in the tunnels. Alone. There was something eerily comforting about the cool damp space underground. I brushed off the nightly chill by drinking more wine. Call it research. I was well-versed and familiar with every type of wine and champagne produced at this vineyard. I’d acquired a taste for the reds. Enjoyed the whites. Was ready to experiment more with the blends. Wondered how long the rose boom would last.
I was still checking off inventory after the fire. I didn’t trust anyone after the fire had been set. I didn’t consider it paranoia, only a security measure to keep a first-hand account of every bottle of wine that was stored. I’d crack open one bottle and then another. By the time I finished, it was too late to catch the train back to Paris.
I’d started hauling a duffle bag to Epernay on Mondays and then stayed at a bed and breakfast until Friday. Paris weekends had become my reward for working all week on a charred champagne cellar. It was the carrot I dangled in front of myself to get the job done.
“Shit.” My head throbbed. I let go of the bottle. There was a hollow echo when it spun out of my hand.
It was Wednesday. I fished in my pocket for my phone.
I winced when I heard it slide onto the floor. I had probably scratched the screen. I pulled it close to my face to read the time. It was 10:30. Only 3:30 in New Orleans. It was hard to keep my eyes open, but I clicked on her account anyway. Why not kick myself while I was already down?
My heart beat a little faster when I saw her face. It was a simple picture. The sunlight burst through her hair, catching the auburn streaks. She was sitting at the pool. I recognized the cabana in the background. I closed my eyes, remembering what we did in that cabana. How she whispered my name while she came on my fingers. Fuck. I’d give anything to get that back. To be in New Orleans with her now.
I scrolled to the next photo. I smiled at the wistful look in her eyes. Things were different with her. She no longer posted party shots or tagged everyone. Kennedy was more cautious. There was something reserved about her expressions in all the pictures. It didn’t matter if she was drinking coffee by the docks or sipping wine at sunset, the playfulness was gone. I couldn’t find a trace of it in her entire feed.
I groaned. Enough fucking torture for one night. I put my phone away, knowing I’d check for updates in a few days. I hadn’t been able to stay away from that one lifeline no matter how hard I tried.
I still couldn’t explain the willpower I had when I flew home for Seraphina’s wedding. I made sure to extinguish any chance of lingering minutes. I didn’t give myself five extra minutes for anything. The entire wedding weekend was booked with parties, tux fittings, toasts, and getting my brother-in-law drunk. If I stuck to that plan, I wouldn’t have the time to call Kennedy.
I was on another plane back to France the night of the wedding. It was better for both of us that way. There was nothing but pain in store for Kennedy and me.
I felt my lids grow heavier. I gave in just a little bit more. Fell deeper. Surrendered harder. Let the sleep take hold so I could dream about Kennedy in the only place where she was safe.
“Damn it,” I muttered, stretching on the hard floor. I realized my mistake. It cost me all the feeling in my left arm. I rolled on my side. I had knots in my back that shouldn’t be there. I had no idea what time it was. There were no windows to the outside world in the cellars.
I staggered to my feet and tossed the empty wine bottles in the bin near the exit.
My phone had died overnight.
I rubbed my temples, wishing I had stopped at one bottle. There was a cloud of Kennedy in the air. I must have dreamed about her. A drunken dream, but she had been closer to me than she had in months. I needed the particles to evaporate before I could leave. They lingered a few more seconds and then it was as if it had never happened.
I climbed the stairs and emerged in a construction zone. The rebuilding of the offices had started last week. The framing had gone up quickly. I wanted to take a shower at the Bed and Breakfast before getting any work done for the day. I strolled over the sawdust. My footprints scattered more scraps of wood and nails.
“Monsieur Corban?”
I stopped abruptly. I wasn’t expecting anyone this early. The man smiled casually as he presented his credentials. I recognized the law enforcement insignia.
“I was called in by the local agency,” he explained.
“Yes. How can I help you?” I had been interviewed more than once after the fire by the police and the arson specialist. I didn’t recognize him.
He glanced around. There was no where we could sit. All the furniture had been destroyed in the blaze.
“Sorry, I can’t offer you a coffee.” I needed one with my pounding headache along with a handful of ibuprofen.
“That’s all right. I see you’re rebuilding. Impressive how quickly it has gone up.” His eyes wandered around the two by fours. The roof hadn’t been added yet. “It seems you didn’t want for the insurance company?”
