46. Lily
Lily
I pause the show I’m binge-watching on my laptop.
I need a body break. And a bathroom one.
I stand up and stretch like a cat.
When I inhale, I take in a medley of delicious aromas.
Is that roasted chicken I smell?
The rosemary is fragrant.
I wonder if my stomach will be able to handle anything more than soup.
Fingers crossed.
Gérard pokes his head into the living room. “Mademoiselle Lily.”
Translation: Miss Lily.
“ Oui .”
“Votre soupe de tomate sera prête dans quelques minutes.” Gérard St. Aubin, the short, fifty-three-year-old housekeeper and cook with salt and pepper hair who looks after Nadine’s father’s property smiles at me.
Translation: Your tomato soup will be ready in a few minutes .
“Merci,” I say. “Il faut tout simplement m’appeler Lily, Gérard.”
Translation: Thank you. Please call me, Lily, Gérard.
“Je promets de faire un effort, Lily.”
Translation: I promise, I’ll try, Lily.
Nadine’s father and his wife require formality. I don’t.
“On agrémente la soupe avec une assiette de fromage et du bon pain?”
Translation: I’ll serve the soup with a cheese plate and some hearty bread?
“D’accord. Merci,” I say.
Translation: Okay. Thank you.
Since cheese isn’t the enemy, I can eat it. Gérard suggested I avoid soft cheeses like brie, camembert, and chevre. Sharp cheddar, parmesan, and mozzarella are okay. Thank God. I can’t imagine nine months without cheese.
“Pour le dessert, je vous ai préparé une petite compote d’abricots étant donné que vous avez aimé celle aux pommes que j’ai préparé ce midi.” Gérard keeps talking. “ Mes filles étaient friandes des compotes au tout début de leurs grossesses,” he says with a proud smile.
Translation: For dessert, I prepared an apricot purée since you liked the apple one I prepared for lunch. My daughters enjoyed purées in the early stages of their pregnancies.
He has four daughters and ten grandkids. He’s been pulling out tried and tested recipes to ensure I eat since I got here last night. So far, his recipes are winners.
“Vivement,” I say.
Translation: I can’t wait.
“Je vais bien m’occuper de vous pendant votre séjour ici, Lily.”
Translation: I’ll take good care of you while you’re here.
I blush. “Merci, Gérard. ”
I relish the attention.
I’m sure I won’t get much of that in the coming months since I’ll be navigating this new chapter of my life on my own.
Since the conclusive test results, Nadine has been reminding me Mama managed without much more than a high school education.
There’s no disputing that, but I’m still scared shitless.
Gage isn’t married, but he’s in love with another woman.
I’ve gone over this a million times in my head.
Why would he lie about not being with anyone in three years? It doesn’t make sense?—
“ ?a va, Lily? ”
Translation: Are you okay?
My eyes meet Gérard’s.
I respond with a small nod.
I quell my fear of the unknown.
For the next week or so, I intend on vegging and allowing Gérard to fuss over me. Then, I’ll figure things out for baby and me.
“Je cours à la toilette,” I say.
Translation: I need to run to the bathroom.
“Allez-y. Je serai dans la cuisine.”
Translation: Go right ahead. I’ll be in the kitchen.
“D’accord.”
Translation: Okay.
I rush upstairs.
Every time I visit Nadine’s father’s spectacular rustic villa in Corsica, I’m enchanted.
Not only by the house, but by the island and the people.
Being able to walk to the beach and admire the sea like I did earlier, eased my worries long enough to allow me to get out of the jumbled mess that is my head.
I climb the stairs to the top floor and make my way to my appointed guest room, complete with private bathroom.
Once I’m done taking care of business and washing my hands, I assess my reflection in the mirror. I won’t be mistaken for a woman who’s on the verge of death, but I’m still unrecognizable.
Too many tears.
Too many fears.
Too many uncertainties.
I should wash up before dinner.
I get undressed and step into the shower.
I lather my body with the lavender scented products Gérard brought before washing my hair.
The products are local and all natural. He suggested it might be good to avoid synthetic scents for the next few months.
At this point, he has more experience with pregnancy than I do so for now, his word is gospel.
I dress in jeans, a cute black t-shirt with a slogan in gold, and black sandals. I don’t bother blow drying my hair. I braid it.
I assess myself one last time in the mirror, and I step out of the bedroom, but freeze at Gérard’s joyful exclamation from downstairs.
“ Veuillez entrer, ” he says.
Huh?
We have company?
Who is he inviting in?
“ Mademoiselle Nadine … err… you in house, come,” Gérard says in broken English.
Nads texted me not long ago to find out what I was up to. She never mentioned someone was coming over.
A loud clap. “ Une minute. I… I… mademoiselle come.”
Who would want to see me?
Other than Nads and her father, no one knows I’m in Corsica.
No way would she tell my puppet master where to find me.
And no way she would tell my former cheater lover.
“Mademoiselle Lily, vous descendez?”
Translation: Miss Lily, can you please come down?
“J’arrive, Gérard. ”
Translation: Coming, Gérard.
“Génial!”
Translation: Great.
I hurry down the stairs.
When I reach the last step, my whole world collapses.
My gaze darts everywhere. To the front door. To Gérard. To the man I'm certain is a mirage. “Wh—what are you doing here?”
Green eyes as mesmerizing as the last time I admired them land on me. “I’m here for you, angel.”
My heart seizes, clamoring against my ribs at the mention of the nickname he has for me.
Don’t be fooled by the smooth-talking.
He’s playing you, girl.
He’s playing you.
