Table of contents
Copyright
Prologue - Confessions in Paris
PART 1 BACK HOME
1. How it all started
2. Go away please
3. Falling for David
4. A troubled senior year
PART 2 NEW YORK
5. Alone in New York
6. A taste for more
7. David in New York
8. Excitement, fear and too much alcohol
9. ‘Happy Birthday’
10. Closer to the edge
11. Spiraling out of control
PART 3 PARIS
12. Alone in Paris
PART 4 BACK HOME AGAIN
13. Summer at home
14. Payback time
15. Back in New York, back to old habits
16. Working for dad
17. Such a perfect day
18. Finding new ways to hurt each other
PART 5 PARIS
19. A second time in Paris
20. Late night confessions
21. “Bonne fête a toi” (Happy birthday to you)
22. Glenn in Paris
PART 6 FRESNO
23. Back at home once again
24. A new ‘brother’
25. Office disasters
26. I can’t be like it was
27. Keeping up appearances
28. Merry Christmas
29. Broken
30. Party time
31. “I quit.”
PART 7 RIGHT WHERE I BELONG
32. The family in chaos
33. I love you
34. Confronting dad
Epilogue – Finally together
The Distance Between
By Zillah de Rigaud
Copyright
The Distance Between
By Zillah de Rigaud
Published by Chrysant publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written
permission of the author, except for the purpose of reviews.
Cover illustration by Christine Griffin
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to
actual people or events is coincidental.
First Edition August 2013
Copyright® by Zillah de Rigaud
ISBN 978-90-821067-0-1
Prologue - Confessions in Paris
“So who is this guy?” Remi asked me as he picked up the framed picture that was standing next to my
bed.
“It’s my brother,” I told him in a tone as casual as possible.
Remi smiled, “your brother…” I swallowed hard while he studied the photo meticulously. He grinned
and looked at me. My cheeks were flushed under his gaze, I wanted to turn away from him and leave the
room.
That picture had been taken last year, during the height of summer. It portrayed David, my stepbrother,
standing next to the pool in our parents’ backyard. He’s still dripping wet from swimming and has a goofy
smile of his face. His arms are crossed and he pinches his eyes because of the sun. He looks really happy.
We were both happy the day I took that photograph…
“Is this the one you’re really in love with?”
How I’d been avoiding that question for years. But there was no point in denying it now. I nodded my
head and said: “Yes.”
Remi and I had been friends for a couple of months and sometimes we slept together. This arrangement
suited us both, we liked each other, but we were definitely not in love. I had told Remi during one of our
nights in his Parisian apartment that there was only one guy for me, but that it was impossible to be with
him. Being drunk, Remi had giggled and demanded to know more, but I had refused to say anything until
now.
The day I told him about David, we had been for coffee in a café in the Le Marais’ neighborhood near
the apartment my dad rented for me. Coffee turned into wine and eventually we ended up in my apartment
for the first time.
I had never taken Remi to my place although we had known each other for months now. We always met
in the city somewhere or went to his place for sex. I’m a very private person and even back home I rarely
took one of my friends to my apartment. This evening though, after sharing two bottles of wine, I didn’t
care about bringing him home with me. I was feeling really horny and we were so close to my place it
seemed logical to go there.
We rushed back to my place, both cheerful and loud. In the hallway Remi started kissing me before I’d
even unlocked the door. His warm hands were clutching my face and his mouth tasted like the sweet
Muscat wine we’d had for dessert. I unlocked the door to my apartment. Remi started undressing as soon
as I opened the door and we stumbled into my living room, which was small, but way bigger than I could
have afforded in Paris on my own. The door to the bedroom was ajar and Remi guided me there while he
was fumbling with his shoelaces. When we entered the bedroom I pushed him on my bed and started
kissing him hungrily. His hands were working on the buttons of my shirt and his hips were already
bucking against mine. But then in the corner of my eye, I saw David’s picture staring at me and I froze. I
rolled off Remi and sat up on the bed. Remi looked at me for a few seconds, still breathing heavy and then
got up too.
“What’s wrong?” he asked in his cute French accent and then he saw the picture. “So this guy is the
reason you left home and came to France, non?” he asked after his initial question and once again I could
only say: “Yes.”
“Well then tell me all about him,” Remi said amused and reached down to the floor where his shirt lay.
He took out a fumbled package of cigarettes and lit one up. He looked relaxed and not shocked at all, as I
had expected. Maybe growing up in Paris with bohemian parents had loosened his morality somehow. I
was still a little drunk from the wine we’d had, although I was sobering up quickly. I’d kept my feelings
stored away for so long, maybe it would be a relieve to finally confide in a friend…
“His name is David,” I told Remi. There was a long excruciating silence before I could go on. “I’ve
been in love with him since I was eighteen. The funny thing is, when he came to live with us, I hated him
at first. Maybe he thinks I still do…”
“What do you mean?” Remi asked surprised. “Where was he living before?”
“He’s my stepbrother,” I answered. “However, that doesn’t make this any less messy.”
“If he’s not your real brother by blood, then what’s the problem?” Remi remarked while he took a hit
off the cigarette. The smoked curled up as he exhaled, clouding us both.
“We belong to the same family,” I said while I coughed. “We grew up together, my dad adopted him.
You cannot just erase things like that.”
“But he is the love of life?”
“He is,” I said and I started telling him about David, the way I’d never told anyone else before…
PART 1 BACK HOME
1. How it all started
I grew up in Fresno, California. My childhood memories are of hot, dry summers and playing in our
pool with my sister, of my mom reading to us outside on the patio and dad firing up the barbeque. I had a
happy childhood there, until my mom got sick…
By the time I met David, I was almost thirteen and my mom had died eleven months before of breast
cancer. My mom was only thirty-eight when she died and I was sick with grief. She had been diagnosed
with cancer only seven months before her death and during those few months I felt my world crumbling
apart. When they’d started with the chemotherapy it really was already too late and in my heart I knew she
wouldn’t get better.
When she died, I didn’t speak to anyone for two weeks. Not even my sister who was only eight at the
time. Two days after the funeral my dad went back to work. He had his own law firm and couldn’t afford
to stay home any longer. He made long hours and sometimes didn’t come home until eleven. Our
housekeeper looked after us.
Some months after the funeral dad told my sister and me casually over dinner that he’d met a woman at a