Runaways Page 8

  Things I should not have been thinking about.

  “Let’s dance!” Lana turned and yelled at me as the last performer sang his big finale — Journey’s extraordinarily catchy “Don’t Stop Believing”.

  Before I could protest, she took me by the arm and dragged me into the middle of the dance floor. I stood as she danced. Then, the music died down and a voice boomed through the speaker announcing it was time to put the headphones on and toggled between the channels. Green was house, blue was trance, and red was pop. Revelers joined us and amongst them, we watched a sea of people dancing to various tempos. It was a little odd, not going to lie.

  La Roux’s “In For The Kill” pulsed through the headphones, and the tequila and vodka convinced me to move. It began as a two-step, as these things usually do, then my arms joined the party along with my hips. After losing myself in the beats, I felt a tap on my shoulder. My eyes flicked open, and I froze. In front of me stood Lana flanked by Leo and Xavier.

  Oh God, how long had he been watching me?

  I tore my headphones off, hoping the ground would swallow me whole.

  “You look so beautiful.” His eyes raked over me. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing your dress.”

  I bit my lip to keep control of them. “Thank you,” I replied in a casual tone I hoped said, you’re in the friend zone, pal.

  I held my ground with jelly legs as he closed the space between us. “Leo said you were drinking vodka oranges,” he said, extending his hand.

  I nodded and took the glass from him. I sipped it, hoping that there was more orange than vodka this time. There wasn’t.

  With drinks in hand, the boys led us to a bamboo booth that straddled the sand and the packed dirt of the venue. Lana fell into Leo’s attention, tuning Xavier and me out completely. It was only a matter of time for Lana to decide that she had enough of the opening acts of flirtation and wanted to get straight to the main event.

  “So, you’re a performing musician?” I said, needing to fill the silence with some form of conversation.

  “You’re observant,” he teased with a cheeky smile. “I began busking on the streets of Marseilles as a child, and I’ve moved up in the world a bit since then.”

  “And you’re traveling to play in various events?” I asked, feeling a little more at ease with each sip.

  “Some performing, some researching, and some good old-fashioned fun. I want to see what music is out there, find musicians I can learn from, but it’s not exactly Leo’s thing, so planning this trip, he talked of this thing called ‘compromise,’” he said, furrowing his brow and feigning confusion with a smile.

  Oh God, that smile.

  I had to keep the conversation neutral. “I…uh…love Kings of Leon.”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure what to perform tonight, I usually write my own songs, but for some reason after meeting you “Sex on Fire” has been stuck in my head.”

  My breath held in my throat as his eyes wandered from my eyes to my lips, then my cleavage and back again. I hated myself for liking it. It had been a long time since a man looked at me as if he wanted to devour me.

  “How is your photography coming along?”

  I shook my head and glanced at the ground. Anger bubbled as I remembered Adam’s words. He was just hurt that I missed our anniversary, I told myself. But those words had to have come from somewhere. Before I knew it, the contents of my drink had disappeared. Strange.

  “Today I wanted to give up,” I admitted. “Pack it all up and go home.”

  “You’ve found your passion. It’s not easy, but you can never give up,” he said, taking my chin between his index finger and thumb and pulling my gaze to meet his. “Believe in yourself. I do.”

  I sighed as my eyes wandered to the sky and asked the stars why a relative stranger could believe in me, but the man I loved couldn’t? They twinkled back at me in response. Unhelpful little bastards.

  “Do you want to get a better look?” Xavier said releasing my chin.

  I nodded and asked, “How do you say ‘star’ in French?” Four years living in Montreal and all I had to show for it was swear words.

  He held my hand, pulling me to my feet and replied, “Étoile.”

  Once I was standing, I noticed that Lana and Leo had disappeared. Panic set in. I whipped my head around in all directions and then relief washed over me when he pointed them out, dancing hip-to-hip and lip-to-lip on the dance floor.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said as we settled into the warm sand. “Why did you reward the guy who took my bag in the market that day?”

