14. Fleur
14
FLEUR
Over the next couple days, I rarely saw Bastien.
He was barely home. Barely slept. He always replied to my texts and called to check in on me, but he was clearly distant, like his mind was elsewhere. I knew it had nothing to do with me because he’d just asked me to be his wife, still made love to me during the brief periods when he was around.
But something bothered him.
He came home one morning and went straight to bed because he was exhausted. When he woke up, it was the late afternoon. He showered then came out in his sweatpants, like he didn’t need to run off right away for once. But he didn’t seem to be in the moment with me, his mind elsewhere.
We had dinner, breakfast for him, and he continued to check his phone like he expected news. He was distracted, not invested in me or our conversation like he usually was.
“Babe?”
He put down his phone when I addressed him directly.
“Is everything okay?”
He took a bite of his food as he stared at me, and he seemed to drag out the answer on purpose. “I’ve got a lot of shit going on at work right now.”
“I know. That wasn’t the question I asked.” The fact that he tried to dodge it made me more concerned about whatever he was dealing with. “I asked if everything is okay, if you’re okay.”
“Everything is fine, sweetheart.”
It was the first time he’d lied to me. I could tell because he was terrible at it. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”
He released a frustrated sigh, like a parent annoyed with their child. “I’m having to deal with a lot of shit right now. I know I haven’t been home a lot?—”
“I don’t have an issue with that, Bastien. I just want to know you’re okay.”
He relaxed in the chair, no longer interested in his meal, and just stared at me. “I’m okay. Everything will be okay. I’m just in the middle of something.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s not your problem.”
“I’m going to marry you, so it is my problem.”
He released another sigh, backed into a corner the way he’d backed me into a corner so many times. “Please let this go.” He said it quietly with a slight plea to his voice, a controlled desperation.
I wanted to know what was consuming him so deeply, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, I wouldn’t force it out of him. Like a vault, he locked away his secrets, and only at the most unexpected times did he punch in the code and open the door to me. “Alright.”
“Thank you.” He went back to his meal, his appetite returning once the interrogation ended. He shoved a big bite into his mouth, and his impressive jawline hardened as he chewed. He could do anything and look hot—ride horses, chop down trees. He could be a garbageman, and he’d even make that sexy. “Any thoughts on the wedding?”
I doubted he cared about the wedding, just wanted to change the subject. “I’m guessing you want a big wedding because you know literally everybody?”
He chewed his bite as he stared at me hard. “I want to marry the woman I love. I don’t give a shit about the guest list. What do you want?”
“I don’t know, honestly.” I’d already had a big wedding when I married Adrien. Hundreds of people in a big church, a grand reception, the whole nine yards. It had been the best day of my life until the day I’d wondered if it was all a lie. “Something small is fine with me, but I feel like you should have a say in this since I’ve already had a wedding.” I didn’t want to bring up Adrien, but I did have experience where Bastien did not. It had to factor into the decision.
“You’ve had a wedding before, but you’ve never married me before.” His blue eyes could be so breathtaking sometimes, like now when he was all serious and intense. “This one is gonna last—until I die.”
I only had a handful of friends and no family, so the number of people on my side would be minimal. But Bastien was right. The guest list didn’t matter.
“The only thing I want, the only thing I won’t compromise on, is seeing you in a wedding dress. I want you to take my name as your own. Then I want to take off that dress and leave it on my bedroom floor. Our bedroom floor. As long as I have those things, I’ll be happy. You can decide everything else.”
He hadn’t struck me as a romantic guy when we’d met, but he was by far the most romantic man I’d ever been with. “Last time I saw Adrien, I told him I was going to marry you. Then you asked me just a couple hours later.”
His eyes didn’t soften like I expected. They turned more possessive, like he was on the verge of taking me to the church and making me his wife at that very moment. “I guess we were both thinking the same thing that night.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Except he’d been thinking about it longer, long enough that he’d had time to buy me a big-ass diamond ring that could knock a man out cold. “Since we’re on this subject, I wanted to ask you about something.”
He stopped eating his dinner, either because he was full and there were only a few pieces left, or this conversation was taking all of his focus. “What is it, sweetheart?”
I hadn’t thought this far in advance, not when everything had happened so fast, not when I’d gone from a heartbroken divorcée to head over heels in love in a matter of seconds. But now, the moment was here, and it was time to face it. “I realize this conversation is premature because I’m not in this headspace right now, but…we should talk about kids.”
He didn’t blink or flinch. Didn’t grow visibly uncomfortable by the subject.
