28. Chapter 28
Chapter 28
Duncan
" Y ou're an asshole." Thierry sat down across from me at the Ritz bar that, despite its usual opulence, seemed to be rather dark and dreary since my wife kicked me out of our home.
Yep, I'd started to see that cute apartment of hers in the Marais as our home.
"No doubt," I muttered, swirling the bourbon in my glass. My mind was a whirl of confusion and regret.
What the hell had I been I doing letting Dom talk to Elsa the way he had? Why hadn't I told him to go fuck himself? Like I'd allow Elsa to take a risk by bugging Vincent Arsenault's home. If he found out, he'd kill her.
I almost lodged my fist in his face several times that afternoon when he ruined my marriage a week ago? Was that only a week ago? Because it felt like it had been fucking eons since I’d seen my wife? I didn't know what was up or down. All I knew was that my heart hurt, and I missed Elsa. I missed kissing her stomach and touching our baby. I, who had never missed anyone in my whole life, was lost because I couldn't inhale her vanilla smell or hear her laughter.
Jesus! When had I become that man ? The one who could give Byron a run for his money?
Dean joined Thierry in looking at me like I was the worst kind of idiot.
"Elsa knows nothing about Vincent or even what Jean-Luc does," Thierry told me, his eyes blazing. "Solène protected her from all of it."
I didn't need him to tell me that Elsa was telling the truth; that she went to deliver fucking pastries to the father of one of the most dangerous men in the Western Hemisphere because she had a soft heart.
Dom had done his due diligence, finally, and had unearthed that. But I knew even before he did.
Then why had I let doubt cloud me?
Because it’s easier to doubt than to risk having your trust broken.
I never saw myself as a coward, but that truth was staring me in the face. I hated confrontations, so I walked away. I avoided real connections, keeping everything transactional. Thirty-four years old, and I had the emotional intelligence of a damn teenager.
"I'm guessing here," Dean raised a hand, palm out, "that Dom got into your ear."
"How did you guess ?" I asked sardonically.
"I know he's been trying to get a handle on Arsenault for years." Dean looked at me like I was the saddest human in the world. I was .
"Everyone is," Thierry chuckled.
A server came along, and I asked for a refill while Thierry ordered a glass of Krug and Dean a beer.
"What did Dom want?" Dean asked.
"She didn't tell you?" I mused.
"She just said you got upset about her relationship with Vincent and Emile; and that you accused her of working for her father, which is laughable." Thierry leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me.
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I told her that she had to prove her innocence by dropping bugs in Arsenault's house."
" Putain de merdé ," Thierry growled and almost scared the server who brought our drinks.
"And he threatened her, saying that DGSE would take her into custody or some such shit if she didn't help."
Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. "She mentioned how you let him interrogate her. Threaten her."
"Yeah." I toasted him with my fresh drink. "I'm a prince amongst husbands."
"Why did you do that?" Dean demanded. "I'd expect you to break his jaw."
"I didn’t touch a hair on that reprobate’s head.”
“Why?” Dean wanted to know.
“ God and country and all that. Vincent is dealing in white phosphorous." I had no clue if I should be telling these things to Thierry or Dean, but I didn't give a shit anymore.
Dom Delacour had fucked up my life, and I'd let him.
"Vincent is not doing that," Thierry said emphatically, "I know that pour s?r ." For certain.
"How do you know that pour s?r ?" I asked sulkily.
Thierry shrugged. "I know."
"I thought you were a baker," I scoffed.
"Part-time. And I do that to take care of Elsa. Especially now that Jean-Luc has announced to the world that she's his daughter, every riff-raff is going to be coming after her," Thierry said, annoyed.
My blood went cold. "We need a security detail on her."
"I am her security detail," Thierry said proudly.
"And while you're here drinking, who the fuck is looking after her?" I demanded.
"Angelique," Thierry said non-apologetically. "And there maybe a few other friends of mine who are Elsa's neighbors who are there to keep an eye on her."
"Thierry, are you fucking my wife?" I asked because what the hell was this man taking care of my woman .
"Don't make me hurt you, man," Thierry growled. "She's my sister, motherfucker. I'm there for Elsa. How about you, asshole?"
I rubbed a hand over my face. "She wouldn't tell me about Vincent and she's close to you. For fuck's sake, she's Jean-Luc Moreau's daughter; how the hell can she be as innocent as she appears to be?"
"Because she was raised by her Mamman." Thierry looked at Dean, and they both looked at me with pity, silently saying to one another, this man is fucked up .
