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I managed a weak smile and then let more tears roll down my cheeks. "I don't want you. I wanthim."
"Ah, shit." Dean looked at Thierry, who shook his head.
"I know, I look like an idiot," I whined.
"Well, you're not a pretty crier." Dean looked at me with consternation.
"Not pretty at all," Thierry agreed.
I gave a short, hiccupping laugh.
"My whole family is with you," Dean continued. "I promise. Mom is going to rip Duncan a new one."
"Can I watch?" I asked, sniffling.
Dean grinned. "I can record it for your viewing pleasure." He pulled back, looking at me with genuine concern. "Emilia is going to…fuck, I can't even imagine what she'll do. We're all on your side on this one, and Duncan is going to get the ass-kicking he deserves."
His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, providing the comfort I desperately needed. "I don't want his ass to be kicked…well, maybe just a little."
Dean's eyes twinkled with mischief. "I promise to do the honors myself then."
"Will you come with me to my next doctor's appointment?" I looked at Dean and Thierry. "They're doing an ultrasound and blood test to check for serious problems, and I'm nervous. He was supposed to go with me and…." I cried some more.
"We'll be at the hospital with you," Dean assured me in English and Thierry in French.
"Good. It's in two weeks."
A part of me hoped that Duncan and I would be back together somehow, magically by then. But the part of me that knew magic was for fools was crushed that he wouldn't be there to see our baby. That thought upset me more. I began to weep, making a spectacle of myself as people came into Délices d'Elsa, amused and curious as to why the baker was sobbing her heart out while two men sat helplessly watching her.
Chapter 28
Duncan
"You're an asshole." Thierry sat down across from me at the Ritz bar that, despite its usual opulence, seemed to be rather dark and dreary since my wife kicked me out of our home.
Yep, I'd started to see that cute apartment of hers in the Marais asourhome.
"No doubt," I muttered, swirling the bourbon in my glass. My mind was a whirl of confusion and regret.
What the hell had I been I doing letting Dom talk to Elsa the way he had? Why hadn't I told him to go fuck himself? Like I'd allow Elsa to take a risk by bugging Vincent Arsenault's home. If he found out, he'd kill her.
I almost lodged my fist in his face several times that afternoon when he ruined my marriage a week ago? Was that only a week ago? Because it felt like it had been fucking eons since I’d seen my wife? I didn't know what was up or down. All I knew was that my heart hurt, and I missed Elsa. I missed kissing her stomach and touching our baby. I, who had never missed anyone in my whole life, was lost because I couldn't inhale her vanilla smell or hear her laughter.
Jesus! When had I becomethat man? The one who could give Byron a run for his money?
Dean joined Thierry in looking at me like I was the worst kind of idiot.
"Elsa knowsnothingabout Vincent or even what Jean-Luc does," Thierry told me, his eyes blazing. "Solène protected her from all of it."
I didn't need him to tell me that Elsa was telling the truth; that she went to deliver fucking pastries to the father of one of the most dangerous men in the Western Hemisphere because she had a soft heart.
Dom had done his due diligence, finally, and had unearthed that. But I knew even before he did.
Then why had I let doubt cloud me?
Because it’s easier to doubt than to risk having your trust broken.
I never saw myself as a coward, but that truth was staring me in the face. I hated confrontations, so I walked away. I avoided real connections, keeping everything transactional. Thirty-four years old, and I had the emotional intelligence of a damn teenager.
