Julie's Butterfly (12 page)

As she studied the list of orders, she asked about his little girl. Ever the proud father, John gave her an effusive account of his daughter’s first halting steps and first words.

As the café filled up around midday, Julie hurried back and forth between the tables, the cake stand, and the small beer garden on the back patio while John prepared the orders. Julie preferred it when the café was busy, in part because the time passed more quickly, and also because she earned more tips.

In the early afternoon, reinforcement arrived in the form of their boss, Sasha. At first glance, the stocky, tattooed biker hardly looked like the owner of a respectable café, but his passion for chocolate cake was equaled only by his gentle nature. For these reasons alone, Julie liked him a good deal.

Jo arrived at the café the minute Julie’s break began. Though they were five years apart in age, they could easily have been mistaken for twins. Jo wore her dark-brown hair a little shorter than Julie, and her face only had the addition of small crow’s-feet at the corners of her dark-brown eyes. Otherwise, Jo had the same dainty build, clothed that day in an olive-green pantsuit. The sheaf of documents under her arm further emphasized the professional businessperson image she projected, an image she had inherited from their father. She wove her way between the busy tables to the bar, where Julie was preparing two cups of coffee for them.

“Hi, Sis,” she greeted her.

“Hey.” Julie smiled. “Would you like something to eat?”

“No, thanks. Coffee’s fine.”

Julie set the cups down on the counter. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

She ran into the office in the back to let Sasha know she was going on break and returned with a sandwich from the kitchen. She took off her apron and sat down next to Jo on a barstool.

“How was the christening?” she asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“Oh, the usual, you know,” replied Jo with a shrug. “But the party afterward was lovely. We were in the customhouse conservatory. Lily had decorated everything in white and pale pink stripes—even the christening cake matched, though it tasted like cardboard.” She giggled. “And how were things with our dear parents?”

“Not as bad as I feared. Dad was out playing golf, so Mom was on her best behavior. We went through the list of objets d’art she’s put up for sale. Did you know she’s selling Grandma’s music box?”

“No,” said Jo, shocked. “Why on earth would she do that?”

“She considered it superfluous.” Julie mimicked her mother’s nasal tone.

“Why don’t you tell her you’d like to keep it?”

Julie gave a derisive snort. “As if she understands sentimentality.”

“Then buy it from her,” suggested Jo with a grin.

“I thought about it, but the sad truth is that I can’t afford it.”

“It was meant to be a joke,” replied Jo darkly.

“Ah, well, it’s done and gone.” Julie pushed her empty plate aside. “I’m already upsetting her plans for Dad’s birthday party as it is. That small triumph will have to do for now,” she added with a crooked smile.

Jo sat up, all ears. “So you’re bringing Bastian?” she asked eagerly. “Luke loved him.”

“I can imagine.”

“Oh, Mom won’t be the least bit pleased,” observed Jo. “I’ve been keeping my ears open around the office. She’s chosen no one less than Vincent de Rossi for you.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“He belongs to a noble Italian family that’s lived here for two generations. He’s been working for Dad’s firm for about a year or so and was heavily involved in the design of the leisure pool, which included loads of overtime. That’s probably why she thinks so highly of him.”

“It’s bound to impress her more than his appearance anyway.”

“To be honest, he’s really handsome,” said Jo. “Half the women at work are after him.”

“Now I’m beginning to feel a bit sorry for him,” said Julie. “Well, he can at least consider himself lucky that he doesn’t also have to get involved with the boss’s daughter.”

“Have you told Mom that Bastian will be coming with you?” asked Jo.

“Oh, I thought I’d just surprise her.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” said Julie. “Just imagine her face if she suddenly had to start moving chairs around. I bet she’d break out in one of her stress rashes in seconds. God, how I love these things!”

Jo put a hand up to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’re evil,” she said.

Julie grinned in challenge. “No birthday bash without a blemish.”

“No party without pimples,” responded Jo instinctively.

It had been their battle cry when they were younger and had been presented at various garden parties in smart little dresses. Somehow the two girls had found a way of calming their mother and alleviating these noticeable indicators of stress, whether caused by clumsy movements, overturned red-wineglasses, or interrupting the guests with naive questions. Of course, it had never happened intentionally, but somehow the sisters had gained comfort whenever they were grounded for misbehavior. Julie smiled at the recollection. Unfortunately, they’d grown up all too quickly.

“I still think you should tell her ahead of time,” Jo insisted. “You know how she can bear a grudge. She’ll only end up taking her frustration out on Bastian.”

