AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"I miss you." He leaned his head and took a nipple in his mouth. I gasped, my legs going weak. But his arms were around me, holding me. He then kissed the nipple and suckled the other and kissed it, too.
He straightened. "Alors, ma belle."
That he called me beautiful in French tugged at my heartstrings. Was I complicating my life by not forgiving him? No, I thought sadly. This wasn't about forgiveness. He’d broken something between us, and even though I loved him, I didn’t know how to be with him anymore. My feelings for him mirrored what I felt for my father—I loved him too, but I was always onguard, just like Mamman had been. I didn’t want a marriage like that. I’d seen the damage it caused, how hard it was for her to open up to anyone again. She had lovers, but no one serious, never letting anyone fully into her heart. Was that going to be my fate as well?
Chapter 32
Duncan
She didn't forgive me, but she didn't mind me hanging around her bakeryall day, which I did.
I basically commandeered a round table close to an electric outlet. It had my laptop, my iPad, and my phone. I took meetings and calls from the kitchen if there were customers. When someone insisted I come to the office or check in at the gallery for an auction, I sent Dean, who grumbled a little because he was managing the Asia officeandthe Paris one, which meant he wasn't getting a lot of sleep. I told him I didn't give a shit; I wasn't leaving my wife.
In the afternoon, I made sure Elsa rested and took over the counter. Thierry, I realized, only worked few hours a day at Délices d'Elsa, and the rest of the time did whatever the hell hedid. I had figured out that Thierry hadothersources of income and since I wasn't sure those were legal, I didn't ask. What I didn't know couldn't bother me. Also, he kept Elsa safe. He adored my wife and was her family for all practical purposes. I was grateful to him, even if it rankled that she put her faith in a fucking possible criminal and not me.
Several days after the ultrasound appointment, Elsa looked more tired than usual and refused to sit when I asked her to. My wife was all about the rebellion and showing me how much she didn't need me. She needn't have bothered. I was pretty aware of how much I'd fucked up with her—so much so that Elsa didn't want to hear me saying I loved her; and hadn't said those words back to me, neither in English nor in French, since that horrible day in my office with Dom.
To give that asshole credit, he steered clear of me. I knew he was sorry for hurting Elsa—but Dom was a man with a clear agenda. He was out to save the world and believed in thedo it for thegreater goodphilosophy. Yet, I knew the way Elsa had been when she left my office had torn at him. He deserved it, the son of a bitch because I was still on my knees in front of my wife, andnot in a good way.
She let me kiss her forehead and sometimes her cheek. She let me touch her belly, but I asked for permission each time, which pissed me off to no end. It was clear I had no rights, only privileges that could be revoked.
"Can't you sit the fuck down,ma douce," I tried again as she waddled, a hand on her back, one on her stomach as she came in from the kitchen.
"Mêle-toi de tes affaires et laisse-moi tranquille," she muttered. Mind your own business and leave me in peace!
A customer grinned as she handed me eight euros and fifty cents for a loaf of bread and a latte.
"Iamminding my business,ma chérie. You are my wife, and therefore my business," I replied with a broad smile.
She muttered something unintelligible that I didn't catch because I was distracted again with a customer. Just then, I heard a commotion and gasps from the customers who stood in line.
My heart skipped a beat as I saw Elsa stumble, her face pale and beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She tried to steady herself on the counter, but her legs gave out, and she collapsed.
"Elsa!" I shouted, vaulting over the counter, rushing to her side. My hands were shaking as I kneeled beside her, my heart pounding in my chest. She was unconscious, her breathing shallow and rapid.
"Someone call an ambulance!" I yelled, my voice cracking with panic.
"What happened?" Thierry, who had just come in, ran to us, his face ashen.
Someone called 112 as I cradled Elsa in my arms, feeling utterly helpless. "Hang on, Elsa. Please, hang on," I whispered, my voice trembling. She felt so fragile, and the thought of losing her or our baby was unbearable.
The minutes stretched on like hours, but finally, the paramedics arrived. They quickly assessed her condition, checking her vitals and starting an IV. "She's dehydrated and exhausted," one of them said. "We need to get her to the hospital."
Thierry urged me to go with Elsa and told me he'd follow.
I refused to let go of Elsa's hand. The ride to the hospital was a blur of sirens and fear, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
I couldn't lose Elsa.
I couldn't lose our baby.
"I'm fine," Elsa murmured. She'd woken up while the paramedics took care of her.
"You have an IV lodged in your fucking arm. You'renotfucking fine," I growled.
A paramedic pursed her lips. "You are American?" she asked in English with a French accent.
"Yes," I said.
