Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
WREN
Texts.
That’s what I get from Sire after four days. No calls. No videos.
MY STALLION
I am out of surgery. I have septicemia. I am being treated with antibacterials.
Septicemia? It means sepsis. I looked it up.
Antibacterials? We’d say antibiotics.
This isn’t Sire. It’s a translation. It’s not my husband. He’d be sweet. He’d be bossy. He’d say he loved me and call me Angel.
I need to see your face. I need to know you’re okay
Now!
Whoever is holding his phone
Let me talk to my husband right now
Or the deal is off
And I’ll kill you myself
An agonizing hour later, I get a picture of Sire in a hospital bed with an oxygen tube under his nose, an IV in his arm. His beard, grown out. His skin, mottled and pale with patches. His blue eyes, open. His loving gaze, gone. He’s alive, but barely there.
I choke down tears, my hands shaking as I text:
Prove the date to me
Now Yakov!!!!
With a newspaper
I want proof of life
Today
More painful hours pass as dawn creeps into my room. Onyx curls beside me in bed. Grant snores in our guest bedroom. He and Delphine stayed the night to keep me company.
I appreciate their love, but it makes this worse. I don’t want an audience for my lies, for my demise. I don’t want to see their faces when they find out about Sire.
Finally, I get a text. It’s the same photo of Sire with a newspaper in the foreground. Of course, I can’t read the headline. It’s in Russian. But our current president, gloating, is the cover story. I zoom in, and if I’m reading the numerical date correctly, it was…
Oh God…
No…
Four days ago!
A sob hits me so hard, I bolt for our bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet. I don’t know what I’m losing. Meals. Water. Time. Tears.
Life.
Love.
Four days ago? Four days with an infection that can quickly kill him.
“No! Please, God, no!” I think I scream it.
In a rush of French, Delphine is behind me, holding my hair. I heave, but nothing comes out before Grant picks me up. Like a doll, I dangle over his mammoth arms.
“We gotcha, princess,” he soothes. “Hang on.”
In a blur, I’m in Grant’s Tahoe. In a daze, my head rests in Delphine’s lap. We’re in the back row. She’s caressing my curls, consoling me in soft French. Onyx is in his carrier on the floorboard. My suitcase is packed.
I have no idea where they’re taking me, but I know they won’t leave me.
I just don’t know if I should tell them why I’m dying, too.