Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
ELLIS
I’ve gotten out of the habit of keeping my phone on me. The service at the chateau is spotty at best, and there’s really not much point unless one happens to be sitting two feet from with Wi-Fi router. My staff back at Weston has learned to expect a wait when they contact me, and I’ve found myself checking it less and less.
This morning, as I step back into my bedroom from the balcony, exhausted but more rejuvenated than I’ve felt in years, I bypass the device completely. It’s Saturday morning. Nobody needs anything urgently from me. I intend to squeeze in a rapid shower, but before I can even enter the bathroom, the knob on my bedroom door rattles and Zoe shuffles in.
My heart, already so full, seems to expand at the sight of her.
It’s only been a few months since we arrived in France, and I can’t stop marveling over the change I’ve seen in my daughter. For so long, the two of us were in survival mode, struggling just to make it through the day, but lately I’ve been able to enjoy being a parent and spending time with my child.
“Good morning, mon c?ur .” I beam, sitting on the bed so she can crawl into my arms and snuffle into my chest. “Did you sleep well?”
Zoe nods, picking at a small hole in my t-shirt. “You smell like Jojo.”
I still, and with an ear pressed against my chest, she’s undoubtedly able to hear the sudden increase in my heartbeat. “ Ah .” I cough, completely taken off guard. She’s a perceptive child. It hadn’t occurred to me how difficult it would be to keep this from her long term. “I gave her a hug.”
It’s not technically a lie. I lost count of the number of times I crushed Josephine’s body against mine in the last twenty-four hours.
Thankfully, Zoe seems to accept this and we move on to the discussion of my upcoming trip, which I first broached to her last night. The promise of two days of unlimited time with grandmaman was received with great enthusiasm, and she chatters nonstop about all the things they’re going to do together as we head downstairs.
I hear Jo in the kitchen already, and I send Zoe off to her, making a detour into the library. The rest of the morning passes in a blur of packing, stolen kisses with Josephine whenever we happen to be in the same room as each other, and lots of hugs for Zoe.
It’s only when we’re about to leave and I realize I have no way of checking in later that I go back upstairs in search of my phone. The device is where I left it, and I pause to scroll through a few texts I missed. When I see the name at the bottom of the list, my stomach drops like a stone.
Miranda: I’ve tried calling you three times in the last two days. My schedule was moved around, so I’ll be there tomorrow instead of the 7th. If this is your way of trying to get me not to come, it won’t work. I gave notice, just like it says in the custody arrangement, I’m getting on the train in the morning.
My blood is rushing in my ears, and for a moment, I think I might vomit. Dimly, I’m aware of my phone hitting the floor with a dull thud. Never in my life have I had a panic attack, but that must be what this is. The walls are closing in on me and my breaths are coming in shallow, rapid gasps that don’t quite fill my lungs. I feel like I’m drowning, and I can’t think.
Miranda is coming here. Today.
Josephine and I are finally on solid ground, we’re scheduled to leave any minute. I’ve had no time to prepare Zoe, or myself, for that matter. Even my mother will probably be an issue, as she hasn’t seen Miranda since the divorce and might well make good on her old threats to stab her. My ex-wife’s sporadic visits are always stressful and emotionally exhausting for both me and Zoe, but this is something else entirely.
The room spins around me, needles piercing my lungs with each breath.
Grasping at straws, I lunge forward, grasping the phone as I reread her message in the off chance I’ve misunderstood the message. I haven’t. Of course I haven’t. If Miranda is good at anything, it’s ruining my life, and today might be her greatest victory in the game of emotional warfare she’s been playing for years.
I stare at my screen until it goes dark. I can’t think, never mind decide what to do next, and I have no idea how long I stand there trying. My only hope—and it’s a feeble one—is that I can talk Miranda into not coming. Perhaps I can offer to take Zoe to see her, or meet half way in a neutral place… Anything that will stop this from happening.
I should have known she might switch the date. Miranda once rescheduled my birthday when it interfered with a bachelorette party. My hand shakes as I press my ex-wife’s contact, bringing it to my ear and listening to it ring.
“Hey,” Miranda answers, her tone impatient.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. The service around here is spotty and I’ve gotten in the habit of leaving my phone behind.”
A hard laugh greets my words. “Sure thing.”
“Listen, Miranda.” I cut to the chase, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I haven’t had time to talk to Zoe. My mother is here. I’m supposed to be going away for the weekend. It’s a really bad time. Is there any way I can take Zoe up to see you next week? That way, you won’t need to make the trip at all?”
There’s a beat of silence. “You actually expect me to believe that? There is a zero percent chance you’re going to bring her to Brussels, Ellis.” Miranda scoffs. “I’m already at the train station. I get in at half-past twelve.”
The line goes dead.
The plastic of my case creaks ominously under the pressure of my hand, and I toss it away onto the mattress. “ Shit ,” I hiss, just as there’s a quick knock on the door. Before I can call out to whoever’s there to give me a damn moment , it opens.
