French Quarter Kisses by Zuri Day

Author:Zuri Day
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-04-12T15:34:03+00:00

Chapter 18

In the wake of Roz’s atomic revelation that early Saturday morning, Pierre shut down. He locked his emotions behind a wall of indifference. Couldn’t eat. Barely slept. Turned off his phone. Much like what had happened in the days and weeks after getting on a bus bound for Houston, he became quiet, distant, his cold demeanor eliciting furtive glances and whispered questions among the staff. Unlike all those years ago, he spent the few hours not working with a bottle of top-shelf vodka until reaching a stupor that not even dreams could penetrate. His body endured the abuse for less than two days. Seven hours after downing too much alcohol and too little food, he was violently awakened by his liver’s demand to pay homage to the porcelain god. He heaved up his toenails, then lay on the cool marble and, with his world spinning, held on to the floor. With more precision than a bass drum in a marching band, a sledgehammer of pain beat against his temples and behind his right eye. The booze-induced vertigo jarred his senses and loosened the hold he had on his heart. The protective wall shattered. Emotions toppled out haphazardly, bumping into and rolling over each other—a rushing waterfall of anger, sadness, despair. Helpless to fight it, Pierre did something that was totally out of character. He rolled over, pulled himself into a fetal position and released more than a decade of unshed tears.

He cried himself to sleep. In the dream, urgent hands shook his body as the sound of his name bounced off cavernous walls.

“Pierre! Pierre, wake up!”

He frowned, tried to retreat into himself, as the movements became more forceful, the voice louder.

“Pierre! Come on, brother. Wake up!”

Another second and the hands fell away, the voices stilled. Pierre relaxed, welcoming the fog of unconsciousness creeping over his—

Ice water! His body lurched forward and an anguished, distressed cry torn from his soul hurled past cotton mouth and cold, chapped lips to shatter the silence. The fog was doused by a torrent of ice-cold liquid now streaming over him and dripping from his hair.

He stumbled to his knees and locked eyes with an uninvited intruder, fearless and unapologetic, holding a now empty Waterford crystal vase.

“Lizzy? What the hell?”

“Don’t you dare use that tone with me, big brother. Now that I know you’re not dead I could kill you!”

She spun around and walked out of the bathroom. A somewhat disoriented Pierre followed her.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing, period? Why aren’t you at the restaurant? Where is your phone?”

“I turned it off.”

“Why?”

“Obviously, I didn’t want to talk to anyone.” Pierre walked over to his nightstand and picked up a bottle of water. He opened it, took a long swig and flopped on the bed. The relentless pounding he’d felt before passing out was now a dull thud in his forehead that he tried to massage away.

Lisette watched him. An expression of concern replaced anger as her eyes traveled from him to

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