Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (38 page)

As she said the words, only then did she realize how deeply she actually did love him. With all her heart and soul, and down to her bone marrow.

This was her man, and she’d protect him with her last breath.

Staring up at Antoinette Ivanov’s apartment building, Devvy squinted as the afternoon sun reflected off the polished glass balustrades lining the balconies and the rays cascaded into her own personal lightshow. The bursts of sun were temporarily tattooed on her retinas as she finally crossed the busy road and made it onto the building’s side of the street.

Either side of her, polished perfection made her feel even more uneasy. The pavement had large rectangles of lawn adorning the curb, and each expanse of grass looked as though it had been hand cut with a pair of scissors.

A few steps away, the concierge’s glass walls showed her tousled and messy reflection. She’d gone to sleep in Alex’s arms, woken up without disturbing him from his own rest, and come directly here.

The minute she’d awoken, she’d needed to have some answers. Waiting until tomorrow was like asking for a decade to pass. She had to know
now
if this blackmail attempt was a lie or if it was the truth. And asking Alex was totally out of the question. There was no way she could that to him, especially if the blackmailer’s information was, God forbid, correct.

Devvy sucked in a breath, seeking the strength to go through with this interview. She just knew Antoinette was going to be a pain in the ass. She sensed that getting answers from her was going to be tougher than getting blood out of a stone.

She had to stay calm. She had to put the old witch at ease. Otherwise, she’d never find anything out, and Christ, she had to
know
.

Striding into the concierge, she smiled as the same woman from yesterday sat behind the desk. Smiling was the last thing she felt like doing, but Devvy had to play this role. Striding in there like Joan of Arc, demanding answers, demanding to know why Antoinette hadn’t done more to protect her son wasn’t the way forward.

The prospect of grabbing Alex’s mother by the shoulders and shaking her, just shaking and shaking and shaking until the answers spilled from the older woman’s mouth, was infinitely pleasing.

She ignored it, pushed it away, and brightened her smile as the concierge stood, neat as a pin in her uniform, and returned the smile. She made Devvy feel all the more unkempt, but by God, what the hell did appearances matter when she had important issues to deal with?

“Madame Ivanov is expecting her son. He’s just parking the car,” she lied.

The woman nodded, picked up her phone and dialed the connection to Antoinette’s room. Devvy’s French was limited, but even she could understand the woman as she told Antoinette her son and his companion were waiting to be invited up to the apartment.

The older woman’s excitement literally throbbed down the line.

The concierge smiled again and nodded. “She is waiting for you. I’ll send Monsieur Ivanov up, when he comes in.”

“
Merci
,” Devvy murmured, already on her way to the elevator.

As the doors closed behind her, she keyed in the floor number and waited to be spat out onto Antoinette’s story. Seconds later, she was walking down the corridor and Antoinette was standing in the doorjamb, a huge smile creasing her jaw.

A smile that disintegrated as Devvy neared.

“Where is Alexei?” she demanded.

“He’s parking the car. The concierge says she’ll send him up when he comes in.”

Antoinette eyed her suspiciously, and Devvy knew, if she hadn’t used that excuse, there wasn’t a snowball in hell’s chance of being invited into the apartment. Only the threat of Alexei finding his girlfriend waiting out in the hall made his mother move away and allow Devvy to enter.

“It’s busy out there. God knows where he’ll have to park,” Devvy stated, perpetuating the lie. “Do you have some water, please,
madame
?”

Eyes on the corridor, Antoinette ignored her. Devvy rolled her eyes at the woman’s back, and took it upon herself to go into the same room as she’d been led into yesterday. She didn’t bother to go out on the terrace. The instant Alex didn’t stride down that corridor, Antoinette would be in here like a shot, demanding to know what the hell was going on.

She looked around the room, grimacing at the stuffy and fussy interior. The same flowery fabric, a hideous shade of ochre and fuchsia, had been used for all of the soft furnishings. On the back wall, there was a picture of Christ weeping. A crucifix sat above the modern mantelpiece, a fixture that looked out of place in the old-fashioned lounge. She had little statuettes dotted all over the room, ornaments that Devvy considered dust collectors. Pieces that held little to no value, outside of emotional.

The room suited the woman.

Uncomfortable.

Knowing it was cheeky and not caring, because Christ, she needed the boost, Devvy walked over to Antoinette’s drinks tray and poured herself a small measure of whisky. She sank it back, and then poured herself another two fingers, and swallowed that as well.

The burn at her throat made her want to hop up and down to relieve the fire. Instead, her sore eyes watered all the more, and she started to cough.

By the time her coughing fit was over, Antoinette was striding into the room, glare glued in place, demanding to know, “Where is my son? It does not take this long to park, unless he has decided to drive over into the next arrondissement!”

“I lied. He isn’t coming,” Devvy told her easily.

Antoinette scowled. “What do you mean he isn’t coming? Why on earth would you be here otherwise?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m short of answers.”

“Tough shit,” Devvy hissed, ignoring Antoinette’s gasp of outrage, as well as her earlier vow to be calm and pleasant. “I have questions in need of answering, and you’re the only one who can give them to me.”

As Devvy took in Antoinette, she shook her head at the sour look being aimed her way. Where Alex was concerned, she was all sweetness and light.

Dressed head to toe in black again, her hair was neatly tucked in a bun. Two chopsticks kept the tight roll pinned to her head. She wore a black, calf-length skirt, and a black blouse with a pussy bow. It was way too hot to be wearing the arm-length sleeves, but Devvy supposed the air con blasting out at polar temperature was keeping Antoinette from sweating.

