The Saint (Fifth Republic #3)

1. Fleur

1

FLEUR

I sat on the couch in front of the TV, the news showing the charred body that hung from Notre-Dame. Sunrise had hit the city and I’d been up nearly all night, but I felt no fatigue, not when the adrenaline was still pumping away. Until Bastien walked in that door, I would be on alert.

I was in his t-shirt and his boxers because I had nothing else to wear. I wasn’t in the mood to blow-dry my hair, but after being locked in a wet coffin, I needed to be bone-dry. A blanket was draped over my shoulders and snug around my body because I was still cold, despite the hot shower and the steam that fogged the glass in the bathroom.

Gerard had left food and water for me, and I’d drunk all the water but ignored the food because I had no appetite.

I guess dying was an appetite suppressant.

The last thing I wanted to be was alone right now, forced to think about everything that had happened over and over. Anytime I visualized that coffin, tears welled in my eyes. I still felt the sting of the splinters that had impaled my fingertips. I still felt the cold rainwater against my skin. It had been so dark in that coffin that I’d only known where the water was by touch.

And I remembered how it felt to drown…quite vividly.

I’d held my breath as long as I could and pounded on the coffin lid even though it was hopeless. I’d wanted to die while fighting rather than die while submitting. But then my lungs took over and forced me to gasp—and that was when all the water flooded in.

It was painful…so fucking painful.

And to spend the last few seconds of your life knowing you were going to die was the worst part. To wait for it to end, to want to rush it just to make it stop, to be in complete darkness while it happened.

I didn’t feel my tears until they reached my lips. My eyes were glued to the TV, seeing the same clip they showed over and over, the body ablaze, because someone had caught it on camera from their apartment window.

That was the man who had ordered my death.

Good riddance.

I heard footsteps approach, and I turned to the door, knowing Bastien was finally home now that the deed was done. I already felt the relief before he walked in, felt the peace that only he could give.

The door opened, but it wasn’t just him. Adrien was with him.

Bastien was still coated in filth and mud because he hadn’t changed since pulling me out of that coffin. It was even on his face and neck, dried in place. He glanced at the TV to see the news before he looked at me again.

My eyes were on Adrien.

All that relief, all that peace…just evaporated.

Adrien stilled at the sight of me, hesitating at the ferocity that must have been in my gaze.

I released the blanket and got to my feet, wearing clothes that were far too big for me, and I walked up to him, seeing him tremble slightly at my approach. His eyes remained locked on mine but were packed with fear. So many things I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to do. I nearly asked for Bastien’s gun so I could shoot Adrien in the arm. But he wasn’t worth the emotional investment. “I wish I’d never met you.” I wished I could take back those years, take back my vows, take back my heart.

He flinched like I’d punched him, like those simple words were sharper than a dagger. “They were going to come for you, no matter what I did, Fleur. I saved you. I called Bastien and saved you?—”

“Bastien saved me.”

“Because I called him?—”

“All of that could have been avoided if you’d just told them that Bastien and I are together. That’s all you had to fucking say, and they would have let me go.” My eyes burned with furious tears. “I died, Adrien. Fucking drowned in mud.”

He clenched his eyes closed to shut out the pain of my words. “I know?—”

“You don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like to fucking die.”

He opened his eyes again, soaking wet with tears that were sincere. “I was so scared, Fleur. You have no idea.”

“No, you have no idea how scared I was. Trapped in the dark with a fucking camera in my face. The cold water inching closer to my mouth, and every move you make just sucks up the oxygen and makes the water pour in more.”

He closed his eyes again, like he couldn’t bear it. “It all happened so fast. I knew Oscar and Bastien did business together, so I assumed he would honor the code. I never imagined my beef with him would come anywhere near you. If I’d known that, I would have caved to him immediately. I would never risk the person I love most?—”

“You have no right to say that to me, Adrien.”

Bastien stood there and let us have it out in the middle of his living room, his clothes caked in mud and smelling of dirt and rain.

Adrien winced at my words. “I’m so sorry?—”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I should have told him what you are to Bastien. That would have fixed everything. But in the moment?—”

“I’m done with this conversation.” I was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and my throat was so raw from coughing, it hurt to talk. The world continued to spin, and I needed it to go still, needed the world to go quiet. “I want to be with Bastien right now and for you to leave.” It was hard to believe Adrien had ever been my husband when my brief relationship with Bastien felt more like a marriage than ours ever had.

Adrien looked defeated, clearly wanting to fight on but knowing his time was up. He started to turn away, also covered in dirt from shoveling the mud off my coffin. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay.” It was hard to believe I would ever be okay after that.

He stilled, his eyes on the floor, and then walked out.

When the door clicked shut, I closed my eyes and released a strained sigh. After a beat, I looked at Bastien.

His bright eyes were locked on mine, the only part of his body that wasn’t covered in filth. Even his hair had mud in it, like he’d dug me out of that grave with his bare hands. “It’s okay not to be okay, sweetheart. But you will be.”

Bastien tossed his muddy clothes and mine in the trash then cleaned off in the shower.

I waited for him in bed, the curtains drawn closed to block out the sunlight. The doors to the living room were closed too, shutting out the light that came in from the terrace. I should sleep, but a part of me wondered if I’d ever be able to sleep again.

I knew the nightmares would come.

Bastien joined me a moment later, sliding into bed in just his boxers.

I was on him right away, circling his neck with my arm, hiking my leg up over his thighs, laying my forehead against his chin with my eyes on his throat. All I wanted was to be close to him, our bodies and souls touching, and once that happened, I felt better.

And worse.