  He paused taking a handful of sand, letting the grains filter through his fingers. “I grew up very poor, and I guess you could say I know what it’s like to be that desperate.”

  “Oh?”

  “I used to have to steal from the markets just to feed myself,” he said. “When I was three, my father left my mother, taking his stable salary with him. All my mother knew was her art. She sold what she could, but it was never enough, so I turned to stealing. I was quick and never got caught. When I was nine, a wealthy English aristocrat, Henry, took an interest in my mother’s art and became her patron. I was so jealous of him. I wanted to be the man of the house, the provider, the protector, the man my father never was. Even though I no longer needed to steal food, I decided to steal money. I chose a church as my first target. They were there to help those in need, so I could justify it morally.

  One day I walked into an empty church, opened the donation box, and began stuffing the coins and bills in my pockets. To a nine-year-old, it was like finding Blackbeard’s Treasure. But a booming voice interrupted me, asking, do you have what you need? I thought for sure God caught me. I turned and saw the priest towering over me.”

  He paused and took a sip from his drink as I sat hanging onto every word.

  “I was convinced he was going to call the police, but he smiled and offered to help me fill my pockets. I was terrified by him and by how confused I was. When I had thought up the plan, I had a list of the luxuries I wanted to buy, but with the money spilling from my pockets onto the street, I didn’t want anything anymore. It didn’t feel right as I passed the beggars, struggling to eat, struggling to live. As I made my way home, I threw my money at them.”

  “You just gave it all away?”

  “I had to lighten not just my pockets, but also my conscience. I gave money to people who, if I continued to court bad karma, I believed I would become. I didn’t have a single franc left in my pocket when I charged through my doors. I fell into my kitchen in tears at Henry’s feet as he was purchasing another piece of my mother’s art. She held me and asked what the matter was. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I had done. I was so ashamed. Then Henry told me he had something that would cheer me up, and he held up a small guitar. Apparently, my mother had told him that I liked to sing. He taught me to play, and I became obsessed. I devoured music theory and poetry classes in school and spent the time I was not at school playing my guitar until I was good enough to start busking on the street and earn honest money. And I haven’t stolen anything since. Well…perhaps one or two hearts.”

  “You scoundrel,” I said, unable to restrain a smile. “Is Henry still in your life?”

  “I now know that he and my mother were lovers, but his family never approved of her. They thought she was beneath his status. Despite that, shortly after that day, they ran off with me in tow and eloped in her native land of Algeria. He adopted me, and we moved to England, and they’ve been madly in love ever since.”

  “Oh wow.” I sighed.

  He gave a wistful look as he glanced across to the sea. “While we’re on the topic of other days, I’ve wanted to say that I didn’t mean to offend you about that question about being in love when we met.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been suffering from writer’s block and I was hoping to get some insight. It’s been a while since I’ve fallen in love.”

  The memory of t
he day in the coconut grove flashed in my mind. Then I forced myself to stop as the image of him in a towel caused some very unwelcome sensations to ripple deep in my stomach.

  I nodded and forced a small smile as the word “love” and all of its meanings and manifestations rolled in my mind. I let my eyes turn back to the stars, and we sat bathed in their glow. Back at home it was impossible to see them. I would have needed an occasion to drive to the country, and even then, unless I drove for what seemed like an eternity, the night sky would barely be half as populated with the stars as it was in Goa.

  Then one fell and streaked across the night sky.

  “Shooting star!” I shouted and pointed. As quickly as I saw it, it burst into sparkling dust and vanished. I turned to Xavier, who was already watching me. “Did you see it? It was so beautiful.”

