http://thedivaspen.com Accidental Mistress ISBN 9780983052388 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Accidental Mistress © Copyright 2011 Sienna Mynx Cover art by M. B. Wright Electronic book publication January 2011 With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, The Diva’s Pen LLC. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Special consideration and research has gone into the depiction of Martinique, however this remains a work of a fiction, any names, places or persons were strictly a work of fiction and based on the author's imagination. No infringement intended. J'ai découvert le vrai bonheur le jour vous avez marché dans ma vie. - I discovered true happiness the day you walked into my life. Chapter One Zuri's gaze switched from her half eaten filet to the sparkling city lights outside of the restaurant’s window. The sky had darkened to a deep shade of violet, which stained the moon pink as the sun slipped away. It was a sky that reminded her of home. She could see the wind in the sway of the leaves extended from the planted trees along the circular drive. A black car with dark tinted windows slowed to a stop before the valet’s booth. The driver, tall with an immaculate appearance, emerged. His hand pressed down on his cap to keep it in place, and his blazer blew open as he hurried around the front of the limo ahead of the valet. An even taller man stepped out from the darkness of the open door. Zuri's view had been limited by the shadows covering most of his face so she could only see the basic details. Big in stature, with shoulders a yard wide, his dark grey trench opened and closed as he took confident strides toward the restaurant’s doors. He possibly could be one of Chicago's elite. There were few surprises about the rich and famous dinning and mingling in the prestigious Gold Coast neighborhood. Besides, she'd seen her share of celebrities growing up on the island resort owned by her father. Tonight was special. Her parents had chosen a really nice French restaurant with velvet chairs and pristine settings under candlelight over crisp linen. All of this had been done for her. She should be enjoying herself. She wasn't. Zuri picked up her fork and pushed her asparagus into a cross formation on her plate. She dreaded the conversation that the evening was edging toward. "Something wrong with your steak, ma chérie?" her mom asked. Nanette Baptiste, her mother, was often told she looked as young as her daughters. She had married young and in their island customs that wasn't too surprising. Not like here in America where women aimed for college and much more. Petite in stature, Nanette’s distinctive feature had been her remarkably large expressive eyes like Zuri with naturally long lashes. She blinked and men stopped thinking she was a flirt. Claude Baptiste preferred she wore her hair long and flowing. Her mother usually pulled the dark locks back and neatly pinned it into a chignon in public. But if you ever saw it freely cascading about her shoulders, you'd be compelled to touch it. Her French, African, East Indian heritage proved evident in her speech and her toffee hued skin. Nanette was as gracious as she was kind, never raising her voice in anger and never indulging in the island snobbery customary of women of her stature. Zuri loved her mom dearly. Zuri decided on a sip of wine rather than an answer. She forced a smile. Today had been her twenty-first birthday, and this indeed was her very first official taste of alcohol. “She's okay mère,” Joi winked. Nanette's motherly concern deepened the frown lines over her brow. “I'm fine, just not that hungry.” “That's because she misses your cooking. Doncha? Hot and spicy lambi, blaff, court-bouillon filling your belly,” Joi teased. “Conch, boiled fish with chives or in spicy tomato sauce as opposed to the Chicago treats of deep dish pizzas and polish dogs smothered in onions and sauerkraut? Nope, I like my American food just fine." Grinning, Joi, her younger sister by two years, bumped her knee with her own under the table. “Yea, right. Then why did you have me sneak some boudin past customs for you? Ansa me that!” Her father chuckled, but her mother frowned at the impropriety of Zuri's request. “Guess you got a point.” Zuri flashed her mother a sheepish smirk. Her gaze shifted to her sister's rare beauty. Despite the chill of the night, Joi wore a red halter dress that their mother kept insisting she pull up. She too had inherited Nanette's hair but chose to wear it cropped short in a pixie like style with the tips of her spry curls tinted magenta. This was only one of the ways Joi rebelled against her mother's attempts to keep her daughters lady-like. On the island of Martinique, the caste system had been often upheld. Her parent's story was proof of that. “We're proud of you, Zuri,” her father said, “I'd like to make a toast.” Zuri beamed. The Baptiste family raised their glasses. Her dad cleared his throat. Claude’s eyes shone with pride and love. Zuri couldn't help but relax under his protective gaze. He was the glue that held them all together. Each of the Baptiste women bloomed and flourished under the watchful guidance of Claude Baptiste. As a reward, his complete devotion to his children and wife was unwavering. Her parents were a great example of the type of marriage Zuri would want to have someday. No one was prouder than she. Her father, a man of Haitian descent, had been raised unlike her mother who was Martinician. A French European family (commonly referred to as metros on the island) adopted her father from a Haitian orphanage at the age of eight and brought him to Martinique. There was much more to the story, but Claude never spoke of his time with the Lefebvre’s. Even though he inherited their wealth, including the coffee bean plantation, at the young age of seventeen, he kept his real father's name with pride. Claude's strict catholic principles made life as his daughter come with certain