Leaving the kitchen, I hurried, the heels of my shoes clicking over the marble tiles as I made my way to the solarium. I noted to myself that the clock on the wall read nine fifty-nine as I came to the door, seeing that it was empty. I went inside and assumed the position I was to take before receiving instruction, my hands behind my back and my eyes cast to the floor, with my feet exactly shoulder width apart in the middle of the floor, touching nothing.
There I waited until I heard the sound that I longed to hear, the distinctive click-clack of Mistress' high heels on the hallway tile. While the outdoor turf was often too soft and muddy for her to indulge in such footwear, especially in winter, she loved the feeling of height that the stilettos gave her, and they made her legs look so good that even the sound of her walking was pure sexual energy. The door to the solarium opened again, and I smiled, still not lifting my head. “Did you have a good exercise session?”
“I did,” I replied, keeping my eyes downcast. I was to receive instruction, and would not move unless she told me to.
“Good. Tell me, are you happy this morning?”
“I’m very happy to be here with you this morning.”
I meant every word.
Chapter 34
Francois
The day should have been wonderful. I was back in Paris with Charani, Syeira, and, of course, my soon to be wife, Jordan. We’d come back to handle the passing over of some of the bank accounts to my signature, but of course I was mostly happy to be back in the City of Lights. Our home in Albania is one thing, and we would go there soon, but Paris . . . Paris is special.
I should have been happy, but instead, I was put off. There was something in the way that Jordan and Syeira were acting that concerned me. It had started a week before, but now that we were in Paris, it seemed stronger than ever.
It started with just the occasional look, a look in Jordan's eyes as we would talk, or when I would come home after doing work for my new position as King of our tribe. It was a look I'd never seen before, one of questioning me. It was different than any other expression she'd given me before. When Felix and I had first kidnapped her, she had looked on me with wariness, but not outright distrust. Then, later on, she looked at me with eyes filled with desire, then love. When Felix had 'died,' her eyes were filled with sadness. But now . . . now she didn't trust me, even though she loved me. And I didn't know why.
These thoughts whirled through my mind as I sat in the offices of La Banque Postale, waiting for the accounts manager to come back from his verifications. I was dressed in my finest suit, my hair slicked back and styled in the latest French fashion, a day's worth of stubble on my face. All in all, I looked like a successful French businessman and not a Romani thief. The fools.
The account manager came back, holding in his hand the thick envelope I'd been hoping for. “Monsieur Hardy, thank you for waiting,” he said to me in French as he sat down. “I apologize for taking so long.”
“It is not a problem,” I said, waving it off. “I understand that this sort of situation doesn’t arise very often.”
“To say the least,” the accounts manager said. “However, your forms are correct, and we have added you to all the accounts you requested. Please note, this does not take your brother off of the accounts, but merely adds you as a signatory, so if either of you wish for the accounts to be closed, or to take out a loan against the account, you must have both signatures. Also, please, next time you speak to your brother, remind him that before he goes on a year long sabbatical in Indonesia, to come to the bank and get the accounts handed over properly first.”
“Of course, although from what I understand it'll be a month before he gets my next letter,” I said with a chuckle. “In the meantime, will I be able to access the accounts online and such?”
“Of course, Monsieur. We can set up your own profile and password right now, in fact.”
I nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”
After I left the bank, I decided to walk back to the barge instead of taking a taxi or the bus. Strolling along, I tried to think of what could’ve caused Jordan to stop trusting me. It couldn’t just be intuition. I don’t know if it was guilt getting the better of me, but it seemed like she knew that I sold Felix out.
Maybe I said something in my sleep? I knew I tended to mumble when I slept, it was a bad habit that had caused Felix and I to have separate bedrooms when we were children after he’d complained for three nights in a row after we'd stayed up late to watch Dawn of the Dead together. Even Charani said that I would often talk out loud, in a voice loud enough that it sounded like I was holding a normal conversation.