“Hey,” Josephine greets me cheerfully, slipping inside and closing the door behind her. “Maude is practically pushing us out the door. She made sandwiches for the train.” Her giggle over my mother’s antics dies away when she sees my face. “Ellis! What’s wrong?”
God, I don’t deserve her.
Mutely, I shake my head, a bitter taste filling my mouth. There’s only one thing to do here. I don’t like it, but there isn’t time to explain. I’ll have to hope she trusts me, that she understands, and that she gives me the chance to salvage this.
“Something has come up. You need to go to Paris alone.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders sink, and I've never loathed myself more. “Is everything okay?”
I nod unevenly. “Yes. It will be fine. I’ll… I’ll explain when you get back. This is unavoidable. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy yourself, though.”
Josephine stares at me, her warm eyes full of questions. “Should I be worried? I’m trying not to freak out here, but you’re not giving me anything and?—”
“Please,” I blurt out, shaking my head to stop her flow of unbearably compassionate words. “I swear to you, mon amour , I’ll explain when you get back,” I tell her, firmly ending the discussion before moving past her to the door. “Let me drive you into the village. The train is leaving at the top of the hour. I’ll email you the hotel reservation.”
I’d spent hours booking the place, scouring hotel reviews and imagining how her naked body would look stretched out over the crisp white sheets.
For whatever reason, I kept getting caught on the fantasy of walking into the ornate lobby with her, carrying both of our luggage cases in a silent message that we were arriving together, and we’d be leaving together too. I wanted this so badly. One goddamn weekend with the woman who makes me whole again, the woman who is so perfect that now I understand why some men say they wouldn’t change a thing about their wives.
There’s so much I want from her, so much I want to give her, moments I want for us… After this, I’ll be lucky if she stays here as Zoe’s nanny.
Josephine doesn’t argue.
Neither of us says a word as we walk side by side down the grand staircase. Our suitcases are already standing beside the door, ready to go, and I feel ill when I pick up only hers. Zoe and my mother must still be out in the grounds, so we don’t stop as we head to the car, our feet crunching on the gravel drive.
My heart is still pounding, and after putting her luggage in the back seat, I look up to find her standing stock-still beside the passenger side door. Her expression wooden.
“Josephine?” I question with an edge of trepidation. What will I say if she simply refuses to go? How could I possibly explain this? She’s never asked me a single thing about Zoe’s mother, and I was thankful for it. A day would come where I had no choice but to give her the gory details of my divorce, but I’ve been so focused on the more immediate problems that I completely neglected to foresee a massive pitfall lying ahead.
There has to be a quota of how many times any man can reasonably fuck up before a woman like Jo decides she’s had enough. How would I feel if Zoe brought home a man who’d treated her as I’ve treated Josephine? The answer makes me hate myself even more than I did sixty seconds ago. I like to think of myself as decent, yet all I can seem to do is hurt her.
Careful to avoid my eye, she shakes her head and pulls open the car door, dropping into the passenger seat without a word. There’s nothing to do but follow.
“Please, mon amour ,” I plead as I turn the keys in the ignition, pulling out into the drive. “I wouldn’t stay behind if it wasn’t urgent.”
Jo stares straight forward, still refusing to look at me. “But you won’t let me stay, and you won’t tell me why.”
I could howl. This is unbearable.
“It’s urgent,” I repeat, my fists tightening on the steering wheel as we stop at the end of the drive to allow a tractor to trundle past. It’s only a few minutes’ drive, and while I know I need to get back to talk to Zoe, I’m desperate to draw this out just a little longer. “I don’t want to lie to you, but I don’t have time to tell you the truth.”
She doesn’t respond and I would do anything to step back in time for a few hours. I woke up so happy, so full of hope, and now it’s all crumbling down around me. Hell, I’m pushing it. This is my fault. As much as I would like to vilify my ex-wife until the end of time, I can’t blame Miranda for this. Protecting my relationship with Josephine was my responsibility, and I failed. Again.
When we pass the first houses on the outskirts of the village, I can’t take it anymore.
“Josephine,” I choke, struggling to hold back the rising tide of panic. The train station is around the corner. In a matter of seconds, she’s going to walk out of this car and go alone to the romantic weekend I planned for us. She’ll have space to think, to step away from the intensity of our feelings for each other, and when she gets back, we’ll be finished. I’m sure of it.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go,” she whispers, sounding so tired, so hurt.
“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” I protest. “Nothing about this is because I want it, Josephine. Please believe that.”
I love you.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, yet I pull them back. This woman turned my whole life upside down in the best possible way, and makes every part of it better just by existing. She deserves the whole world, and it’s becoming obvious that I am incapable of giving it to her. I have no business telling her I love her for the first time under such circumstances.
We pull up outside the tiny train depot. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to turn the car around and bring her home with me, to hold on to Josephine Sutton with everything I have, and never let go .
The air in the car seems to grow thin as our last seconds together pass in silence.
“I’ll see you in a few days.” Her words cut deeper than I knew possible. “You don’t need to get out. I’ll get my bag from the back.”
I pull the train tickets from my pocket and press them into her hand, “Josephine—” But my next words are silenced by the heavy slam of a car door.