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"I'llneverharm our child and never let you get hurt. Please, believe me."
She shook her head. "I can't. I think you're the kind of man who'll use whomever he can to gain an advantage. I don't know what your relationship with Dom or Jett or whoever he is, but I know that you were ready to sacrifice me for it."
"No," I cried out. "No. He's tracking chemical weapons that can be used in a war, Elsa. I had to help him."
"If you'd told me that, maybe we could’ve talked about how I could help you. Instead, you decided to threaten me," she said forlornly. "I have nothing to say to you now. I'll contact you after the baby is born. Don't come back."
"No." The word was a scream. "Fuck no. I can't stay away from you. I…I need to see our baby grow within you."
"You lost that privilege." She stepped back into her apartment and shut the door in my face.
I stumbled, catching myself on the ornate railing of the staircase. It was truly over. I had lost her. But if it was her I’d lost, why didIfeel like I’d also lost myself on the way?
Chapter 27
Elsa
The comforting scent of freshly baked bread and pastries filled the air at Délices d'Elsa, but I moved through the motions mechanically, my heart heavy from everything that had happened. I hadn’t told Thierry or Angelique about the interrogation in Duncan’s office, or about Dom—Jett—and his threats. Fear for their safety kept me silent, in case what I knew was better left unsaid. But what hurt most, more than any knife, was the fact that Duncan hadn’t protected me. The shame of it stung.
As I set a tray of croissants on the counter, the doorbell chimed. I glanced up to see Dean stepping into Délices d'Elsa, a determined look on his face. My heart skipped a beat, a rush of hope and apprehension washing over me.
"Elsa," he said warmly, coming around the counter to give me a hug. "How are you?"
"Tres bien." I wasn't sure what he knew, and it was not my business to tell him what an ass his brother was.
"Do you have time for a coffee?" he nodded at Thierry, who had come in from the kitchen.
"I'm pregnant, and I don't drink coffee." I put a hand on my belly.
I was now nearly nineteen weeks pregnant. I had gone a whole week without Duncan reading to me about what was happening with our baby. It had become his habit to tell me when our baby was getting fingernails or developing fingerprints.
"I'll make you tea." Thierry put a hand on the small of my back and walked me to a round table nestled in a cozy corner cheered up with flowers.
I always put a simple vase of wildflowers on all the tables to add a touch of rustic charm.
I looked at Thierry and Dean and sighed. "This is some sort of intervention, isn't it?"
Dean grinned. "Thierry and I bonded over soccer."
"We call it football here."
"Potato,po-tah-to, same difference."
"I want the chamomile," I instructed Thierry, feeling sullen. I didn't want yet another interrogation, this time from my friend and my soon-to-be ex-husband's brother.
Thierry went behind the counter to make me tea.
"You want to tell me what's going on?" Dean winked at me.
"I'm pregnant. That's what's going on. AndI'm having trouble getting cocoa from my supplier. He wants to increase pricesjustlike that."
"Cute," Dean leaned back on the metal chair. "Come on, babe, my brother isn't showing up at work. He's moved back to theRitz, where he spends most of his time drinking. It's a good thing he can afford it because he's spending a lot of money on good liquor."
"At least he can drink," I replied petulantly. "Some of us have to rely on chamomile tea.Merdé!"
Thierry placed the tea in front of me in a delicate porcelain cup, the steam rising gently.
"You gonna tell us what's up?" Dean asked.
