Glitter Baby by Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page A

took a step, and then another. She moved across the polished floor toward the casket, and as she came closer, she fought the urge to run from this silent house, runfrom the Street of Charity, run from Alexi Savagar back to the safe, suffocating comfort of the nuns. But she couldn’t run. Not until she showed him what he’d tossed away.
    She reached the casket and sucked in her breath. Then she bent forward and touched her lips to the cold, still ones of her grandmother.
    She heard a sudden, sharp hiss. For one horrifying moment, she thought it was coming from the corpse, but then Alexi grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back from the coffin.
    “ Sale garce! ” He uttered a vicious curse and shook her. “You’re just like him. You’ll do anything to save your pride!” Her hair came loose and tumbled down her back. He shoved her into the small black chair next to the casket. “Nothing is too vile when your pride is at stake.” He wiped away the kiss with his bare hand, smearing her lipstick across her cheek.
    She tried to push his arm away. “Don’t touch me! I hate you. Don’t ever touch me.”
    His grip loosened on her arm. He said something so softly she almost missed it.
    “ Pur sang. ”
    She stopped struggling.
    He stroked her mouth with his fingers, his touch gentle. He traced the line where her lips came together. And then, unexpectedly, his finger slid inside her mouth and moved gently along the barrier of her teeth.
    “ Enfant. Pauvre enfant. ”
    She sat there stunned, spellbound, mesmerized. He crooned as if he were singing her a lullaby. “You have been caught in something you don’t understand. Pauvre enfant. ”
    His touch was so tender. Was this the way fathers treated daughters they loved?
    “You are extraordinary,” he murmured. “The photograph in the newspaper didn’t prepare me.” He gently tangled his fingers in the tendril of hair that had fallen over her cheek. “I’ve always loved beautiful things. Clothing.Women. Automobiles.” He brushed his thumb over her jawline. She smelled his cologne, faintly spicy. “At first I loved indiscriminately, but I’ve learned better.”
    She didn’t know what he was talking about.
    He touched her chin. “Now I have only one obsession. The Bugatti. Do you know the Bugatti?”
    Why was he talking about a car? She remembered what she’d seen in the garage, but she shook her head.
    “Ettore Bugatti called his cars pur sang , pure blood, like a Thoroughbred horse.” The tips of his fingers brushed the polished onyx drops in her earlobes and pulled gently. “I have the finest collection of pur sang Bugattis in the world, all but the crown jewel—the Bugatti Royale.” His voice was soft, loving…hypnotic. She felt as if he’d cast a spell over her. “He built only six of them. During the war, one Royale was left in Paris. Three of us hid it from the Germans in the sewers beneath the city. That car has become a legend, and I’m determined to own it. I must own it because it is the very best. Pur sang , do you understand me, enfant ? Not to possess the best is unthinkable.” He stroked her cheek.
    She nodded, although she didn’t understand at all. Why was he talking about this now? But his voice was so loving, and the old fantasies rose up inside her. Her eyes drifted shut. Her father had seen her, and after all these years, he finally wanted her.
    “You remind me of that car,” he whispered. “Except you are not pur sang , are you?”
    At first she thought she felt his finger on her mouth. Then she realized it was his lips. Her father was kissing her.
    “Alexi!” The shriek of a wounded animal penetrated the room. Fleur’s eyes flew open.
    Belinda stood at the door, her face twisted with anguish. “Get your hands off her! I’ll kill you if you touch her again! Get away from him, Fleur. You mustn’t ever let him touch you!”
    Fleur rose awkwardly from the chair. Her faltering words were unplanned. “But…He’s…He’s my