Chapter Thirty-Three
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Ily
IT TOOK FOUR DAYS FOR HENRI to wake up.
I didn’t like to think it was karma giving me a dose of my own medicine. Teaching me how helpless and lost Henri would’ve felt seeing me in bed, unable to be reached.
I never left his bedside. Q put him in the same bedroom where I’d recovered. The silver-and-white decor was so bright and cheery compared to the melancholy worry in my heart.
Once again, I found myself housed in a great chateau in France—getting in the way as doctors sewed up Henri’s leg and arm, gave him intravenous antibiotics, and anything else his body needed to stay alive. They removed his bloody cast, leaving the bump from his healing bone visible, adding yet another injury to his long list.
On the fourth morning with him mumbling in his sleep but refusing to open his eyes, the door opened, and a beautiful blonde stepped in. I’d met her before. Yet we hadn’t talked much.
Tess, Q’s wife, carried a tray with a delicious-looking club sandwich and some homemade fries. Placing it on the bedside table, she gave me a soft smile. “How’re you doing?”
I smiled back, holding Henri’s hand. I squeezed his fingers so damn hard, hoping he knew I was here, waiting. “I’ll be better when he wakes.”
“Mind if I sit?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Dragging a chair from the window, she sat and studied Henri. He had more colour in his cheeks than he did in Tuscany. When he’d thrown that grenade and Franco snatched me and bolted, I didn’t know if Henri had killed himself.
When the smoke had cleared and he’d spread his arms, inviting anyone to shoot him, my heart had utterly broken.
I’d always known he carried such darkness.
I’d hoped I’d been able to heal that a little.
But until now, with him unconscious despite all the care and healing he’d received, I hadn’t understood. Not really. I’d never been truly alone. Never been hated. Never been judged or feared or mistrusted.
But he had.
And it’d changed him on a molecular level.
I was out of my mind with worry.
I paced the room and begged him to wake up. But I never once thought of ending my life because I knew the power of love.
My parents called twice a day. Krish messaged me often.
I had their support.
I knew I would be missed.
I just needed Henri to realise he had that gift too.
Q visited him often but didn’t say anything.
Suzette, the housekeeper, seemed particularly distraught and even Franco—the man who looked as mean as any Master on Victor’s island—squeezed Henri’s shoulder and told him to fight.
“You’re not alone anymore,” I’d whispered last night. “You have a family who really, really wants to love you, Hen. So please…open your eyes and live.”
Laughing a little under her breath, Tess grinned. “You know…I thought I had it rough when I first fell in love with a Mercer, but you?” She shrugged. “You win.”
I appreciated her attempt at joviality, but I couldn’t quite muster a laugh. “He’s definitely been…tricky.”
Leaning forward, she clasped her hands. Her fitted jeans and cute pink jumper made her look younger than she was, but her blue eyes spoke of hardship and wisdom, flashing with inner strength. “If you ever need to talk about what happened. About what he did and—”
“I’m fine.” I shook my head. “Truly.”
She nodded. “I won’t overstep but I will give you one piece of advice.”
“Okay…” I glanced at Henri’s face.
Was it my imagination or were his brows knitted. His eyes flickered beneath his closed lids. His black lashes shivering with dreams or…waking up?
Hope—that annoying emotion that’d tortured me so badly in Joyero—sparked.
I clung to his hand, my heart skipping as his fingers flinched in mine.
A waterfall of relief chased away the last of my worries.
I sagged over the bed and grinned. “He’s waking.”
Tess glanced at Henri and smiled. He groaned and rolled his head. “So he is.” Standing, she shoved her hands into her back pockets. “In that case, I’ll leave you to say hello in private.”
“What did you want to say?”
Heading toward the door, she turned back and smiled. “Only that I’m here if you ever want to vent. Loving a Mercer? It’s not easy. They’re stubborn and proud and have a darkness that I doubt will ever go away, but…they’re also loyal to a fault and love with all their hearts.”
I brought Henri’s knuckles to my lips and kissed him.
“Oh, I know.” I had the absolute privilege of saying that. I know. I know him. He’s a part of me. I know . It felt as if I’d been let into a private, perfect club. One where no one else got to know the true souls of these brothers. No one else was lucky enough to be loved by them.
“In that case, I’ll see you soon.” She winked. “You know…I’ve always wanted a sister.”
She left.
Henri opened his eyes.
And every day that we’d suffered, struggled, and fought to stay alive by playing Victor’s horrible games, fighting fate, sharing lust and temptation, cheating death and merging our souls into one vanished beneath the only truth that mattered.
We’d survived.
We hadn’t destroyed one another, we’d won.
And this was just our beginning.
“Hello,” I whispered, shifting closer to kiss him.
He groaned again, slowly taking stock of his surroundings.
For a second, his face twisted in hate and pain, then smoothed out in surprise. “I…how did I get here?”
“How do you think?” I grinned, my happiness bubbling over and unable to be contained.
“That meddling brother of mine?”
“The one and only.”
His body remembered how to move as he shifted gingerly. His bandaged arm came up. He cupped my cheek ever so softly. “Hi.”
Tears glossed and rolled down my cheeks. “ Bonjour .” I kissed him again.
Our tongues touched, our breath caught, and salt from my tears laced our lips. Henri shivered as I pulled away. His smoky eyes caught mine. His face held true awe and affection as he tugged me down to kiss me deeper.
Only once he’d licked away my tears did he press his nose to mine and whisper, “I’ve always loved the taste of your tears. I’ve drunk your fear and your grief but these tears.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “They taste the best.”
I smiled and knew what he was going to say.
I felt it in my heart.
Our unique connection flared bright.
“Because you’ve finally tasted my happiness instead of sadness?”
He flinched then arched higher against the pillows. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. You knowing me better than I know myself.”
“You will. Because we’re going to share a lifetime.”
Gathering me against him, he yanked me onto the bed and inched over to make room. He winced a little as I brushed up against his leg—the leg where a bullet had been festering and I’d watched it be pulled out—and then he kissed me again.
And we didn’t stop for anything.