Julie's Butterfly (13 page)

Having gained total control over his life, his fears dissipated, and at last, he felt content. And it had all gone beautifully until he met Julie. The first time they met, he’d felt a touch of resistance stir inside him. Hope had pushed its way to the surface, and with it the old panic.

Bastian got out of the shower and began pulling the softened bandages off his body one by one—the gauze bandage on his left forearm, the one on his right elbow, the ones on his shin and kneecap, several others on his feet, and finally the one on his thumb.

He sullenly examined the injury to his calf from when he kicked Julie’s bedroom door—a three-inch graze that had opened up again in the shower and that now glistened with blood. Bastian hoped that he had not stained Julie’s sheets.

He wiped the condensation from the mirror and turned to inspect his back. In her passionate abandon, Julie had run her fingernails too forcefully down his back, loosening a layer of skin. Three welts now ran across his shoulder blade. She’d go crazy if she knew what she’d done. For that reason alone, it was good that he’d left—he didn’t want her to feel guilty.

As always, he wasted no time on his reflection, looking only as long as it took to treat the wounds on his back. He then turned his attention to the others.

When he had finished, he padded, exhausted, to his bedroom, slipped into his boxers, and crept into bed. He had never felt so lost.

C
HAPTER
18

Julie was not in great spirits. She had not slept a wink since Bastian left. But what did she expect? That mere physical satisfaction would make up for all her emotional needs? If only it were so easy.

It may not have been wise to call her mother in such a mood, but she had promised Jo and wanted to get it over with, if for nothing else, for her own peace of mind. She dialed the number morosely and breathed a sigh of relief when the answer machine came on—luck was on her side. She left her mother a message that she had complied with her request and found an escort for the party. She didn’t care what her mother would make of it.

She then cleaned her apartment, tended to Spot, and took a shower before heading to work. The dull, rainy day perfectly fit her mood. There was little to do at the café. John was perceptive enough not to ask what was troubling her and instead regaled her with stories about his daughter. At midday, their boss called and said he was in bed with the flu. As Julie had no plans that day and could use the additional tips, she offered to take his shift, which meant staying on at the café until midnight.

Bastian didn’t get in touch.

She had no idea what to make of his sudden disappearance in the middle of the night. He had either lied when he assured her everything was fine and there really was something wrong, or he had told the truth and simply did not want to spend the night after he’d slept with her. She didn’t like either option.

Her phone finally rang in the early afternoon as she was taking a young couple’s order. Hoping it was Bastian, she quickly excused herself and grabbed her cell phone, which she had left on the bar just in case. Her mother. Julie frowned, put her phone back down, and went to finish taking the couple’s order.

In the voice mail her mother left, she set forth an animated barrage of complaints about her daughter’s fickleness. Although she didn’t say so explicitly, it was clear that her mother was not at all pleased that Julie had found another date for the party. Julie was glad she hadn’t picked up.

As the day went by, Julie felt increasingly unsettled. This waiting was getting on her nerves. She really wanted to hear Bastian’s voice, but she was not going to be the one to call.

Perhaps she had made it too easy for him. After allowing him into her bed for three nights running, it was hardly surprising that he believed he could treat her like that. But he was wrong there; his behavior hurt her. She had to find a way to make that clear to him, even if it meant sacrificing another night together.

By evening, her mood had reached a low ebb, and she had to occupy herself polishing glasses behind the bar, leaving John to handle the customers. The bell over the door rang to announce someone’s arrival. Julie looked up and started involuntarily.

Bastian was striding toward her. Her heart fluttered with excitement. She stopped what she was doing and regarded him uncertainly. Beneath his black raincoat he was wearing a dark, close-fitting turtleneck that emphasized the lines of his strong torso. His hands were sheathed in the usual black leather gloves. Wet with the rain, his hair fell in unruly locks around his ears. He was incredibly attractive as he moved between the tables. Julie was not the only one who noticed; out of the corner of her eye, she saw two young women turn toward him and start whispering to each other. Bastian himself appeared to be either completely unaware of his effect on women or to be ignoring their attention deliberately. He had assumed his usual unapproachable demeanor, but his expression softened as he reached the counter.

“Couldn’t you have called?” Julie said grumpily, mentally berating herself for her unpleasantness. At least he’d come.

