From the Baroness’s Diary III

Chapter 3-2

They don’t deserve my respect or trust—much less my love. Nor does the baron, who keeps me here as an object for his…enjoyment? Non, not even that. And again the only word that comes to my mind is convenient.

I am tired of being a…convenient object.

There is only one thing standing in my way and that is the dowager. Of course, she would never allow me to go traipsing off to Italy to meet my lover. Likely, unless I come up with a good reason to go anywhere, she will want to accompany me.

Madame Viltran takes her leave a few moments later and the dowager gives a huff. “That woman does not live up to her reputation!”

“Perhaps she will once you see the final product,” I say, attempting to keep her in a good mood. “I’d like to discuss something with you, if you have a moment.”

“Yes, of course, my dear. Go on,” she answers, a small frown on her forehead. I am certain that she is curious and a bit surprised, as I have not ever asked to talk with her before.

Attempting to look nervous, I bite my lip before saying, “I wish to go to France to visit a dear friend of mine. She’s sick and I am afraid that she might not live out the year.” It is a bald-faced lie, but a good one.

The dowager frowns, as I knew she would. “A woman traveling alone can be very dangerous, Chloé.”

“I am aware of that,” I say graciously. Though I disagree. As far as she knows, I’m only going to France, not to India or Nepal. And we’re in England, for God’s sake. It’s so next-door. But I kind of understand, considering that we have been living in this forsaken manor, as if in the nineteenth century when we are barely twenty-five years from the twenty-first century. “I appreciate your concern. I will phone Collette to see if she can accompany me.”

The dowager mulls over my words for a moment and then gives me a sharp nod. “Who am I to keep you from your friend’s bedside? I will inform the baron of your absence, of course.”

“Of course,” I murmur, wondering what my husband will think once he receives word that his wife is about to gallivant across Europe. Will he care? “Thank you. I’ll call Collette now.”

The dowager waves me away with her hand and I hurry to my room. Even if Collette can’t travel with me, I’m going to Italy. Closing the door to my bedroom, I sit at the small writing desk and pick up the phone receiver, taking my time to dial Collette’s number in London.

I got my own private phone months ago after my trip to London, installing it in my bedroom out of range from the eavesdropping servants and the dowager. My conversations have not been exciting in the least, but it gives me quite the chuckle to know that they might think I’m having illicit phone conversations.

Oh, oui, and I have a TV in my room now, too. Since the baron is not home anymore, he could hardly begrudge me wasting my time seeing TV shows.

But my musings are interrupted when Collette picks up on the second ring. “Bonjour. C’est Collette.”

“Ma chérie amie!”

“Chloé,” she laughs. “Jean and I were just discussing last evening how much we miss you here in London. When are you coming back to visit? Surely the country cannot be that entertaining.”

“The country isn’t as boring as you would think.” I purse my lips. It’s a lie, at least in my case. Morning walks, meals with my mother-in-law, tea-time with her friends, and my nightly reading. That’s all I have been doing every single day. Well, it has not been always like this, not really, but lately? Oui.

“Only you, Chloé, would find excitement in that drafty, old manor,” she says. “Please tell me you are coming to London. I miss you.”

I relax, my body going soft on the chair as her words warm my heart. Every time I talk with Collette, I realize how lucky I am to have her as my friend and, at the same time, how lonely I am. While the dowager keeps me occupied some, her conversations are vastly different than the open ones I have with my friend.

“Actually, I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Collette asks, a hint of excitement in her voice.

“I wish to go see Salvatore and I would like for you and Jean to come with me,” I blurt out, my heart racing in my chest. I am so close to being in his arms once more.

“You found him.”

It is a statement, not a question. “Oui. Monsieur Brown was very good.”

“Superbe,” Collette replies, her voice crackling through the phone. “And I assume you still wish to rekindle this…affaire?”

“I do,” I answer, feeling confident.

“Well then,” Collette breathes excitedly, “I assume we shall pack our bags for Italy!”

I accept the hand of the driver as I climb out of the car in Dover, tilting my head back so I can see the ferry that will be the start of my long journey to Sicily. The wide brim of my hat shades the sun from my eyes, protecting my face.

“Chloé!”

Turning, I see Collette hurry toward me, her hand on her own hat with Jean right behind her, smiles on their faces. “Collette.”

“Fleur, ma chérie.” She winks at me, calling me by the false name we agreed I would use to stay incognito, and grasps me by the arms, excitement showing in her gleaming eyes. “I cannot believe it is finally here! After all our planning.”

Amused, I give her a slight smile. “All our planning? We had but a week to do so.”