At around thirteen, in an effort to please her mother, Devvy had attempted to read more fictional novels. Sneaking the books her mother had read so as to have something to talk about with her parent. A fan of romantic suspense, as well as her beloved Georgette Heyer, Devvy was quite accustomed to the book’s bad guy being described as having an insane glint in his eye.

Technically, Antoinette wasn’t insane. She was extremely odd, incredibly peculiar, but not insane. Christ, Devvy and Alex were hardly the leaders of the board of normality! But, for the first time in her life, after having scoffed at some of her mother’s favorite authors for dismissing and excusing the bad guy’s behavior with wicked, crazy looks, Devvy could understand.

That sour look shot her way wasn’t merely displeasure. It was…vacant. It was disturbing. She looked like she was quite capable of sitting down to tea after murdering a kitten or something.

The thought made Devvy shake her head at her own foolishness. She was freaking herself out and for no reason at all.

But still…. She’d seen it yesterday and recognized it as being
not right
. Today, it was confirmed, and all the more evident without Alex to buffer the situation.

She didn’t feel in danger, just on edge. Discomforted by the weirdness the other woman seemed to radiate.

When Devvy continued to stare at Antoinette, not backing down, the other woman pursed her lips and bit out, “Well, what kind of questions?”

“Was Alex happy as a boy?”

The question disarmed her. A soft smile graced her lips, her thoughts obviously on the son with whom she was so besotted. “He was such a serious boy. So studious. As he grew older, he only got worse.”

“Worse in what way?”

Antoinette frowned. “He’s a genius. It wasn’t unusual for him to be secretive.”

“About what?” she asked, feeling like she was pulling teeth.

“Just things. He didn’t like me in his bedroom, wouldn’t let me touch his things. He was rude to my partner, but Pierre, well, he was no match for Alex’s intelligence. Even though Alex was only a boy.”

Pierre. So that was the sick fuck’s name. “They didn’t have a good relationship?”

Antoinette’s eyes turned shrewd. “Alex did as he was told. Pierre saw to that.”

Devvy could only imagine, and she didn’t even want to consider how Pierre had controlled and punished Alex. She swallowed back the nausea that punched her in the gut and asked, “Did Pierre hurt Alex?”

Scowling, Antoinette slashed her hand through the air. “You have no right to say such things.”

“He’s my partner. I have the right to ask about things that concern his welfare.”

“Partner,” Antoinette scoffed. “I know who you are, even if Alex tried to hide the truth from me.”

“We hid nothing from you,” Devvy lied, calling the other woman’s bluff.

“You think I’m a fool? I knew even before this morning’s shameful headlines! You are Sebastien Jacques’s wife. I can only assume you are corrupting my son.”

“I think you’ll find he’s corrupting me,” she retorted with a snap, unable to help herself.

Antoinette sucked in a sharp, outraged breath. “How dare you!” she spat.

“Easily,” came the quick retort. “Alex is not perfect. Even he makes the admission. But whatever he is, you and your sick fuck of a partner created.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Antoinette toyed with the long loops of the bow about her neck.

“I had to come and speak to you today. I saw the way you were yesterday and I knew, the way you obsessed over him, you’d have spotted the signs as a kid.

“There’s no way he could have suddenly turned and you wouldn’t have noticed the difference. And even if he became less important to you when you got a partner, you’d have noticed your boyfriend’s odd behavior. You’re too obsessive not to!”

“You come into my house and accuse me and insult me. I would like you to leave!” Antoinette snapped snootily.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me if Alex was abused as a child. If your partner molested him.”

Antoinette’s cheeks turned bright pink and then, papery white. But unlike before, her gaze was cast downward. Just beneath Devvy’s line of sight. Not direct and glaring at her straight in the eye.

“How dare you!”

The words didn’t ring true, and there, in that moment, Devvy had her answer. Everything inside her unraveled as sheer, unadulterated horror at what Alex had had to endure as a child throttled her. “I dare, I fucking dare, you old bitch. You knew, didn’t you? You
knew
,
and you didn’t say anything. You just let that bastard rape your son, and you let him. You actually let him.” Devvy staggered backward, almost falling onto the sofa behind her.

“I won’t listen to this anymore. Please leave!”

“If you think I’m going to do as you say, then you’re sadly mistaken. I hope that bastard is rotting in hell, and that you do, too. You’re as sick as he was. Sicker! How could you? How could you let him hurt Alex?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Antoinette cried out. She clapped a hand over her ears, looking more like six than sixty.

“Bull. You know exactly what I’m talking about. What happened? That first night you felt him creep out of your room but you didn’t say anything. You just thought he was going to the bathroom. But he didn’t come back, did he? Not straight away. I bet you knew from the very first night and you let it happen.”

The more she spoke, the more Antoinette trembled, shaking her head in a furious rejection of everything Devvy was saying. But Devvy couldn’t stop. The words just poured out of her. They tumbled free, vitriolic poison that couldn’t be withheld.

As the words gathered on her tongue, she spat them out. Her hands shook, trembled with the need to maim, to do harm. To punish the sick bitch.

For the first time in her life, Devvy was out of control. And the woman had yet to confirm or deny anything!

But just like Devvy had known, in her gut, that Alex’s childhood had been severed by being molested, she also knew this woman had hidden the truth. Had perpetuated the horrors of Alex’s past.

“Admit it!” she shrieked. “Tell me the goddamn truth! You
knew
, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”

“Yes!” Antoinette cried, immediately bursting into racking sobs. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I knew. God help me, I knew.”

The other woman’s shrieks acted like a pinprick to Devvy’s fury.

She deflated. Immediately. Sinking in on herself, almost falling into the sofa.

It was one thing being dead sure, of feeling it in your gut, but having it confirmed?