Chapter One

As Damien du Bourg stood in the Liverpool Museum, iPod at his ears, and stared at The Punishment of Lust by Segantini, he knew he had to have that painting.

The dreamy, muted colors of the canvas showed the regret, the pain, the hopelessness that Damien knew as intimately as himself. It was his lust that had killed Marie, and his lust that had lured Marissabelle, yet they had taken the punishment for his sins.

Like the two women drifting in the empty landscape in front of him, he too was wrapped in shroudlike, clingy bonds of pain, suspended in nothingness for eternity.

"Excuse me," he said to the female security guard who had been discreetly trailing him.

"Yes?" She crossed her arms over her ample chest and eyed him suspiciously. Not an attractive woman, she looked like life had given her a reason to distrust, and he was sorry for that, sorry that she too knew pain.

"Do you know where I can buy a print of this painting?"

"The gift shop might have it." Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Do you know where the gift shop is?"

Damien smiled, knowing the effect it would have. "No. Perhaps you could point me in the right direction?"

"I guess I can walk you over there."

"Merci. Thank you, I appreciate it."

She gave an unexpected smile in return, and a plain face became almost pretty. It was a rationalization on his part, that random acts of sexual kindness could make up for what he had done, but it was the only way he could live with himself, and he had a long life to live.

Damien readjusted his plans for the evening to include the suspicious security guard and her Rubenesque body.

From: Busylizzie
To: Marley Turner
Subject: Hey, sis!

Hey Marley miss you lots. Would say wish you were here but if you were here I guess we wouldn't be having any fun because this is definitely not the place for a prude like you. LOL. Parties every night and the hottest most amazing guy I've ever met in my entire life. I swear, I am going to stop at nothing until I have married this guy, Mar. His name is Damien du Bourg, isn't that the most sexiest name ever? And Louisana (sp?) is sexy too, it's hot all the time and all the guys are sweaty, it's like a hunk calendar 24/7. Damien lives in this totally weird huge mansion—hello, it even has a name, Rosa de Montana, isn't that cool??—and it's like his ancestors house. Did I mention he's totally rich? < g > He won't let me poke around upstairs or anything but I know how to change his mind, but I won't tell you how because maybe a nun is reading this over your shoulder and I don't want to shock a sister. Just my sister.

When is your retreat thingie done? We may have a wedding to plan.;-)
Hugs, Lizzie (in love)
Lizzie in love, I like that!
*document attached

"Oh, Lizzie." Marley gave an exasperated laugh and reread her sister's e-mail three times. It was hard to pinpoint what was the most ridiculous thing about it. There was the juvenile enthusiasm for a man she'd just met. And overuse of the word like.

But maybe more absurd than anything Lizzie could ever write was that Marley felt an unpleasant, swelling jealousy, an envy for her sister's carefree selfishness. Intellectually, Marley was appalled by the reckless lifestyle Lizzie lived. But at the same time she resented the ease with which Lizzie leaped into new situations, relationships. Marley didn't want to be Lizzie—she was too stable and cautious to willingly jump on a train wreck—but she wanted a piece of Lizzie's exuberance. Marley wanted to be the one who made a mess, just once, and then walked away and let someone else do the cleaning up.

She wouldn't, of course.

Copyright © 2007 by Erin McCarthy.