Adrien had always dragged his feet on it. Anytime I mentioned it, he looked like he would have a full-on panic attack. But now, that was a blessing because I wouldn’t have wanted to have kids with such a lying, spineless man. Now, Bastien…I would love to have his babies. Especially if they had his eyes… Oh lord help me.
After a beat, Bastien spoke. “We can have them if you want them.”
“But how do you feel about it?”
“Do I look like the dad type?” he asked somewhat coldly. “It’s not on my agenda. But if you want a family, just tell me when and I’ll step up.”
He didn’t shy away from the topic, fully cooperative. I should be grateful, but I hoped to have a husband who wanted to be a father. But I couldn’t ask him to want something he didn’t, to be a different person than he was. “May I ask why?”
“Why I prefer not to have them?” he asked with slight incredulity. “For starters, my line of work is not ideal for raising a kid. I sleep during the day, I’m gone at night. If I show up to a parent-teacher conference, everyone will shit themselves. And my childhood was a shitshow of trauma and violence, so I don’t know a damn thing about creating a warm, nurturing environment for a child to thrive.” He cocked his head. “You know what the last thing my father said to me was before he died?” His voice was different—angry but contained at the same time.
It hurt me to listen to all of this because I could see his pain in his eyes, hear the unspent rage that burned in an inferno inside his chest. He commanded a room with his confidence, but inside, he was broken like the rest of us.
“He said I was— and I fucking quote —a worthless son I wish I’d never had.”
I inhaled a painful breath, killed the tears before they had the chance to start. It hurt to picture that exchange, to picture anyone saying that to someone I loved so much. His mother was so loving, so motherly, and it was hard to imagine having a father who was such a fucking prick.
“Not only do I have no desire to be a parent, I’m also unfit for the job.”
I needed a second to process what he said, to accept his heartbreak with a straight face. “I’m sorry that happened?—”
“Don’t pity me. I’m a grown-ass man who doesn’t need sympathy.”
It was as if his confession in bed had never happened, his vulnerability long gone. “It’s not pity or sympathy.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t fucking want it.” He turned vicious, treating me like I was some asshole who’d crossed him rather than his fiancée.
I normally would have snapped back, but given the fact that he continued to bleed from wounds he refused to see, I let it go. “I’ve seen the way you treat your mother. You’re kind, respectful, and gracious to her. And you’ve made me feel more loved than anyone ever has in my entire life. You’re at odds with your brother, whom I can tell you still care about, because you want to protect young women who are strangers to you. You say you’re unfit for the job, but you’re more fit than I am.”
His stare remained rock hard and stoic, refusing to let my words pierce his flesh.
“And if we had children, you wouldn’t be working anymore, so we wouldn’t have to worry about all that stuff.”
His eyebrows slowly furrowed at what I said. “I would never ask you to give up your dream of having children, so why would you ask me to give up my dream of running this city?”
“I—I wouldn’t ask you. I just assumed that’s what would happen.”
“That was the wrong assumption.”
The disappointment hit me like a wrecking ball. “So, we would have little ones while you’re the head of this country’s organized crime faction with a target on your back? I’m okay with being at risk because I’m grown enough to make that decision for myself, but they wouldn’t be.”
“I would never let anything happen to you. I’ve proven that.”
“I know, but?—”
“And I would never let anything happen to our children either. I will provide for you and protect you. Always.”
“I understand that, Bastien. But you can’t control everything.”
“I won’t give up my work for something I don’t even want.” He didn’t raise his voice, but it somehow felt like he was yelling. “And it’s wrong of you to expect me to.”
“Bastien, do you even like your job?”
“What kind of question is that?”
I knew I’d hit his trigger, but I continued. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re still trying to prove something.” Prove that he was more than what his father had said. Prove himself to be a bigger kingpin than his father ever was.
Bastien was dead silent, and the longer that silence continued, the more suffocating it became.
Fuck, there was no going back now.
His expression hardened, and even though the change was subtle, he somehow looked fucking deranged. When he spoke, he managed to speak calmly, but he was right up against the border of insanity. “Don’t. Analyze. Me.”
“Bastien—”
“I’m talking now, and you’re going to fucking listen.”
Jesus, that felt like a slap across the face. He’d never spoken to me like that before. If this was restraint, I hated to picture how he spoke to men before he slit their throats.
“I’ve already compromised with you. I’m willing to have these kids that I don’t want if it’s what you want. Now, it’s your turn to compromise. It’s called diplomacy, negotiation, being a fucking adult. You have these kids and I continue my work, or you don’t have these kids and I continue my work. Those are your options.” He abruptly left the table and walked behind me, probably heading to the bedroom.