The corners of Bastian’s mouth twitched.

“Can you spare me a moment?” he asked softly and sat himself down on a barstool.

Julie turned to John who had been watching them inquisitively.

“I’m just taking a short break,” she told him before removing her apron and throwing it on the bar. She went around and stood expectantly in front of Bastian, her arms folded tight to stop herself from reaching out and touching him.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Bastian raised his hands, laid them on her waist, and drew her firmly toward him until she was standing between his legs. Julie set her chin defiantly. She didn’t want to reproach him, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t let him know he’d upset her.

Bastian still said nothing but gently brushed her nose with the tip of his, inhaled her scent, and waited. In his green eyes, Julie saw regret, longing, and something dark that she was unable to interpret. But she was sure that he got her message loud and clear and that this was his way of apologizing.

And since she was as fickle as her mother accused her of being, she relented, leaned forward, and kissed him lightly on the lips. Bastian returned the kiss without taking his eyes off her.

Though his touch was light as a feather, a tingle ran through her, from her lips right down to her toes.

She took a shaky step back.

“I hope you realize it’ll take a bit more than that,” she said in an effort to preserve a shred of her dignity.

“I know,” he replied, a pained smile on his lips. “I regretted my decision as soon as I made it.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “But you still left.”

“It was better that way.”

Better for him, perhaps, but certainly not for her.

Julie wrestled with herself. Judging by his anguished expression, she had overlooked another reason for his behavior. But this was hardly the time or the place to discuss his motives.

“You could have called,” she said in a conciliatory voice.

Relief flickered in Bastian’s eyes. “I preferred to see you face-to-face,” he said, pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat. “To explain here,” he whispered in her ear.

“You’re not playing fair,” she breathed.

“I never claimed I was,” he teased, gently nibbling her neck, sending a pleasurable shudder down her spine.

“Will I see you later?” he asked.

Julie took a step back. “I’ve just agreed to take over the late shift. I won’t get home until well after midnight.”

“I don’t mind that.”

Julie shook her head resolutely. She owed herself that much after the night before. She couldn’t help smiling at his hangdog expression. “But I’m free tomorrow night. I’ll be finished here at eight.”

“OK,” said Bastian, giving in. He drew her closer. Julie put her arms around his neck and kissed him again. She ran her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck as his hands wandered up the back of her thighs. Oblivious to the world, she lost herself in his closeness until John’s snigger brought her back down to earth.

She stepped back abruptly from him. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

Bastian held her tighter. “You’re sure about tonight?” he asked hoarsely.

She wasn’t, but she nodded and ran her tongue slowly over her lips. Bastian followed her gesture, spellbound.

“Not fair,” he murmured.

Julie raised a mocking eyebrow.

“I never said I played fair either,” she grinned.

She took a step back and strolled back to safe ground behind the bar. She picked up the list of orders and began to pour pints of beer for John to serve, aware of Bastian’s gaze upon her the entire time. She looked up, and he gave her a wolfish grin.

“I’ll have a hefeweizen.”

“You’re not going to make me change my mind,” she warned with a smile.

“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort,” he replied innocently. “I just want a drink before I go.”

Though he sounded convincing, the intensity in his eyes suggested otherwise. She placed the final beer on the tray and poured Bastian’s, setting it down in front of him with a bowl of peanuts. John took the tray with a grin and began serving the customers at the tables while Julie prepared the remaining drinks.

“How was your day?” she asked.

Bastian grinned. “Is this how it usually goes? You serve a poor, lonely man a beer, and next thing he’s telling you his life story?”

“Sometimes they have coffee.”

Bastian grabbed a handful of peanuts and tossed them into his mouth. “I visited Felix at the hospital this morning.”

“Is he any better?”

Bastian nodded. “Fortunately, the treatment has gone well. If there are no more complications, he’ll be headed home tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” said Julie, turning briefly to get some spirits she needed for a cocktail. When she turned back, she looked at him expectantly.

“Elena brought me my car at the hospital around noon, and we stuck around to keep Felix company a while longer. After that, I had a meeting at the ad agency, the one your mother uses—” He suddenly stopped in surprise. “Would you believe it? It actually works.”

Julie grinned at his bewilderment.

