When I’m with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(92)
Author: Beth Kery

“But I’m his fiancée, aren’t I? I’m supposed to be with him while he’s going through something so terrible. When Anne called and said I shouldn’t come, she said Ian had to leave for an important business crisis in Germany. She was being elusive on purpose. I know it,” Francesca said shakily as Elise handed her a glass of water.

“Ian doesn’t strike me as the type of man who would want you to see him while he’s vulnerable.”

“Well too bad!” Francesca blurted out. “You can’t have a relationship with someone and avoid that person just because you feel vulnerable. Of course he feels bowled over after his mother’s death . . . after what Lucien told him. Who wouldn’t? All the more reason I should be by his side right now. But he’s barely said two words to me since he stormed out of here that night, even while I was in London. He kept insisting I shouldn’t come until Helen had passed. But when Helen did go, he never told me! I’m furious at him,” she said, her voice breaking in anguish. “And I’m sick with worry. What in the world is he thinking?”

“I wasn’t defending him, Francesca. I just meant, it’s not too shocking that he’s throwing up some walls at this point.”

“I have this awful feeling he’s going to leave me.”

Elise’s mouth fell open in surprise at Francesca’s stark declaration. Francesca had never struck her as being prone to hysterics. “Ian leave you? No . . . never. He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on.”

Francesca shook her head as if she couldn’t adequately convey her fear. She set down the water on the coffee table untouched.

“You don’t know Ian. You don’t know what a nightmare this all has been for him. It’s bound to send him into a crisis,” she said hoarsely. She blinked and brought Elise into focus. “It’s been awful for you, too. You knew more about Lucien and Helen than Ian and me on that night, but the rest of it—the part about Trevor Gaines—was a shock to you as well.”

Elise nodded grimly. “And Lucien has been just about as uncommunicative with me as Ian has been with you. Lucien has a good excuse, though. He’s got to be furious at me for forcing the issue that night. He’s always considered me impulsive . . . a loose cannon. I had to go and prove him right, didn’t I?”

Francesca patted her hand where it lay on her knee. “Lucien made a conscious decision that night to tell Ian. You didn’t force him to it, Elise. You acted from the heart. That’s not a bad thing. You were worried Lucien would never get a chance to find out about his biological mother with Helen so ill.” Her expression lightened slightly. “Oh . . . and Lucien told me good news about that when I spoke to him early this morning. Has he told you, by chance?” Francesca asked delicately.

“No. What is it?” Elise asked, the back of her neck prickling with awareness.

“Helen Noble was able to give him his mother’s name. At first, she couldn’t. She was barely conscious when they first arrived. But she rallied just a bit before she passed and became somewhat lucid. Ian and his grandparents got to say their good-byes.” A sad expression settled on her face. “Apparently, even though she was so weak, and so easily disorganized from her psychosis, she seemed to recognize something about Lucien. It sounds as if she’d been very fond of Lucien’s mother, because she smiled and reached for him, and said his mother’s name. It’s funny, the memories that can linger so sharply, even in a mind that was so ravaged like Helen’s.”

“That’s amazing that she connected him to his mother without ever seeing him before . . . like a miracle,” Elise breathed. “He must look so much like her. And what is it? What’s her name?”

“Fatima,” Francesca said. “Fatima Rabi, I believe he said her name was. Helen Noble was even able to give him the name of the town where she’d grown up in Morocco. With that, and her name, there’s a good chance he’ll be able to find her . . . or at least other members of his family.”

Her heart leapt and then throbbed as she thought of Lucien getting his prize. “He must have been so happy . . . so relieved to get that news. All these years, he’s waited for it. He’s waited for family. I know it came at a heavy price, with Helen passing, but . . .”

Francesca tightened her hand on Elise’s.

“Lucien’s search had nothing to do with Helen Noble’s illness or death. Absolutely nothing. He may not see it right now, Elise, but if it hadn’t been for you setting off that chain of events, he would never have his mother’s name. He would never have had even the remotest opportunity to meet her. Helen Noble was the last link. Because of you, he’s been given that chance.”

Elise made a show of smiling. She was ecstatic that Lucien had a clearer path to his biological mother. But she couldn’t help feeling bereft as well, knowing he was likely on his way to Morocco even as she and Francesca spoke.

Not knowing when she’d see him again . . . if ever.

* * *

She returned to finish her duties at Fusion after talking to Francesca. When she arrived at the penthouse late that night, she stood in the opened doorway to the bedroom suite. Since Lucien’s absence, the room had taken on a funereal feel. His elusive scent remained like an insubstantial ghost, haunting her.

A pang of longing went through her—so sharp, it stole her breath. God, she missed him.

She should leave. Of course she should. She’d been engaging in wishful thinking by remaining at all, hoping for that opportunity to meet with him face-to-face . . . to beg for his understanding. But what was the point? She’d proven to him that she deserved his lack of faith in her. She’d illustrated precisely why he shouldn’t trust her. In fact, she’d ended up behaving in the precise manner he’d always accused her of.

Impulsive. Impetuous. Self-indulgent.

Tears stung her eyes as she pulled out her suitcase. It hadn’t been long ago that Lucien had packed it for her there in that rundown hovel where she’d been staying. Where would she stay now? She knew she should make plans, but a pressure seemed to be pushing down on her chest, a weight of grief, making the ability to make such a huge decision seem like an utter impossibility.

She tossed item after item into her suitcase, straining to keep control, but increasingly seeing the interior of Lucien’s luxurious suite through a film of tears.

Impulsive. Impetuous. Self-indulgent. The words kept repeating in her head like a bully’s chant.