I stayed in my chair because I was too scared to move. I’d never seen him like this before. Never had him talk down to me. Never seen him attempt to restrain all the rage that was reserved just for me. He’d talked about ripping off my wedding dress, and then mere moments afterward, it was as if he hated me.
He came back a minute later, dressed in his street clothes like he intended to walk out.
I didn’t stop him. Didn’t ask him to stay.
When he walked out, he slammed the door—and he’d never done that either.
When midnight arrived and he didn’t come home, I knew he wouldn’t be back for the rest of the night.
I lay in bed, constantly on the verge of tears, hating how distant I felt from him.
I looked at his location often, something I never did, wanting to know where he was because the paranoia had set in.
But Bastien wouldn’t do that.
His dot stayed inside a bar for a couple hours, like he needed some time alone to cool off. Then he moved to different locations across Paris, perhaps meeting with his other partners.
I lay there, unable to sleep, having the shakes because I was that scared.
Scared that he might leave me. That I’d crossed the line with what I said. That I’d forever changed the dynamic of the best relationship of my life.
I knew Bastien wouldn’t call or text. He’d stay out until morning. Maybe not even come home then. I could tell that was how pissed off he was. But I knew he would ever ignore my calls or texts, no matter how much he might want to.
So, I called him, blanketed in the glow from the lit-up screen.
It barely rang once before he picked up. There were voices in the background, and then they started to recede, like he was walking away to another part of the building or perhaps to the sidewalk outside. He didn’t say anything, like he knew I was okay because he’d been checking my location the way I’d been checking his.
I didn’t know what to say, how to start. So I said the only thing that I could, the only thing that made sense. “I love you.” I wished he were home, but I didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want him there if he didn’t want to be.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, let the silence sink between us like an anchor out to sea.
I was scared he wouldn’t say it back.
He let out a quiet breath, and it wasn’t clear if it was a sigh of annoyance or simply a calming breath. Or perhaps he’d been smoking when I called, and the cigar still hung between his lips. “I love you, sweetheart. Always.”
I was on the couch when he walked inside.
It was four in the morning. I’d gotten so tired of trying to sleep with this anxiety in my heart that I just showered and got ready like it was morning and then sat on the couch in front of the fire, wearing his t-shirt and sweatpants.
He stopped and stared at me, like he hadn’t expected me to be there.
I didn’t look directly at him, like my stare would chase him away again.
He ran his fingers through his hair then moved into the armchair, crossing one ankle on the opposite knee.
I hated this. How distant he felt. How strained our relationship had become. It was a strange situation because an apology didn’t feel necessary from either of us. No one had really done anything wrong, but the conversation had imploded our relationship, nonetheless. “I want to have children with you.”
He shifted his gaze and looked at me, like that wasn’t what he expected me to say.
I could picture a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes. Picture my heart a mess on the floor at the sight of him. Watching him grow into a man and leave the house would be so bittersweet. “But I can’t do that if you’re in this business. Not after what happened to me. Because if what happened to me happened to them…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, not when just the thought would kill me.
He looked away again, like he’d just stepped into the ring for another round.
“But I can live without children.” I could live without a reality that I’d never had. Live without something that hadn’t come true. Because my love for Bastien and my life with him had completed me since the moment we’d met. “But I can’t live without you.”
He turned back to me, and just like that, all of his anger was gone. His stare had a depth he’d never shown before, visibly moved by what I said. There wasn’t a blink or hesitation in his stare. He looked at me for what felt like forever. “You don’t have to decide now. Perhaps in a few years, you’ll feel differently.”
Time had numbed my fear like an ice pack numbed a burn, but it was still there, haunting me like a ghost that continued to live in the attic. I would never forget the second before I was submerged, never forget the rawness of knowing I was going to die and it would be painful and horrible and dark…and there was nothing I could do to stop it. If I couldn’t say there was no chance that would happen to my child, then I was unfit to be a mother. And if I wasn’t willing to leave their father to give them a better life, then I definitely was unfit. “I won’t change my mind.” I accepted the loss of a different life, accepted a different path that I hadn’t expected to walk. But it felt right.
He studied me like the confidence in my stare wasn’t enough. “I expected to see your stuff packed up when I walked in. Expected to see your ring on my nightstand. Expected you to tell me it’s done.”
My eyes watered. “I’ve been a fucking mess since you left.” Lying in bed, waiting for him to come home, scared that I’d destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to me. “If death didn’t chase me away, then what could?”
He moved to his knees before me then swept up my hair with the way he cupped my face. He moved between my open knees as he held me, his callused thumbs catching the tears that rolled down my face. “Nothing—because nothing could chase me away either.”