“Most of the time,” she agreed. She cut an orange for a garnish. “And what did you discuss with the agency?”

“A few new jobs. Nothing earth-shattering. A landscape series that a local magazine wants to publish and a set of photos of cables.”

“Cables?”

“Yes. A cable manufacturer wants to put together a catalogue of their products, so they need photos. There are around five hundred different parts, which means plenty of work.”

“Do your customers provide you with a place to work?”

“Some insist that their products stay on-site and keep a close eye on them at all times,” he said, obviously amused by her mother’s pomposity. “But most of the time, I’m free to take the photos wherever I want. I’ve set up a small studio in my apartment for those jobs.”

“That’s convenient.”

Bastian took a gulp of beer. “I can show it to you if you like,” he offered, giving her a meaningful look. His eyes darkened with desire, and he leaned forward a little. “I’ve got no plans for tonight,” he added.

Julie giggled. “You’re impossible.”

“Ambitious,” he corrected.

“For what?” she asked innocently.

“Expressing my regret at the way last night ended.”

The honesty in his eyes momentarily robbed Julie of her ability to speak.

“However attractive your offer may be . . . ,” she began.

Bastian nodded in understanding. “Tomorrow.”

He emptied his glass in two more gulps, fished some money from his pocket, laid it on the counter, and rose. He reached his long arm effortlessly across the bar and ran his gloved hand through her hair and stroked her cheek and lips with his thumb.

His touch was tentative, and Julie began to hate those gloves. She didn’t want to feel that extraneous, anonymous material, but his warm hands, which were already becoming familiar to her with all their fine irregularities. She felt like tearing the things off but instead snuggled longingly against the cold surface and smiled.

“Tomorrow.”

C
HAPTER
19

Bastian wanted to spare Julie and himself another night like the one before. He knew that much.

This meant he urgently needed a new strategy. There was no question that he wanted her naked in bed with him again. He could neither live without having her close nor risk the effect her reaction to his body would have on them both, even if that meant neither of them got a wink of sleep. He still wasn’t sure how to go about it, but after seeing her at the café, he was a little more optimistic about his options. Ultimately, he would just have to improvise.

Bastian parked his car outside his building and heaved from the trunk a box full of cables that the agency had handed off to him at the end of his meeting. The rain was still pouring down. He quickly locked his car and headed inside, then hurried up the stairs to his apartment to avoid running into any of his neighbors. He went straight to his studio, a spacious room next to his bedroom. He had set up a freestanding table in the center that enabled him to work from all sides, depending on whether he wanted to use the natural light that came in through the wide window or one of the numerous lighting units heaped in a corner. Opposite the window was a set of floor-to-ceiling cabinets filled with neatly labeled boxes, equipment, and bookkeeping folders, which were arranged alphabetically and had matching labels. Surveying his work space, he couldn’t help but smile at his compulsion toward tidiness; compared with Julie’s apartment, it looked like a real obsession.

He put the box down on the stand, removed his coat and gloves, and laid them on one of three stools on castors. He gazed at his disfigured hands. What he would have given to feel Julie’s skin beneath his fingertips as he’d left the café. The desire to do so had been overwhelming, but he would never have had the courage to reveal his hands in public.

He shook his head brusquely. He hadn’t questioned the use of his gloves for years and didn’t like the fact that Julie’s presence caused him to do so. Such thoughts would cost him dearly if he didn’t pull himself together.

He began to unpack the cables and set up his equipment. He worked late into the night taking close-ups of the various items. He had difficulty properly aligning the fine wires since he had no fingernails. As he tried for the umpteenth time to separate the strands of a complex data cable so that all the ends would be clearly visible in the photo, he could feel the tension in his trembling fingers. The more he tried to stay calm and get the wires under control, the more aware he was of his failure. He dropped the cable with a curse and ran his fingers through his hair as he angrily sized up the tangle on the table before him. This job had arrived at an unfortunate time. He was already confronted by his limits enough in his normal life. Now these stupid wires were grinning up into his face, mocking his shortcomings.

He took a deep breath, dug out two pairs of tweezers from a drawer, and started over. He had many years’ experience with them, and he finally succeeded in taming the tangled cable.

But he was still unsettled.