  He didn’t reply, and I felt his fingertips skimming my bracelet. My breath escaped me as I fell into his gaze. “Dance with me,” he commanded, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

  Before I could answer, he stood, took my hand, and guided me to my feet and led me to the dance floor. Electricity surged and radiated from his touch to my core. He gently placed my headset on before he put his on, and then toggled his channel to red to match mine. Pitbull’s Calle Ocho bounced through the earphones. Whatever divinity was in control had one hell of a sense of humour.

  It took us a couple of moments to find our groove, and we slowly danced closer and closer. Before I knew what was happening, he splayed his hand against the small of my back, causing me to press my hips into his. As he swept the hair off my shoulders, a chill ran down my spine. My two new frenemies vodka and tequila forced me to cup his biceps with my hands, before running my fingers across his taut chest. It had been a long time since I touched muscle like this. And I liked it.

  His eyes darkened and a whisper of a smile escaped his lips. He pulled me closer, his free hand holding the nape of my neck. I didn’t stop him. Instead I yielded to him, intoxicated by his scent. As his lips grazed my neck I arched my back, pressing into him and a delicious sensation curled in the pit of my stomach.

  He moved his hands down my body leaving a trail of sparks in their wake until they anchored on my hips, pulling me closer. I could taste his warm, bittersweet breath on my parted lips. My breath shuddered and strained with each movement of his hands on my demanding skin. I stifled a moan as his lips grazed mine. I couldn’t bear it any longer.

  I balled his shirt in my fists and pulled him towards me, relishing his taste as his mouth crashed against mine.

  Chapter 9

  Light assaulted my eyelids, sending searing pain through my skull. In my stale drunken disorientation, I blindly reached for the water I always left on the bedside table. My mouth was parched. The heat was unbearable. But there was no water. And no table.

  I sat straight up and wrenched my eyes open as the light stabbed at them.

  Where the hell am I?

  I ripped the sheet off, looked down at myself and pulled it back over.

  Dear God… I’m naked.

  Where was my dress? I frantically scanned the room until I saw a pile of his clothes and my slutty red dress on the floor next to me. I rolled over, reached down, and grabbed it. Sitting upright, I slipped it over my head.

  What time is it?

  I tried to stand, but my head felt like someone was shanking my brain with an icepick in time to my pulse. Instead, I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and pressed my face in my palms.

  “Morning, mon étoile,” Xavier’s crackling voice confirmed I just woke up in my worst nightmare. I looked up as he pushed through the door, holding a bottle of water and wearing nothing but navy-blue boxer briefs.

  He crawled into bed behind me, and I breathed a deep sigh and turned around to confront the situation. I took the bottle of water from him, swallowed a gulp, and had no idea what to say so I said, “Hi.”

  “Last night was fun,” he said reaching out and placing his hand on my knee. “Come back to bed.”

  Stay calm. I repeat, stay calm.

  I dropped my eyes on a fraying of threads on the corner of the pastel blue pillow and shook my head. “I have to go. We have a flight to catch.”

  His brow furrowed under his mop of inky black bed head. I would have described it as “just fucked,” but I didn’t want to face a reality that I couldn’t undo. But in the glow of the morning light, he really was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

  Adam! A voice screamed in my head. Your fiancé is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen!

  It took all my strength not to run from the room. I found my watch lying on the floor, and as I put it on, I noticed the time.

  “I need to find Lana; we’re going to miss our flight.”

  “That wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he said as a hopeful smile tugged at his lips.

  I stood and slid my feet into my flip-flops that were scattered with one near the head of the bed and the other at the foot. “Please, I need to get Lana. We have to go.”

  His smile vanished, and he rolled out of bed. His body strong, lean, and perfect. In silence he dressed and led me out of his room, across the common room and kitchen area, and to another door. He knocked on it and called, “Leo, it’s me. Open up.”

  I looked at my watch again. Jade would have a conniption if we missed the flight. Flights were always a considerable part of the budget, and we had to be careful with every penny. I tapped my feet on the ground and bit my nails like a junkie waiting on her dealer until the door swung open. I needed to get out of there. Leo answered, peering around the door, hiding his lower half. He looked at Xavier first, who said nothing, and then me.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but we have to go. We need to make this flight.”

