“Jesus Christ, Valentina. Come here,” he adds before kissing me breathlessly, irrationally, and recklessly.
When we come up for air, I wrap my arms around his torso and tilt my head back to watch him as he towers over me. I smile.
A soft smile crosses his lips. “What?”
“I really, really like kissing you.”
“Good.” He grins. “Because I plan to kiss you for a very fucking long time.”
Sobering up, I lean my cheek on him, the cotton of his shirt soft under my skin. “I’ll call William tonight after I come back from Mr. Lemaire’s.”
“This is what you want?” Sébastien asks, placing a kiss on top of my head.
“It’s just …” I bite my lip as I weigh my words carefully, but choose to be honest with Sébastien. I’m done with lies and hiding things. I want everything to be out in the open. For a moment, I wait for the guilt and the disgust I should be feeling to come, but they never do. “It’s just it would be better to end things with William face to face. I should go and see him, but this will have to do for now. I don’t want more lies.”
“Want me to take you to the States?”
I shake my head, smiling softly. “Thank you, but I need to do this on my own.”
“Fair enough.” He runs his hands along my back, his warmth giving me strength. “It will all work out. You’ll see.”
“Promise?”
“Of course, ma petite chouette.”
THAT NIGHT AFTER WORK, I wait for the elevator to get to my floor, thoughts of seeing Sébastien already filling my head. My hands automatically go to my lips still full of him and smile. The warmth of his touch, of his embrace, of his kisses, still saturates my senses, enslaving me to their memory.
Still smiling, I get out of the elevator and freeze when my eyes land on the man sitting on the floor outside my apartment. His shoulders hunched remind me of a defeated man. His usually perfect blond hair is a mess. I feel like a bucket of cold water has been poured down on me.
He looks up, his gaze flooded with pain. “Hello Valentina,” my husband says sadly, standing up. “Can we talk?”
I NOD, OPENING THE door to my apartment. For a moment, I think my eyes are betraying me as I watch William walk in. Because even though I know the man standing in front of me is my husband, he doesn’t look like him. This man seems hollow. Empty. His usual radiance is gone and has been replaced by sorrow.
“What are you doing here?” I close my eyes, the floor beneath my feet suddenly shaky. “I mean, what are you doing in Paris?”
“I wanted to see you. I miss you.” He buries his hands in his jeans, staring at the floor. “How are you?”
“Good … you?” I ask tentatively.
“I don’t know …” He tears his gaze away from the floor and looks me in the eye. “Nothing’s the same since you left.”
I suck in my breath, his words like bullets. “I don’t know what you want me to say, William.” Suddenly the room spins around me. I grip the table in the foyer for support. “Truth be told, I don’t even know what to think about you being here after all this time without a phone call or a text message.”
“I’m not the only guilty one here, Valentina. You stopped calling, too.”
His simple accusation slaps me across the face. It stings and hurts. The truth behind it leaves a mark in the red-hot color spreading on my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, darling. There was no need for that.”
“No, I deserved that,” I say, crossing my arms to stop them from shaking. My gaze lands briefly on my wedding ring, and I remember the vows I made to William. Vows I’ve broken since the moment I arrived here. William’s presence is like a hammer, beating me down over and over again. I hang my head in shame and study the carpeted floor.
“Would you like to sit?”
“I’m good.”
“Okay.” Needing a distraction, I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. “Drink?”
“No, thank you.”
He joins me in the kitchen, and his nearness sends my heartbeat into overdrive. When he’s standing next to me, he pulls me into his arms and holds me in a tight embrace.
“Please don’t.” I try to push him away, unable to look at him. My insides are torn to shreds. This is my husband, I tell myself. His embrace should be welcome, but it isn’t. Not anymore.
“Let me hold you if only for this moment,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so sorry, my darling.” He places a fingertip under my chin, making me look at him, his eyes pleading and full of sorrow.
“William …” Tell him about Sébastien. Tell him it’s over. “I … we need to—”
“Please come back home.”
“I don’t know if I can, William. So much has happened.”
“I know it has, but your life is back in Greenwich. With me. I need you. Don’t you see? You’re what keeps me together …” He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. “Before you, I thought I was lost.”
“I didn’t trust love. Didn’t trust people. I was an island—an island that no one could reach. But one day, it all changed. I learned to trust. I learned to trust love, and it was because of you. I love you, Val. And without you …” He lets go of me, his hands falling down to his sides as though in surrender. “I don’t know what will become of me. Maybe my father was right about me …”
“I don’t understand. What about your father?” Every time I’ve tried to broach the subject of his childhood after reminiscing about my own, it’s like hitting a wall. He either changes the subject or quiets me with kisses, making me forget. Eventually, I learned to respect his silence hoping that one day he’d feel comfortable enough to share that part of himself with me.
“I know I never talk about him.” He pauses, measuring his next words carefully. “There’s a reason for that.” He chuckles wryly. “Let’s just say he was never going to win an award for Father of the Year.”
I knit my brows in confusion, an ominous feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve seen the scar on my back.”
I nod, preparing myself for what he’s about to say.
“Do you remember what I told you about it?”
“You told me your German shepherd got loose and bit your back. He took out a chunk of your skin. You ended up in the hospital for days because the wound got infected.”
“Max didn’t get loose by accident,” he says quietly, his face devoid of emotion. “I tried protecting my mother and Gwyneth from him, but it only incensed him more. The beatings got nastier, more frequent. I was really happy when he died. I hated him.”
Sorrow for them makes the strings of my heart twist and knot until they are impossible to untie.
“I drowned in hate. It festered in my blood. Something inside me changed forever. He used to say I was unworthy of being loved, and I believed him. I wore his words and hate like armor. That is until you.”