He only stopped working when his eyes started to rebel against the glaring lights and he began to see white spots. He was too wound up to go to bed, so he went to the fridge and took out a carton of sushi he’d had delivered at lunch time. He sank down on the sofa in his living room, switched on his oversized TV, and surfed mindlessly through the channels as he ate.

Though the options at 3:00 a.m. were limited—little more than infomercials and quiz shows—he eventually settled on a basketball game. He liked basketball. When he was younger, he’d often shoot hoops at a nearby court, but, of course, only until the neighborhood kids came by. Sometimes he imagined what it would have been like if they’d beckoned him over and asked if he wanted to play. But they never had.

In an effort to forget the past, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the present, on brown eyes gazing upon him with understanding, sensuous lips awaiting his kiss, and soft skin that he simply had to touch . . .

By the time Bastian opened his eyes, his apartment was flooded with light. He stretched his stiff limbs, switched the TV off, and fished his cell phone out of his pocket to see what time it was. It was almost noon. He loved working for himself—under other circumstances, he would have been in serious trouble.

Felix had sent him a text a half hour before:
I’m begging you, get me out of here!

Bastian grinned and dialed his number.

“I hope you’re standing right outside,” Felix said.

“Have you been officially discharged?”

“Yes,” snapped Felix. “Danger recognized. Danger over. I’m well again. Scout’s honor. Now get yourself over here, or I swear I’ll take a taxi.”

His urgent tone made Bastian ask, “What’s up?”

“You remember the head nurse? The one with the mustache?”

“I think so.” He vaguely recalled a rather corpulent nurse with a penetrating gaze who did indeed have a substantial shadow on her upper lip. “Why?”

“She wants to bathe me!”

Bastian burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny, man. I’m in a state of panic here!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right there to rescue you.”

“Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

“I’ll remember that,” said Bastian, getting up from the sofa. He went into his bedroom and pulled out a change of clothes. “Do you need anything?”

“Only my freedom.”

“I’ll be there within the hour,” he promised, and hung up. He showered quickly, knowing how impatient Felix could be, then hastily saw to his wounds and got dressed. By the time he entered the hospital room less than an hour later, his friend was sitting on the edge of his bed, leafing clumsily through a hospital magazine with his bandaged fingers, his slender legs dangling over the side. His suitcase was packed, ready and waiting at his feet. He looked much better. The fever was gone, and the antibiotic had clearly taken effect, as he no longer appeared to be in unbearable agony from the infected injury.

Only the usual pain.

Felix looked up and grinned with relief. “Man, am I glad to see you.”

“I could hardly leave you at such grave risk.”

“Let’s hoof it before the good lady gets back with her washcloth.” Felix put the magazine down and carefully edged himself off the bed onto his feet. He looked grudgingly at the wheelchair in the corner of the room. He seemed to deliberate whether he could cover the distance to the parking garage without it.

“We’ll get out of here more quickly with it,” remarked Bastian.

Felix frowned, but nodded. He waited for Bastian to push the chair up to him. He sat down with a painful groan and shifted his weight around. “I hate these things,” he murmured.

“I know,” replied Bastian, placing an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “Ready to go?”

Felix picked up his suitcase and settled it on his lap. “All good.”

Bastian had parked his car right outside the hospital entrance. He helped Felix in, then took the wheelchair back inside.

As he started the car, Felix heaved a sigh of relief, then looked at Bastian uncertainly. “Shall we stop somewhere on the way for a snack?” he asked.

Bastian was initially surprised since Felix hardly ever went out, but given the past few difficult days, he could fully understand his request. “Gladly. In the mood for anything in particular?”

“I’ll enjoy whatever comes my way as long as it’s not hospital food.”

“I think we can manage that.”

They turned in at a nearby restaurant where the lunch-hour rush had subsided. It was a typical diner with bright-red upholstered booths.

Bastian supported Felix as they moved slowly past two occupied tables. He could sense the curious looks of the other diners and gritted his teeth in disgust as they stared openly at them.

Felix studiously ignored them. He sat down on the first free seat they came to, and Bastian took his place opposite him. Over Felix’s shoulder, Bastian spotted two young women who had turned toward them nosily. He glared at them angrily, and they hastily turned away, but that didn’t stop them from putting their heads together to whisper.

“I think I’ll have a potato soufflé,” said Felix who was already poring over the menu. He gave Bastian a warning look over the edge.