My gaze shifts to his suitcase near the door before focusing on him.
He’s hot enough to get any woman pregnant on sight.
And that’s how I ended up with a bun in the oven.
“You should go back to wherever you came from.” My defenses are up. “You’re wasting your time.”
Gage’s eyes burn with fury.
“I have no desire to talk to you ever again.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Ah. Je retourne de cuisine,” Gérard says, his tone hesitant.
Gage frowns. “What did he say?”
“He’s going back to the kitchen.”
“Vous me faites signe lorsque vous aurez fini de discuter avec monsieur Hollingsworth afin que je puisses servir le repas. Soupe pour vous, et poulet r?ti pour monsieur.”
Translation: Dinner will be served for you and the gentleman when you’re done talking. Soup for you. Roasted chicken for the gentleman.
So, Gérard knew Gage was coming.
Nadine is a traitor.
“Le monsieur ne restera pas pour le repas.” I set Gérard straight.
Translation: The gentleman won’t stay for dinner.
The two men look at each other, before returning their confused gazes to me.
“Ah,” Gérard says, and scurries off.
Gage stares at me with questioning eyes.
Damn, those eyes…
The same pull—the same weakness—I felt for him before I found out he had played me for a fool is still burning inside me.
Focus. You hate him.
“What did you tell him, Lily?”
“I told Gérard you weren’t staying for dinner.”
A range of emotions flit across his gorgeous face. Disbelief. Frustration. But the last one is harder to decipher.
Determination?
“That’s where you have it wrong. I’m not leaving here until you and I talk.”
Betrayal.
Humiliation.
Hurt.
It all comes flooding with the force of a raging river.
“As far as I’m concerned, there isn’t anything for us to discuss.”
He takes a step forwards.
I lift a hand up.
He growls.
I swear, he even shows teeth like a predator .
Tough luck, buddy.
“Your father is a piece of work.”
“My father opened my eyes.”
Translucent green eyes turn dark and ominous. “Your father knows jack shit.”
Annoyance stabs through me, fast and sharp. “My father has video proof.”
“Proof of what?” He raises his voice.
“Proof you’re in love with another woman and you were stringing me along, using me as a side piece.” My mind still struggles to accept he’s here––standing in front of me.
“That’s a lie.” He points an accusatory finger at me.
“I saw it with my own two eyes. And I saw you mouth the words, ‘ I love you, too’. After she told you ‘I love you’ .” My voice breaks, but I will myself to keep it together. “So, save your sorry ass lies. I’m not in the mood.”
His posture stiffens. “Nadine gave me a rundown of what you told her?—”
“Nadine backstabbed me?”
“She didn’t.”
“Yes, she did.”
“I was worried out of my fucking mind.”
“I’m surprised you had time to worry about little ol’ me, considering you were enjoying Stockholm with the love of your life.” I bat my eyelashes to emphasize my point.
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s the truth.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Have you ever heard of the expression smoke and mirrors?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“That’s why you and I are shouting at each other.”
“No. We’re shouting at each other because you should be in Sweden instead of here pestering me. I came here because I needed some alone time. Yet, here you are invading my space.”
“Whatever you saw on that video clip your father showed you was smoke and mirrors.”
It’s a struggle to maintain the expression of indifference on my face. “I thought you were different, but you’re no different than every other cheater out there. My father, included?—”
“Don’t you dare put me in the same bucket as Fisher Edgington.”
I flinch at his tone.
He runs his hands through his thick, brown hair. “I’m not a cheater.” His green eyes meet mine. “The woman—and for the record, I didn’t even know what the hell tawny brown skin meant until Nadine started throwing it around like confetti––”
“That’s how they say it in romance books.” I wince.
His lips flatten in a thin line. “The woman in the video is my sister?—”
“What do you mean she’s your sister?”
“I mean exactly that.”
I’m so shocked, I step back, but since I’m still standing on the stairs, I land on my ass.
Ouch.
Gage is by my side in a flash.
“Careful, angel.”
“Don’t touch me and stop calling me that.”
“This is no way to have a conversation. Can you please put down your weapons for a minute so we can talk as opposed to talking over each other?”
I consider him for a long beat.
He extends a hand.
Conflict bats its wings inside of me.
A few seconds tick by as I stare at his hand.
I accept it .
He helps me up. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I rub my sore elbow.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Another lie.
Why does he even care?
I eye him warily.
“Think about it, Lily. Would Nadine tell me where to find you if she didn’t trust me or thought I was a cheater?”
He has a good point, but I’m unwilling to be fooled that easily. “How can that woman be your sister?”
“Sara is my adopted sister.”
“But the woman?—”
“The woman with the tawny brown skin isn’t a mixed-race beauty I’m head over heels for. In fact, she isn’t mixed race. Sara YeniferHollingsworth, born Sara YeniferGarcía, is from the Dominican Republic.”
My eyes widen.
“My parents adopted her when she was ten. Long story short, Mom’s church supported a few churches in DR. After a brutal hurricane, hundreds of kids became orphans. Sara was one of them. She’s six years older than me. And, yes, I love my sister and I have no problem telling her.”
I’m speechless.
“Fisher Edgington is a sneaky motherfucker. If he hired a PI, my bet is he hired one of the best in LA. It couldn’t have been that hard for the PI to figure out who the tawny brown skinned woman was. Sara never took her deadbeat husband’s name. Her hospital badge reads Dr. Hollingsworth.”
Whoa.
“Any PI worth his salt would’ve relayed that information. Fisher knew Sara was my sister. He used the opportunity to stir up shit so he could manipulate you. Guess what? It worked.”