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I kissed her lips this time and was relieved when she didn’t push me away. I knew this was not her forgiving me. This was her leaning on me during her time of need. A good man would not take advantage of her vulnerability. I wasnota good man. I would be taking advantage of her being weak right now.
"I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I know you're still pissed with me, but I'm moving back into the apartment, or you can live at my place or the Ritz. Your call."
She closed her eyes. "I want to stay in my apartment."
I looked at her beautiful face, overwhelmed by a new kind of anguish. My heart pounded like a runaway horse. I had never been more terrified than when I saw Elsa collapse.
"I'll stay with you," I announced.
I waited for her answer, knowing that if she saidnon, in that cute French way of hers, there really was nothing I could do about it. I could bully and boss, but Elsa was a woman with a spine of steel, and she could ask me to fuck off; she already had a few times.
"D'accord," she whispered without opening her eyes.
I felt relief swarm through me. She'd let me live with her again. Sure, it sucked that she had to get dehydrated while pregnant to make that happen; but I wasn't going to look at this gift askance. I never ever wanted her to feel that ill again—but I was here, and I wasn't going anywhere,everagain.
I leaned into her, embracing her the best I could with the IV and wires to monitors and devices.
"I was so scared, Elsa," I whispered in her hair.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, clutching at me.
"I should've taken better care of you. Iwill takebetter care of you," I promised.
We held each other for a long time, fear slowly giving way to a fragile hope. I knew things wouldn’t be easy, but I was committed to being there for her, proving she could count on me. The scare was a wake-up call—reminding me how precious life is and how much I love her and our baby. I wasn’t going to waste another second.
Chapter 33
Elsa
Chapter 33:
Duncan was driving me up the wall. No two ways about it. A protective man in a book or movie sounded sexy, but in real life, he was animbécile, an ass.
"Elsa, just wait for a half hour and I'll come with you," Duncan said as I packed a basket for Emile, Vincent's father.
"Non," I said simply. "I want to go out and stay out,alone."
"Elsa. Damn it." Duncan was on the phone. "Dean, give me a minute."
I blew him a kiss and walked out of Délices d'Elsa. He came running behind me. "Fuck no. You're not goingaloneanywhere."
I put my free hand on my hip. It was September in Paris. Summer had given way to fall. As it was the norm, the temperature changed like a mood. One minute, you thought it was Indian summer, and the next, Fall had arrived.
I wore Mamman's old Chanel coat, the one she had cherished. It was a classic, timeless piece made of luxurious black wool with a tailored fit. The coat's soft lining provided warmth, and its sophisticated design elegantly accommodated my large belly.
"It's a five-minute walk, Duncan." I put my hand on his cheek. "And it's Vincent's place, so—"
"I'll walk with her," Thierry said, stepping into the boulangerie through the kitchen. while I was arguing with my husband.
Duncan sighed. He kissed me on my forehead. He had started taking such liberties, and I didn't mind. In fact, I liked it but I hadn't let him go beyond a few kisses. We slept in the same bed,butI used pillows to divide the bed. It was formebecause hormones made me horny, and my husband in a pair of tight boxers wasverytempting.
He kissed me goodnight and good morning; innocuous gentle brushes of his lips against mine—sadly, no tongue.
I wanted to give in, I really did, but my heart wasn’t ready to take that risk. I knew it hurt him—I could see it—and I wished I could be more flexible, more forgiving. But my mother had married a man she couldn’t rely on, and look where that left her: heartbroken for life. The same man had no problem using me. Would Duncan be the same? Would he use our daughter the way he tried to use me?
Even now, as I went to Vincent's home, I didn't want Duncan to accompany me. What if he had a bug with him? What if he was using me to get into Vincent's home? I hated that I didn't trust him. Hated hurting him. I loved him. It was confusing the hell out of me.
"He worries like a mother hen," I complained to Thierry. He carried my basket of pastries in one hand and held mine with another.