restrictions and rules. But even he saw fit to let Zuri breach the nest and spread her wings. “To Zuri, my daughter the college graduate. I am so proud of the woman before me and all that you’ve accomplished. We all are. Félicitations, ma trésor." Zuri felt a surge of love move through her. He congratulated her. “Merci, père.” She said, humbled and thankful. Glasses clinked. Zuri savored the sour and sweet blend of her wine. Once the grape taste dissolved on her tongue, her body warmed. She relaxed. Is this what wine does to a person, she wondered. If so, she would enjoy the freedoms of being twenty-one. “How cool is it that you graduate on the same day that's your birthday?” Joi asked. “Luck, I guess.” Zuri looked up when her mother reached over and tucked a loose curl behind her ear that had fallen in her face. “I like your apartment. You decorated it very nice and cozy,” her mother said. Zuri nodded. “I found some neat things at a little thrift store by my place. My friend at school helped me upholster the sofa. Merci beaucoup, mère.” “Is it a he?” her father queried. Zuri rolled her eyes, and Joi snickered. Claude shrugged his shoulders. “I know you’re a good girl. No way you could finish with honors if you were chasing boys.” “Claude, honey, at her age, they are men not boys,” her mother chuckled and Zuri’s father blanched. “Whatever they are, she has no time for those matters.” “What matters, père?” Joi teased. “Can we change the subject?” Zuri sighed. The last thing she wanted to discuss was her virginity, which remained shamefully in tact. It was kind of embarrassing that she had been in the city for three solid years and had not even made a guy friend outside of her study group. Getting kissed by one was still a dream. But her schedule could be the blame. She piled on the course work and finished ahead of her peers. The commencement ceremony wouldn't be scheduled until June. It was just December. “Fontaine has asked about you often, since your last visit home,” her mother tried to introduce casually. “Ew! He's so ashy!” Joi coughed out. “Lower your voice, Joi!” Nanette admonished. “And he isn't ashy. He has skin allergies.” Claude groaned. “I agree with Zuri. Change the subject.” “Well, it's not Fontaine that's missing you. JP is the one,” said Joi. Tension seized the reins of the conversation. Jean-Paul was a trusted employee, family friend, and he never spoke of his desires for Zuri. To do so would incur her father's wrath. He was Guadeloupian, six years her senior, uneducated, even though he was the head chef under her father's employ. And her father made it really clear he wasn't ready for either of his daughters to be paired off with a suitor, acceptable or not. He'd accept nunnery first. Zuri gave a nervous laugh. “Père, Joi is just trying to get a rise out of you. JP and I are more like brother and sister. You know this.” Her father's tight-lipped scowl eased. Joi kept grinning, hoping to get her father to fly off in French and shock her mother into trying to calm him. The mood softened and Zuri felt the tension in her chest release as well. To be truthful, she had missed her family. She even secretly missed her girlhood crush Jean-Paul. Maybe she'd email him later to catch up. She picked up her knife and began to slice into her medium rare steak. The steamy juices saturated her plate, turning her mashed potatoes pink. “Do you have to leave tomorrow evening? I want to take Joi around and do some shopping,” she said. “Yes!” Joi exclaimed, and her mother shook her head sternly at the outburst. Zuri ignored them both, addressing her father. His private jet could be scheduled to take them back to Martinique at anytime based on his wishes. “Père, I want to take you to Harold's. They have better barbecue chicken than anything JP can do at home.” “Please, père! Let’s stay another day!” Joi chimed in. “Ma petite. I want to know your plans.” Her father's voice broke over the excitement and silenced her sister's enthused gushing. He addressed Zuri only. She glanced up from her plate into his eyes again and felt three years old. “Sir?” “Your return home of course. I’ve paid your lease up for two months. That’s enough transition time. We can fly back in June for your commencement ceremony.” “Not now, Claude,” her mom whispered. Zuri’s eyes flipped from her mother to her father, wide with alarm. It was worse than she feared. They didn’t want to discuss it. They had decided her future for her. “I just graduated, père. I’m considering law schools; my LSAT scores come in next week. So, I… I haven’t decided anything.” “Exactly. You’re considering law school, but you must learn French law not American. I'm proud of you, but we have a family business to run. I'm thinking of expanding to Fort de France and making you manager there.” “Père, don't. Leave Zuri alone. It's her birthday. Can we talk about this later?” her sister demanded. Zuri was a mama's girl. Joi was all her father's. She could always be counted on out of the Baptiste women to rein him in. Her father looked from Zuri's hurt stare, to her mother's disapproving one, and then back to his youngest daughter’s pleading eyes. He smiled. “Je suis désolée. We can talk about this later. Yes, Joi, we can stay another day or two. I want to make my girls happy.” “Pardon,” Zuri mumbled, in desperate need of a breath. “Zuri, chérie!” her mother called after her. Zuri bolted from the table, nearly bumping the server in her haste. She blinked away angry tears. Quickly she rounded the dining room for the bathroom. If she had been of clear mind, she would have seen him step into the hall in front of her. Instead, she ran up against the wall of his chest. Zuri's heart pulsed so hard, she felt as if she'd been struck. In her clumsy attempt to flee, her feet tripped under her. With one hand he caught her elbow and steadied her. To keep her balance, she grabbed the front lapels of his suit jacket. Mortified, Zuri's head slowly lifted and eyes so blue they were almost