They had discussed this countless times. Bastian simply couldn’t comprehend how Felix could keep his cool when people looked at him like he was some kind of freak. Bastian grew really aggressive in the face of such behavior, as was obvious from his tense demeanor. Felix didn’t like this aspect of Bastian’s personality, not because he was afraid of it, but because it made his friend suffer so much.

“Hi, have you decided what you’d like to order?” asked the young waitress who approached their table. She looked up from her notepad, and her eyes widened as Felix put his menu down. She studied his frail figure, his bandaged fingers, and the dried wounds on his pale face. She swallowed.

“I’d like the potato soufflé with spinach, and an orange juice,” said Felix, giving her an unassuming smile that was neither artificial nor excessive. He seemed not to be affected in the slightest by her shocked expression.

She nodded as if in a daze and turned to Bastian. As she looked at him, her features relaxed and gave way to an attentive smile.

“Same for me, but soda instead of juice,” he snapped, causing her to flinch, nod, and withdraw quickly.

Felix relaxed against the backrest. “It’s always a pleasure to go out for a civilized meal with you,” he remarked sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Bastian muttered and took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself.

“So how’s it going with Julie?”

“Great.” It was true. It was actually going . . . great. Except for the fact that his lousy pride was driving the whole thing rapidly toward destruction.

Felix whistled softly. “Is that why you’re so quick to lose your temper?”

“I’m not,” replied Bastian halfheartedly, to which Felix responded with a small snort of disbelief. He was tactful enough not to ask for details. Ever since he had reminded Bastian that there was no justification for his fear of rejection from her, Bastian no longer knew how to explain his apprehension.

“She wants to meet you,” he announced, lining up the menu that was lying on the table in a neat right angle with the edge.

Felix blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“I told her a bit about you and our . . . friendship.” He still had trouble saying the word out loud; he found it so strange after the many years of loneliness he’d endured.

“Great. Maybe there’s still a chance for me to convince her that I’m the better bet.”

“You can try,” Bastian said with a grin. Julie would very likely hit it off with him, but he trusted his friend and knew that Felix would never seriously pursue her.

“How about tomorrow?” suggested Felix. “You could come over for dinner.”

“Are you feeling well enough for visitors?”

“For female visitors, always.” Felix waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’ll ask her,” Bastian promised.

“Call her now.”

“Now?”

“Why not? Otherwise you’re likely to cancel for fear she might fall for me.”

Rolling his eyes, Bastian took out his cell phone and sent her a message.

The waitress brought their drinks, then returned with two plates.

“Just let me know if you need anything else,” she said before moving away with a sideways glance at Felix.

Felix mashed his potatoes to make eating easier. He ate a mouthful and assumed a delighted expression. “Excellent. Compared to the hospital food, this is a true gourmet treat.” He drank some juice. “Of course, it doesn’t compare to Elena’s cooking.”

Bastian pushed his food around his plate slowly. Now that Felix was feeling better and they had the opportunity to talk alone, he couldn’t let the opportunity slip by.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” he began.

“What’s that?”

“It’s about Elena.”

Felix frowned. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Your fall seems to have affected her badly,” said Bastian. He leaned back and looked at Felix, who merely rolled his eyes with a shake of his head.

“She worries too much. I was careless and had a stupid fall. Things happen. End of story.”

“But she’s blaming herself for not being there when it happened.”

Felix gave a snort of laughter. “You think I don’t know that?” He continued to mash his potatoes, but more forcefully now. “She can’t always be there to hold my hand.”

“I told her that myself.”

“Did she take the slightest notice?”

“I think so,” Bastian said, mustering his courage. “But above all, she agreed that you could both use a bit of help.”

“Help?” asked Felix tonelessly. He let his fork drop to his plate with a soft clatter. He seemed to grasp where this conversation was heading.

Bastian held his gaze steadily. “Help,” he confirmed. His voice was firm.

Felix ran his bandaged hands over his bald head. It was clear that he was not too keen on the idea. Bastian noted, however, that Felix had not completely rejected his suggestion out of hand.

“I’ve been doing a bit of research,” Bastian continued. “It looks like there’s a good chance you could get a few hours’ support, two or three times a week. There are plans that combine housekeeping help and care.”