She narrows her gaze, pursing her lips. “A week, truly? Darling, you have been planning this since Salvatore left the manor.”

“She’s right,” Jean remarks, giving me a wink as he finally joins our little group. “And we are very fortunate to be joining you, Chloé—erm, I mean, Fleur. It will be a roaring good time. Now, shall we?”

Linking my arm with Collette’s, we walk together to the ferry that will take us to Calais, France.

Life is about finding courage to live each day a better way and face the obstacles head-on. I hope that is what I am doing.

Blowing out a breath, I accept the hand of an attendant over the threshold.

There is no turning back now.

The ferry hasn’t even begun to move and I am already soaring over the channel toward Sicily.

What will Salvatore think? Will he be surprised to see me, elated even? Will we pick up where we left off with our love affair?

Or will he shun me, think of me as some whimsical fancy that has long since burned out? Am I placing my heart—my future—in the unknown?

I shake my head as my heart clenches in pain. Collette and Jean invite me to go outside with them but I decline. I prefer to stay in our cabin.

I unpin my hat, hanging it on the hook in front of me. This hat is one of my favorite pieces of my wardrobe, making me appear elegant and kind of mysterious, since it covers a great part of my face. Collette has even said that I look seductive in the oversized hat.

But inside, I am feeling quite unsure of myself for the first time since I have decided to embark on this journey.

What if I am making a mistake? What if there is nothing for me in Sicily but the wonderful memories that I still cherish in my poor, lonely heart?

My chest muscles tighten as panic seizes me. I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I will be devastated to have Salvatore turn his back on me. I have nothing else. Nothing but a drafty manor and a tyrannical uncaring husband who prefers the other s*x.

I have nothing and that’s quite apparent now.

Two days later I am so tired and sick when I board the ferry in Villa San Giovanni, in Calabria, that I don’t even accept Collette and Jean’s invitation to have a drink on the deck.

I had forgotten how much traveling on a train makes me sick. I realize I am trembling and that is only partially from being sick and from the doubts that permeate my mind day and night.

The other reason? I am closer to Salvatore.

As Collette and Jean go for a drink, I go in search of a place to lie down in peace. I stop when I find a small library.

I take off my hat and put it on a table as I wander the small room looking at the titles stacked on the shelves but there is nothing in English or in French.

The ferry lurches as it leaves the calm waters and I stumble, catching myself against the wall with one hand.

It’s then that I hear a moan and it comes from behind the door which is only half-closed.

I poke my head into another room and I am not prepared for what I find there.

My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of a young blond man leaning against the wall, his creased forehead damp with sweat.

He takes in a deep breath and moans softly again.

At first, I think he is not feeling well but then his head drops a bit toward his chest, a lock of blond hair falling graciously over his forehead and I look down too.

Mon Dieu! He is…masturbating, his pants half down his thighs.

I ought to leave.

This is clearly a private moment, in a private room, and I am the intruder. I really should turn around, walk away and absolutely, positively not watch a moment more. But my feet seem glued to the floor as my eyes are riveted to his exposed c**k jutting out thick and long from his fisted hand.

“Dio, bella,” he moans, his eyes closed. “Suck it, please.”

My lips part in tandem, as if obeying him from across the room. My c**t throbs in response to his rasping voice saying those dirty words. My n*****s harden as his fist f***s his c**k.

“Sì, Dio.” His other hand cups his balls. “That’s right, baby. Lick them. Suck them.”

My gaze flows to his face and I am mesmerized by the utter perfection of his features twisted in a grimace of pleasure.

My whole body comes alive.

The man is…perfection. He’s also muscular and tall. His arms are strong enough that I imagine he could carry anything in them without effort…including me.

Where does that thought come from?

It’s a feeling I’d never felt before, like warm summer rain washing over me.

“Sì. Take me deep in your mouth and stick your fingers in your cunt. That’s it.”

Still dazed by his magnificence and more than a little turned on, I let out an involuntary sound—a whimper, almost a moan to match his.

Heavy lids slide open and striking baby-blue eyes look at me, widening into a look of shock.

Instead of fleeing, I stand there and squeeze my thighs together where I stand, giving myself whatever relief I can.

And then he lets out a raspy moan and his fist moves quicker and quicker and quicker even and then he comes, spurting into his cupped hand, his eyes glued to mine.

With a last jerk of his fist and a low grunt, he lets his head drop to the wall behind him, closing his eyes finally.

I use the moment he has his eyes closed to turn and run back to where I left Collette.

I am perhaps the most relieved passenger to get off the ferry and set my feet on solid Sicilian ground.