The Anatomy of Emotion

Chapter Eleven

October—Cannes

"Miss Leroux, I have your mail," Saria thumps into the flat in a swirl of cold and fur.

Her ineffable pattern of clothing has adjusted in the past month. Complex printed blouses replaced by complex printed sweater dresses. Some sort of vest, changing only in material or color like her pencil skirts, and whatever tall, thick heeled boots happened to match her eye shadow. Today, the vest is a soft grey fur, and the boots are a pair of plum somethings that make a huge clunking ruckus.

"Thank you Saria, please bring it here."

Maeva cringes at the noise from her place on the sofa. She is dressed in a pair of shorts, with a white shirt that hangs far too big on her and smells of masculine soap. Saria gives it a very pointed look as she comes hammering over. When Maeva raises her brows over her laptop, Saria looks away and sits beside her, spreading the mail over the coffee table.

There are two bills, late Christmas cards from second cousins and buyers overseas that get discarded, and a package of paint. The very last thing is a tiny, bubble wrapped manila sleeve. Maeva rubs her wrist where the familiar handwriting had been on her skin.

"Would you like me to throw this away?"

Maeva shakes her head, "don't be silly."

She breaks the seal and plucks out the contents—a little flash drive. There is a sticky note wrapped around it.

Thought you might want to see this before the rest of the world. Send me a text and tell me what you think.

Corin

Quick and to the point. She runs her thumb over the French scribble. The only other thing is a doodle of a whale in the corner.

Maeva sets it aside and plugs the flash drive into her laptop. A gray window with two files pops up, the top one labelled 'waspfinal.mp3', the second a series of numbers. Her original recording. Maeva glances at Saria and wonders if he had trimmed the end of it off. She shakes her head and clicks the Wasp file.

It is interesting to hear the whole thing, mixed and smoothed. They had changed the bass and the drums from the quick performance track she had sang to, added a heavy dose of tech to enhance the slow, sexy pulse of the instruments. Corin though, he sounds almost exactly the same as he had looking into her eyes and singing with her. More practiced, more cultivated, but the longing strains and swells of temper are still raw. She can picture his lips forming the words, the angry flash of his teeth, the way his eyes sear like gas flames when he wants her. The song sounds like he wants her, it sounds like obsession, and when Maeva hears her own voice, she sounds like she wants him.

A trickle of heat crawls into her face as the verse ends in soft, deep moans. He hadn't been drunk and kidding about using that.

Saria nods her head all the way through the song, and when it comes to a breathy close, she gives Maeva a pair of raised pencil thin brows.

"That's extremely hot."

"Yes, it is definitely a sexy song," Maeva murmurs, opening a bill.

"You sound good."

"Thank you. It—" she freezes halfway through cracking the seal as her laptop starts to make noise again.

The second file is not her original recording. The sound coming from the tiny speakers is a piano, delicately touched. Maeva throws the bill down and slams her laptop shut.