His fingers lightly played with my hair as he lay with me. Didn’t ask how I felt, didn’t ask what I needed. Just comforted me with his strong silence.

My lips started to tremble as the emotion seeped through the cracks in the door of my heart, just the way the rainwater had dripped through the openings in the wooden coffin. My heart cracked, and the emotion poured in like a waterfall. I attempted to stifle my tears, but whenever I tried, it turned into sobs.

Only when I felt safe could I accept the violence. Only when I was in Bastien’s arms could I confront my own death.

He didn’t hush me or silence my cries with kisses. He just let me cry, let me shed the rainwater that had absorbed into my pores. Let me explode with terror and pain and fear. Let me feel everything I needed to feel so it would pass.

My eyes remained on his throat, and I watched him swallow more than once.

I cried until I was spent, cried until the physical and emotional exhaustion built to a crescendo…and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, he was still there, but wide awake like he’d been alert for a while. I turned to look at the crack in the curtains to gauge the time of day by the light. It was dark, so the day had passed while we’d slept.

I immediately thought of what happened the day before, but knowing it was officially in the past made it a little more bearable. Processing something that had happened a few hours ago was just too hard to do.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“You should eat something.”

“The only thing that sounds remotely good is pancakes…but it looks like it’s dinnertime.”

“That can be arranged.” He grabbed his phone off his nightstand and texted Gerard, his private room service.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I want you to eat.” He snaked his hand up my shirt and lightly grazed my side and stomach with his fingers, his touch warm like summer sunshine. “I know it’s hard, but it’ll help.” He lay there and stared at me, his blue eyes gentler than they’d ever been. His stare usually had an intensity that never faded, only grew with the duration of his gaze. But now, it was softer than a silky rose petal.

We lay together in silence, just looking at each other, the night deepening out the window.

A while later, his phone vibrated with a message. He checked it before he returned it to the nightstand. “Breakfast is served.”

I already knew before Gerard texted—because I could smell it. I could smell the melted butter on the fluffy pancakes, the crisp applewood-smoked bacon, the scrambled eggs covered in gooey cheese. “I guess I’m a little hungry.”

Normally, he would smile at that, but his mouth remained hard in a near-grimace. “Attagirl.” He left the bed and put on his gray sweatpants, his ass tight in the fabric, his junk slightly outlined in the front.

If this were yesterday, I’d be jumping him, but today, I felt nothing.

We sat at the dining table where the food was covered with silver domes. Gerard had brought coffee even though it was seven in the evening, prime dinnertime. Bastien removed his cover and showed the T-bone steak and scrambled eggs. Instead of having coffee or juice, he poured himself a scotch.

I had blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs with cheese and a couple slices of bacon, my favorite meal. The steam from the food hit me in the face the second I removed the lid, and the smell incited my appetite.

I could tell Bastien wasn’t as hungry as he usually was because he didn’t inhale his food like a bear. He took bites here and there, focusing on his drink more than the meal. His eyes drifted out the window often, his mind somewhere else. He hadn’t died by drowning, but he was clearly fucked up by what happened too. Maybe he felt responsible for what had gone down. Maybe he just felt like shit about it.

“Are you okay?”

His gaze flicked back to me, his eyes wounded in pain. “No.”

I echoed his words back to him. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

His eyes drifted away again, rejecting my affection. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

“Hard not to.”

He continued to stare out the window, half of his food still on his plate, which was a first. His broad shoulders were sunken under an invisible weight, and his eyes lacked their usual shine, even when the glow of the city reflected in them like Christmas lights.

“So…what happened?”

He took a heavy breath, his chest rising when I broached the topic. “Long story. The Aristocrats demanded that Adrien stop his business because it’s an insult to the French people. I relayed that message to Adrien—more than once—but he chose to ignore it. Oscar and the Aristocrats have always respected the Fifth Republic and agreed with its politics because it protected the longevity and high status of the French empire. So, I expected this behavior from him the least.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? I could have talked to Adrien.”

“Separation of church and state.”

“What does that mean?”

“I know you want no association with my criminal activities,” he said. “I did what I could to keep Adrien alive since I knew you wouldn’t want him killed, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“That doesn’t sound like him. To just disregard a threat like that.”

He was quiet for a while. “I think he was too depressed to see reason. That business was all he had left.”

Because I’d left him. I felt a twinge of guilt, but it was very brief. “I never want to see him again.” I’d already said that straight to Adrien’s face, but I said it again because I meant it. Adrien panicked, and if Bastien weren’t in my life, that panic would have gotten me killed. “If he hadn’t cheated on me, I would be dead right now.”

Bastien didn’t disagree with that and continued to look out the window as if he hadn’t heard me. “You can talk about it…if you want.” He still wouldn’t look at me, like he carried the burden of shame for a crime he didn’t commit.

I wouldn’t put Bastien through that. What he had witnessed was already eating him alive. “It’s okay.”

“I know some good people if you want a professional.”

“You have a therapist?”

“No,” he said. “But I know all the good ones.”

“I’m okay, but thanks.” I’d died just yesterday. I needed to accept that fact before I could move past it.

He continued to look out the window, a view he must have seen a hundred times, his expression somber and writhing in subtle pain.

“Bastien?”

His eyes refused to obey.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Did he see me differently? Did he carry the blame, when Adrien was cursed to bear that alone?

He inhaled a deep breath, his big chest rising slowly before he let it out easily. But he didn’t say anything, choosing to bottle up his feelings in an airtight container. He shut me out completely, his jaw tight and the cords in his neck strained. “Because you were dead, Fleur. Because when I got there, you were fucking dead…”