Julie sighed miserably. “Spoilsport.”

“There’s a good girl.” Jo patted Julie’s thigh affectionately before propping her chin on her hands and studying Julie. “Now, tell me all about him.”

“He’s the photographer from the warehouse.”

“Ah, so that means you ultimately have Mom to thank for the fact you met.”

Julie frowned. Jo had a point. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“His work must speak well for him. The agency wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t good at his job. That graphics agency’s been working for us for years. And he’s good-looking too,” Jo added.

“That’s not all,” Julie went on. “He’s incredibly bright and charming.”

She recalled how Bastian had fired all those questions at her on their first evening together. He knew every book she’d read, her favorite paintings, and the wonders of the world she wanted to visit most. She’d been out with men in the past who didn’t even know such things existed.

“We’ve got a lot in common, and he makes me laugh. He’s”—Julie paused as she searched for the right word—“he’s simply incredible.”

Jo had been watching her closely. “You’ve got it bad,” she observed.

“I’ve been unable to think about anything else since I met him.” Julie brushed a lock of her hair aside. “Actually, it really scares me.”

“Why?”

“It’s just that I’m afraid my bubble might burst one day,” she confessed.

“That’s nonsense,” said Jo.

Julie stirred her coffee. “He’s also got a darker side, you know.”

Jo looked at Julie expectantly, but she pressed her lips together in tense silence. Julie had said too much.

“Has he got a criminal record?” asked Jo abruptly.

“No,” said Julie in horror.

“Mentally unstable?”

“Of course not.”

“Has he got dubious moral views?”

“Oh, stop it now.”

“I’m only asking because I’m sure you’re quite capable of sorting out anything else”—she explained with a smile—“with time, patience, and trust.”

C
HAPTER
17

A smile was playing on Bastian’s lips as he watched Julie through the window of the café. She was standing behind the bar and joking with a dangerous-looking biker as she polished glasses. Although the man was clearly as taken by her as Bastian was himself, Bastian didn’t see the man as competition.

When Julie noticed him through the window, she waved. Although he was tempted to go in and see her, he decided to wait outside until she had finished working.

He indicated that he would wait by the door, then took out his phone and checked his e-mail. There was an acknowledgment of receipt from the agency regarding the warehouse pictures he’d sent that afternoon. He hadn’t been worried they wouldn’t like them; the graphics agency had been satisfied with his work for ages, and indeed they were this time too. They had also sent offers for two new jobs, which Bastian immediately accepted. The busier he kept himself, the less likely he was to indulge in brooding. He had long ago come to terms with the doubts that were his constant companions, but ever since he’d met Julie, they were driving him to distraction. He had still not found a way to still them.

When the door opened, he looked up and shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket.

“Why are you waiting out here in the cold?” asked Julie with a smile. She came up close to kiss him. The easy way that she touched him still amazed him.

He brushed a chaste kiss across her lips. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You wouldn’t have,” said Julie. She glanced around. “Didn’t you bring your car?”

“I lent it to Elena,” he explained. “She needs it more than I do.”

As they didn’t feel like eating out, Julie suggested they cook dinner at her place. So they headed to the nearest supermarket. Shopping with Julie felt shockingly intimate. There was something strangely routine about it, something only couples experienced.

He watched Julie with growing interest. It appeared she was very discerning, making a big thing about her choice of fresh vegetables and even which ice cream to buy. While he pushed the cart, she kept pausing in front of the shelves to compare items. When she put something in the cart, she stroked his leg through his jeans or touched his back. As they went around, they talked about her day at the café, discussed the merits of organic produce, and deliberated over who would pay at checkout. Only when Bastian threatened to not eat a single bite of pasta did she finally give in and let him pay.

“Did you see Isabelle at the gallery?” asked Julie on the way home.

“No, why?”

“I thought you had an appointment there this morning.”

Her suspicious look warned him to be careful.

“We postponed the appointment until this afternoon at the last minute,” he said. “So I could take Elena to the hospital afterward.”

“Ah.”

An uneasy feeling crept through him. He hadn’t lied. But the fact was that he could easily have postponed his work commitments and spent the morning with her—if he weren’t such a coward.

“And how’s your friend?”

“Much better, but he’s getting bored.”

Julie nodded in understanding. “No wonder. Sitting around a hospital ward all day would bore me too. Can’t anyone visit him?”

