The Last Tale of the Flower Bride(11)

Over the past few years, I had conceptualized and brought to life more than half a dozen homages to my wife. Here I rediscovered a love letter in the lapis lazuli and bronze tiles of the lobby, its nacreous tables and chandeliers of pearls and windowpane oyster shells.

“Melusine,” I said.

I had told Indigo the tale of Melusine early in our courtship. We were in the bathtub of her Paris penthouse, slightly intoxicated and muzzy from a day spent in bed.

“Tell me a tale,” she had begun, climbing into my lap.

I caught the slow glint of hunger building in her eyes. I gripped her waist, held her in place. She squirmed as if she were trapped.

This was part of our game.

“Once upon a time,” I said, “there was a man who married a water spirit named Melusine. Except he didn’t know what she was. Before they married, she made him promise that for one day out of the week, he would let her bathe in private and never disturb her.”

“Did he keep his promise?”

“He was a weak man,” I said, running my thumb along her full bottom lip. “Of course he did not.”

She liked the way I said that and rewarded me with a kiss.

“One day, curiosity overcame the husband and he spied on her through a hole in the door, and that’s when he realized his wife was not fully mortal. Below the waist”—here, I paused to demonstrate, and Indigo sighed as I stroked her—“she was a serpent.”

Indigo gripped my shoulders. “Then what?”

“Then Melusine abandoned him for the sea.”

“Poor Melusine,” said Indigo as she shifted to let me in. “You can tell she really loved him.”

“Is that so?”

By then, I was distracted by her fingers in my hair, the heat of her thighs. And yet I never forgot what she said as she lowered her mouth to my ear.

“She kept him alive when she should’ve done so much worse.”

Indigo’s voice now reached me through the memory. A soft, tired smile curved her mouth. The chandelier lights picked out hues of ruby in her hair.

“Do you remember when you told me this story?”

How could I forget?

“Maybe you can tell me again tonight?” Indigo said, right as a voice called across the lobby.

“Azure!”

All softness left Indigo’s eyes. That name, Azure, iced over her. Across the lobby, a young Black woman waved and walked toward us. She had large, dark eyes and her hair was a bouncing golden halo, like the corona of a saint.

“Azure!” she said again.

That name. Azure. A. Like the letter carved on the tooth at the end of a bracelet of hair. I watched as the name snared and tightened around my wife.

“You’re mistaken,” said Indigo. “Have we even met?”

“We went to high school together! You guys had that crazy graduation party?” The woman paused. Frowned. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You’re not Azure . . . Indigo?”

The way she said the name. There was a distaste to it. The other woman’s mouth crimped, and I wondered what memory she held behind her teeth.

Indigo’s smile turned brittle. “The one and only.”

Indigo gestured at the hotel. It was a sign: You are in my realm.

The other woman managed a laugh. “Oh my God, it’s been ages! I’m visiting family, haven’t been back in years. How are you? Do you and Azure still talk?”

“No,” said Indigo. “I haven’t seen her in years. She left the island.”

Within seconds, Indigo summoned a frosty, regal sheen, as if she were made of gems and even her shadow were too precious to step on. The other woman picked it up like a scent.

“Right,” the woman said, matching Indigo’s coolness. “Sorry to hear that. You two always seemed close.”

“Life rarely goes as planned,” said Indigo. “I hope you have a pleasant stay on the property.”

“Thanks,” said the woman, nodding at me once before turning on her heel.

My head started to ache. By the time we were alone in our rooms, I could not remember how we had got there. My mouth tasted of salt.

I couldn’t stop thinking of the pain on Indigo’s face. All these years, she had carried a secret wound. I’d known it existed, though she had forbidden me from asking any questions. In that time, a chasm had widened between us. And now I knew it had a name.

“Who is Azure?”

Indigo stiffened. I had never once broken her rules, but I could not ignore that. Not when it was so boldly thrown in my face. Indigo sat at the foot of the bed, digging her thumbs into the arches of her reddened feet.

“She was my best friend,” she said, not looking at me, not repeating her name. “We had a fight. She ran away after graduation.” Indigo breathed carefully, as if the air had been disturbed by her admission. “She was the closest I had to a sister growing up. It’s hard to speak of her.”

For months now, I had dreamt of the engraved A and the cool braid of dark hair. I told myself it was a hundred different things . . . an odd souvenir from a lost love, a magic spell to ward off evil, a keepsake of her mother’s. But the A was for Azure.

Indigo disappeared into the bathroom. When she emerged, she wore a long, white nightgown I had never seen before. It reminded me of the figure in the window.