Butterfly by Nelle L’Amour

CHAPTER 47

Roman

My session with Dr. Goodman, my shrink, went exceedingly well. I’ve been seeing him since I lost Ava and the baby. A renowned Upper West Side therapist specializing in grief, he used to come to my atelier on the day he teaches at nearby NYU, but now I don’t mind traveling to his office. He was instrumental in getting me through my darkest time and the horrible guilt and sorrow I suffered after the accident. He’s always felt that I needed to let go and move on. Find someone new to love. That I was capable and deserving. But my remorse persevered.

Over the past few months, he’s noticed a marked change in my behavior. A glint in my eye that’s not been there before. A newfound joie de vivre and passion for my work. Today, I finally opened up to him about my relationship with Sofi, and he actually clapped his hands. His advice was to follow my heart and let things progress naturally. Look ahead, not look back. There’s a reason rearview mirrors are so small and windshields so big. Big enough to crash through, but I shoved that thought to the back of my mind.

Returning to my atelier at a little after two, I can’t wait to take the new love of my life, this exquisite butterfly, who has given me light and inspiration, into my arms and smother her with kisses. Then carry her upstairs to my bedroom and fly her high into the sky. Stepping inside, I search for her. She’s usually in her corner painting, but she’s not there. I know it’s ridiculous—for all I know she could be in the bathroom—but a panic button goes off inside me.

The studio is abuzz with my seamstresses stitching gowns and accessorizing them with final details like feathers and crystals, Madame DuBois among them. My heart galloping, I dash up to her.

“Where’s Sofi?” I ask, trying to stay as calm as possible.

“Monsieur, I haven’t seen her for quite some time. Maybe she slipped away upstairs.”

Taking the stairs two steps at a time, I bound up to my living quarters and search the place like a madman. She’s nowhere to be found. I clamber back downstairs. Still no sign of Sofi.

I hastily pull out my phone and check the tracker app. Fuck. Her phone must be off or in a dead zone. I can’t get a signal. I try calling her, but it goes straight to voicemail.

My mind races. Maybe she went to that little coffee shop around the corner that she loves. Shit. What’s it called? La Bree-something. La Briquage? La Brisé? La Brioche? Yes, that’s it! Wasting no time, I call it. No, Sofi’s not there nor has she been all day.

I’m getting all worked up. Every muscle in my body is knotting, the vein in my temple vibrating with fury. Where the fuck could she have gone? I swear to God I’m going to spank the sass out of her gorgeous ass when she comes back. Then buy her a collar and leash if I have to. Or microchip her! Think, asshole, think! Think, think, think! I know! I bet she went to the Museum of Natural History . . . to see the butterflies. I quickly call the museum and ask the operator if someone can check for her in the conservatory. I tell her she’s easy to spot—she’s wearing my butterfly scarf in her hair and a bright floral skirt.

“Sorry, sir,” replies the voice on the other end. “It’s highly improbable she’s there as the conservatory is closed today for a private event.”

Shit. Without thanking her or saying goodbye, I end the call. And make another. Vincent. He picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, man. What’s up?”

“Is Sofi with you?”

“No. I haven’t seen her since I came by your studio.”

“I don’t know where she is.” I can no longer hide the panic in my voice. “And can’t reach her on her cell.”

“Chill, dude. Maybe she went to see her friend Harper. She’s been talking about doing that for a while.”

My body tenses. Fucking Harper. That girl is going to be the death of me. Thank fucking God I have her contact info and can text her. After ending my call with Garcia, I fire her off two short lines.

Call me. It’s important!

To my relief, my phone rings a few seconds later. It’s her. I have no clue if she knows about my relationship with Sofi, but right now I don’t give a damn.

“Hey, Harper. Is Sofi with you?”

“She should be with me!” Fury laces her voice. “I can’t believe she stood me up! I mean, seriously, I was only thirty minutes late.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was supposed to meet me for lunch at the Sutton Inn. I had a million swatches of fabric to show her! And I wanted to tell her about the spat I had with Derek!”

Pacing, I cut her off. I don’t have time for her fabric or marital problems. “Do you know where she went?”

“No clue. And I haven’t been able to reach her. The hostess said she left the restaurant before I got there and didn’t seem too happy.”

Worry floods every cell in my body. “Let me know if you hear from her.” I hit the red end call button.

About to call the restaurant next to see if they have more information, I’m assaulted by a familiar cloying scent. I spin around.

Kendra! The last person I want to see.

“Hello, darling!” Her voice is as cloying as her scent. Her scrutinizing eyes circle the atelier, bouncing from one draped dress form to the next. “So, it looks like your new collection is coming along. It’ll be a wonder if we can afford a venue.”

I don’t have time for her snake-tongued barbs. “Kendra, why are you here?”

“Hmm, you seem to have forgotten that I own forty-nine percent of this company. Anyway, I have all your mail—I took care of most of your ridiculous bills. Seriously, fifteen thousand dollars for some stupid crystals that’ll fall off the minute you breathe on them? You need your head examined!” Contempt etched on her face, she reaches into her enormous bag and pulls out a stuffed yellow envelope. Invoices. She hands it to me. Then, reaches back into her bag. “Oh, and there’s something that came for that little slut of yours that you may want to take a look at.” She shoves another envelope at me. “Tah-tah. I have a doctor’s appointment I can’t be late for.”

With a fling of her head and a smirk, she pivots. Then, saunters to the front door and lets herself out. Fuck her.

I toss the thick, bill-filled yellow envelope onto a drafting table and stare at the thin manila envelope in my hand addressed to Sofi though her name is misspelled. Why is it torn open? Curiosity gets the better of me. I reach inside and slip out the contents. I read the two-page letter.

And almost have a coronary.