“I think one of his classmates stopped by to see him this morning. Felix studied IT, and now he’s working day and night on his dissertation,” he explained. “But since he can’t even work at the moment, he simply arranged a meeting by his bedside.”

Bastian shook his head incredulously as he thought of Felix’s unstinting ambition.

“Can that be done just like that?”

“The university made special arrangements for him. He’s allowed to work mainly from home. I sometimes drive him in, or his supervisor comes to see him at home.”

“That’s really generous.”

“Felix is really likable. It’s difficult to refuse him anything,” Bastian said.

They reached her door, and Julie fished her key out of her purse.

“I’d like to meet him,” she said as she opened the door to her building.

Bastian flinched. “Why?”

“Because he’s your friend.” She threw a look over her shoulder and gave him a penetrating stare. “It’s no big deal if you don’t want me to,” she said, but he saw a hint of disappointment in her dark eyes.

“I’ll ask him what time would be best,” replied Bastian.

Julie nodded.

Bastian was on edge as he followed her upstairs. He wasn’t sure why the thought of their meeting filled him with such fear. It should have been simple enough to introduce them to each other. But it wasn’t.

Not for him.

Felix was one world. Julie was another.

If he lowered the barriers between them, there would be no going back. He wasn’t sure he liked the notion. For now, he would try to gain a little time.

“Could you take the bags straight to the kitchen?” Julie called over her shoulder as she removed her cardigan.

“Do you want to start cooking now?”

“Of course. Otherwise I’ll starve.”

After setting out the ingredients, she washed her hands, dug out a pot, and filled it with water for the pasta.

Bastian stood uncertainly by the sideboard. Julie sighed and came up to him. She laid her hands on his hips and looked up at him.

“Didn’t we have an agreement?” she said.

Bastian knew what she was referring to. A hint of apprehension crossed his face before he removed his gloves and put them down.

She pressed an innocent kiss on his lips before returning to her cooking.

“Now come here. This is fun.”

“You’ve a strange idea of fun,” he remarked drily.

“Eating means enjoying, and everything connected with enjoyment is fun,” said Julie.

Bastian found that Julie was right—even if not in the way she’d intended. While he discreetly dropped bits of diced bacon to a delighted Spot, Julie was working wonders at the stove. It was a real pleasure to watch her.

They ate at the dining table, and since Julie had cooked a feast fit for five, the only thing they could bring themselves to do next was recline on the sofa. They watched a movie together, though he later had no recollection what it was about, because he was far too preoccupied tracing her hair, the contours of her neck, and her lips with his sensitive hands.

Snuggled up beside him, Julie seemed to enjoy his every touch, so it was no wonder that the atmosphere between them had changed before the movie came to an end. Just as before, she reacted like a teenager tuned in to her hormones for the first time. Unable to hold out any longer, he pulled her up and took her impatiently into the bedroom, into the safety of darkness. To keep the light from the living room from penetrating, he closed the door with a backward kick that cost him dearly. He winced at the pain.

Julie gasped and pulled away from him. “Have you hurt yourself?”

“It’s fine,” he murmured.

“Let’s turn the light on and make sure.” She took a step back, but he quickly wrapped his arms firmly around her dainty body.

“No light,” he said and lowered his mouth insistently to the hollow of her throat, causing what appeared to be a shiver of pleasure to run through her. Feeling her goose bumps, he smiled.

“But I want to see you.”

His kisses moved from her neck to her shoulder as his hands worked their way beneath her thin T-shirt. He thought feverishly about how to counter her wish. He inhaled slowly to loosen the tension in his chest, then laid his forehead on hers.

“Don’t,” he asked her softly.

In the darkness, he only barely perceived her small nod. Her agreement sent a huge wave of relief through him. He drew her T-shirt over her head, then laid his lips on hers. He made every effort to show his gratitude, but he knew it was not enough.

Later that night, as they lay together in the stillness, her hand felt its way across his chest, and her gentle fingertips slowly explored his body. He remained motionless beneath their curious touch for as long as he could. When it became too much for him, he took her hand, kissed it, and laid it on his chest where it rested beneath his. He was thankful that she appeared to understand his unspoken request without his having to explain himself. He played absently with a lock of her hair.

In that moment he was happy.

Really and truly happy.

Lying there, feeling peaceful, he understood what it was like for baby birds who are pushed off a precipice to make them learn to fly. But what happened when the ground was not far enough away? He shuddered as he recalled the previous morning.