"Dom's a great guy," Dean said softly, "as a government covert agent. As a man, he's got a few screws loose. Duncan, he has the job he has because he is the most suspicious motherfucker in the world."
I looked down at my drink, feeling the intensity of my mistake. "I didn't know what to think. Dom made it sound so serious. And I was jealous, seeing her with Vincent."
Dean leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "Did you seriously let jealousy cloud your judgment? You let Dom, a man known for having zero faith in humanity, convince you to interrogate your own wife?"
"I fucked up," I admitted, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.
Thierry shook his head, anger flashing in his eyes. "Elsa is exactly who she shows herself to be. She's kind, genuine, and loyal. She's been visiting Vincent's father, who's dying of cancer, bringing him pastries and spending time with him. That's who Elsa is.
Dean ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you let Dom's paranoia make you doubt Elsa."
I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. "I did. She asked me for one thing, and I screwed it up."
"What did she ask?" Thierry wanted to know.
"She asked me not to use her." Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Elsa’s face when she looked at me in my office like her heart had broken because it definitely had. The woman loved me, and I'd given her one big fuck you in response. "And then I did, asking her to bug Arsenault's house."
Thierry groaned. "Man, I was on your side. I told her to give you a chance. How could you?"
"Because I'm an asshole," I threw back at him. "Didn't you know?"
Dean's expression softened, but only slightly. "If you're done with your pity party, any thoughts on how you're going to fix this?"
"She asked for a divorce, Dean," I mumbled. Every time I thought about that, my chest ached.
Thierry arched an eyebrow. "I got one question for you."
"Shoot." I finished my second glass of bourbon for the evening. Or was it the third? Who the hell was counting anyway? My life was shit and the number of drinks didn’t matter.
"Do you love her?"
I stared at him for a long time. "I don't know. I don't know what that means."
" Merdé , he is as clueless as you said he was." Thierry thumped Dean's shoulder.
"I am not clueless," I sniped, wondering if I should have another drink. I slept like shit without Elsa, but drinking at least made the pain disappear for a short while.
"Do you miss her?" Dean asked.
"Yes."
"How does divorcing her make you feel?" Thierry asked.
"Like shit."
"How would you feel if you never saw her again?" Dean wondered.
I felt everything inside me close down. "I'd die," I whispered.
"What do you like about her?" Thierry shook his empty glass of champagne and waved to the server, asking for a refill. Obviously, he was going to drink Krug when he was drinking on my dime.
"She's sunshine and everything good," I said, my lips automatically curving because I was thinking about ma douce. "She's a great cook. She's kind. She has a big heart. When she says she loves me, I feel like I won the fucking lottery. "
Dean nodded thoughtfully. "If Dom had tried to arrest her—"
"I'd have killed the motherfucker if he touched her," I snapped.
Dean and Thierry clinked their glasses.
"Asshole, congratulations, you're in love with your wife," Thierry announced.
"I don't even know what that word represents," I scoffed. "And—"
"Head over fucking heels," Dean cut in, laughing. "I never thought this day would come. Damian and Emilia didn't think you'd admit it until after the baby was born."
"I'm not admitting fuck all," I blurted out.
Did I love Elsa ? I barely knew her.
You know her, Duncan. You've known her since that first night. That's why you don't want another woman, not because her pussy was fabulous, which it was—but because you fell in love, the Romeo & Juliet kind.
Merdé!
"How angry is she with me?" I asked.
"She's not that angry," Thierry said, but before I could enjoy his statement, he added, "She's heartbroken and sad."
" Very heartbroken and sad," Dean agreed.
"Is she…is she crying?" I couldn't stand it if she was.
God! I was such a moron. I'd hurt my wife because I didn't want to believe I was in love with her. I had some major trust issues, this much was obvious.
"Yeah," Dean said softly.
I stared at him, the full import of my actions sinking in. "What do I do, Dean? How do I fix this?"
He sighed, taking a sip of his drink. “Start with a genuine apology. Show her you believe in her, and fight like hell to rebuild what you broke. It won’t be easy, but if you love her, you'll do it.”
I loved Elsa. For a man who wasn't even sure what love meant, suddenly, like an epiphany, I did know now. It meant all the things I felt for my wife. I'd been in love with her all along. I was afraid of loving, of opening myself to someone—which was why I kept resisting how I felt. Now, when I finally was ready to admit the truth, my wife was probably more interested in kicking me in the balls than listening to me proclaiming my love for her.
What could I say, I had gangbusters timing!
Merdé!