Double Dealing: A Menage Romance(37)

"Better than they had before," I replied. "I want much the same as you. The homeland is beautiful, but there is much to be desired about living here. The Rhone house or even this barge would be much better for a woman like Jordan anyway."

Francois laughed loudly, then looked over. "Do you not think a woman of her talents would enjoy herself in the rock scene of the Balkans?"

I conceded the point. Industrial, grungy metal music had stayed popular in our homeland long after it’d faded from prominence in other areas of the world. Maybe it was the leftovers of the Soviet influence on Eastern Europe. The clunky, imposing architecture and style just called out to metal-heads, especially as they decayed and took on a truly ominous, Gothic aura. "True. I guess I hadn't thought about that. But the scene here in Paris is much larger. Are we really debating the employment possibilities for Jordan right now?"

Francois laughed again. "I think Jordan shouldn't need to work for the rest of her life. But let's stick to the matter at hand, our next living arrangements. This isn’t a situation we've been in since our childhood, Felix."

I nodded. Since our father had died, Francois and I preferred to live in separate houses, usually only coming together to plan and train for heists. We’d meet up for holidays of course, but at least eight months out of the year I would be living in a different area than my brother. "I know. Would you prefer the Winnebago or the house in Durres? Or can we try and cohabitate for a while?"

"Dammit Felix, I'm being serious!" Francois hissed. "Do you really want to have Jordan living like Papa did? Splitting his time between houses?"

"He didn't always do that. Our mothers have been able to live together for years, you know that. But I am serious. If you honestly want to continue for the two of us to live apart, then I would have it be that we are at least within driving distance of each other. The only way I can see that happening is for one of us to live in the Winnebago. This barge is nice, but I can’t imagine us staying here like this forever. The same with the house in Rhone, it’s too small."

"Four bedrooms, and we call it small," Francois laughed in dark humor. "We must be spoiled."

"You know exactly who those other bedrooms are for. I doubt that our mothers would be willing to share a bedroom just because we think we’ve found love."

"It’s strange to hear you speak of love, Felix. You’ve always been the one to restrain himself from expressions of emotion when it came to women,” Francois replied. He sighed and looked out on the city, or at least what we could see from our barge berth. "What about our next job?"

I shook my head. “I’m not interested in anymore jobs, for a while at least. We have enough money, and we don’t need the rush. Besides, now we have Jordan.”

Francois huffed. “Maybe I want more than that, Felix. Papa died a very rich man."

“He died a very lonely, bitter old man," I reminded him. "Unless you count the bastards Papa probably left in quite a few countries. Or did you forget Sergei three years ago in Lithuania?"

"Of course I didn’t forget Sergei," Francois said. It was a sensitive subject for him, which amused me. The logical disconnect for him between our father being a playboy and yet Francois expecting us to be his only children was confusing to me. Our father had never hidden his past from us, and as soon as I figured out how men and women made children, the assumption had been academic to me. "Still, don't you want to be more than what you are?"

"I do," I said quietly. "I want to be a good man. So far, I can’t lay claim to that."

Francois had no answer and only stared out at the river. I watched him for a moment until the winter chill caused me to shiver. "I'm going inside. I’m sure Jordan would like it if you did too."

I went back inside without waiting for him to answer, thinking the whole time. I knew that Francois cared for Jordan as I did. Unfortunately, his personal ambition meant that there was something else he loved as well. He wanted recognition, and, if it could be said for men in our profession, a bit of infamy. It’d worked well for us so far, as I could be entrusted to be the level-headed one, to see the pitfalls in any plan and to secure us against the unseen dangers. Meanwhile, Francois was the one who would push us, trying for challenges that I wouldn’t have initially accepted. I’d found his ambition to often be a good thing, pushing me beyond what I thought my limits were. He had this sort of wild, instinctual genius that allowed him to make connections that I didn't see until after the fact. Still, after meeting Jordan, I was ready to move on. Maybe I was thinking of retiring too early, at the top of my game, so to speak. Jordan was certainly one to retire for.

Shrugging, I made a mental note to think about it more the next day. I went into the bedroom, where the dim light from the living area revealed a pleasing curved lump under the blankets. I quickly stripped to my underwear, a habit I’d gotten into in Mexico first because of the warmth and then for other reasons, relishing the anticipation of feeling Jordan's body pressed against mine, even though she wore pajamas usually.

My first surprise was the feeling of Jordan's bare skin against me when I slid in behind her. Not questioning my good fortune, I slid my arm around her waist to rest against the soft expanse of her tummy. I kissed her lightly behind the ear and smiled. "Good night."