After their night together, overcome by weariness, he had only intended to close his eyes briefly, but had instead fallen into a deep sleep. He awoke in darkness. Seeing Julie beside him filled him with a blissful sensation just like the day before—except that this time, he was stark-naked as he lay next to her. The extent of his horror almost overwhelmed him as he realized his mistake. A panic attack the likes of which he had never known before surged through him. His pulse roared in his ears, and for a split second, he worried that his pounding heart was about to burst out of his chest. Despite the goose bumps that covered his whole body, he broke out in a sweat at the thought that Julie might open her eyes at any moment and see him and all his imperfections. He freed himself as quickly as he could from her tender embrace and fled to the bathroom to calm himself down. Thankfully, Julie was so deeply asleep that she witnessed neither his body nor his panic.

But what if she had seen him?

Baring his hands was one thing, but his whole body something else entirely. Would she accept him as he was, or would she be unable to bear looking at him naked? What if she recoiled from him in revulsion or even regretted having gotten involved with him?

Dear God, he didn’t want to think about it. It would destroy everything they had, which was more than he’d ever dared to hope for. He was determined to not lose her again.

Her regular breathing told him she was still asleep. He lay beside her for a little longer and watched her sleeping, unable to bring himself to break the spell.

When she turned over, he withdrew carefully and gathered his things together in the darkness. He dressed quietly, then sank down onto the edge of the bed and started stroking her cheek to wake her. She sighed lazily. He leaned forward and kissed her gently in the sensitive spot behind her ear.

“What’s up?” she murmured, bleary with sleep.

“I’ve got to go,” he whispered, breathing in the scent of her hair.

She was instantly wide-awake. “Has something happened?” she asked in alarm.

“Everything’s fine,” he replied in a low voice. “Go back to sleep, my treasure.” As he drew back, she didn’t try to stop him. He felt her eyes on him even in the pitch-dark. Ignoring the icy sensation inside him, he stood. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

When she didn’t say anything, he stopped uncertainly by the bedroom door.

“Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked hesitantly.

Her yes was little more than a whisper.

Although they couldn’t see each other, he nodded, then squared his shoulders and turned away. When the glaring light from the hall poured in through the open bedroom door, he dared not turn around—he didn’t want to see her disappointment, though he could well understand it.

He hurried into the living room to look for his gloves. He switched the TV off, together with all the lights, and left, closing the front door behind him.

It was almost two o’clock in the morning, and no buses were running at that hour. At first, he walked slowly, but as the pain in his chest grew, he quickened his pace. He eventually fell into a jog, gritting his teeth as the familiar ache in his feet announced new wounds.

He’d done the right thing by leaving. There was a chance they would have a little more time together. He enjoyed Julie’s presence far too much to gamble with her feelings, even if that meant her reaction would affect him all the more when it came. Until that one time many years ago, he had always been able to accept the way women looked at him when he was careless with his concealment.

Some had gasped in shock at his appearance; others had stared at him as though turned to stone or given him the kind of sympathetic gaze they would reserve for an abused kitten. Though his skin had been completely unblemished at birth, hardly a square inch of his body remained unmarked. As merciless as the scars that had eaten into his skin was the way people reacted if they got too close—with the exception of Felix, Elena, and the specialists who were reasonably familiar with his condition.

A flood of memories hit him before he could stop them: the malicious laughter of the boys, the nasty whispering of the girls.

“What are you, a zombie?”

“Have you got leprosy or what?”

“Never seen anything so creepy.”

“Stay away from him. It’s contagious.”

“Don’t they have makeup for it?”

The chorus of voices grew ever louder.

Bastian ran as if in danger, ignoring the painful protests of his body.

By the time he reached his apartment, soaked in sweat and completely out of breath, his whole body was trembling from exhaustion. He tore off his clothes and took a shower. The hot water warmed him but could do nothing to melt the block of ice lodged in his belly.

He had changed schools three times as a child. His father had moved to new towns twice for his sake. Bastian had made every effort to find friends who understood his situation, but things had always turned out the same in the end. It had only improved after he decided never to trust anyone again. He bought some black leather gloves and left his old life behind once more. Including his father.

By the time he was eighteen, he was living in his own apartment, had his high school diploma, and was earning a living taking photographs that he sold through international image databases. He attended the region’s biggest university, which gave him a certain amount of anonymity, and earned his economics degree a few years later. That knowledge enabled him to make a living as a full-time freelance photographer. He was his own boss. He set his own terms—in both professional and private circles.