  Leo closed the door, and a moment later Lana floated out from behind the door with her flip-flops dangling from her fingers, and her usually straight hair tousled, and gave him one last kiss to remember her by.

  “Don’t forget about New Zealand,” he said.

  “I won’t,” she replied.

  I felt Xavier’s eyes drilling into me, but I kept mine on the ground. He sure as hell wasn’t getting a goodbye like that.

  Once Lana was finished, I grabbed her by the hand said a simple “Bye” to Xavier and ran from the house, through the coconut grove, down the beach, tears streaming from my face.

  ***

  I had sobered up a little by the time we boarded the plane, and the weight of my shame came crashing down on me. For two and a half hours, I was tormented by memories from the night before. Kissing. Caressing. Groping. As I pushed one out, another took its place. Each flashback reminding me of the scum of the Earth I feared and loathed to ever become.

  After we settled into a random hotel in Delhi that night, I called down to reception for them to turn the hot water on and undressed. The power of a hot shower was not something to be underestimated. It was the first one I’d had since Mumbai, and it couldn’t have come at a more needed time. I stood in the shower and let the near scalding water run through my hair and down my skin. It washed away my tears, the remnants of my makeup, the smell of Xavier that lingered on my skin, in my hair, on my clothes, but not from my mind. As I scrubbed myself more vigorously than Lady Macbeth, I tried in vain to wash away my guilt and my memory of ever meeting Xavier.

  But in my dreams, the memory of his lips against mine haunted me.

  ***

  Date: January 30, 2010

  Agra, India

  There’s a famous photograph of Princess Diana sitting in front of the Taj Mahal, perfectly poised on a marble bench with a long rectangular pond running to the white mausoleum gleaming against a cloudless blue sky behind her. It’s similar to all of the postcards and stock images you find in coffee-table books and guidebooks, and these consistent representations set the expectations for this world-famous landmark. It is said at different times of the day, the light casts through the translucent marble a different colour ranging
from pink to orange and yellow. I had planned to catch it in the perfect afternoon light with fluffy clouds riding the horizon, perhaps a thronging of women in rainbow-coloured saris contrasting against the immaculate white marble. After years of waiting for that moment and envisaging it in the viewfinder of my camera, I stood before the famed wonder of the world, staring out across the garden and thought, you have got to be kidding me.

  A thick blanket of fog had covered Delhi and its neighboring areas conveniently in time for our visit. The visibility was at best twenty feet. As the girls and I walked down the path next to the famous water installation bundled in all of the clothes we owned, we couldn’t see a damn thing. I tugged at the sleeves of my cardigan through the sleeves of my sweatshirt as the damp chill gnawed at my fingers. Despite the poor visibility and flat lighting, I was a woman on a mission to get a good shot of something. Anything!

  All I wanted was to distract myself from that night in Goa. How could I have let things get that far? I wished I could wake up one morning in my bed back in Toronto to find out that I had been in a coma for the past few weeks and all of this was just some terrible dream. Well, so long as I didn’t have any lasting brain damage. A plot-convenient soap opera type of coma would be great.

  “So you see, madams,” the tour guide began as the base of the building appeared. “The Taj Mahal is considered the ultimate display of love and affection. The Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan constructed it in memory of his third and most beloved wife, who died in childbirth. The Shah was so grief-stricken, he commissioned the most beautiful and ornate mausoleum built from the finest white marble, painstakingly inlaid with semi-precious stones to house her body, and his when he joined her in death.” He stopped and pointed to a box of cloth things that looked like cloth shower caps. “Before we can enter, you must put these over your shoes.”

  As we settled onto the bench our driver, Hari, dashed over. “Please, allow me, Miss Lana.” He dropped to his knees and looked at her with adoring brown eyes.