Chapter 48 New Orleans—Remy #2
“If there’s a problem, which there isn’t, it can wait until I get home. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation to anyone.”
“If you don’t talk to Charlotte as soon as we get home, I will.”
Remy didn’t look at him. “Asshole.”
“Back atcha.”
Penny, Skye, and Marcelle came out laughing, carrying side dishes, salads, and bread.
“We’re ready to eat,” Penny said.
“Steaks are ready.” Remy pulled out a chair for Skye, and she smiled knowingly at him, causing his flagging energy to spike. A crash would probably follow the positive shock, but if he could hold on for a little while, the evening might end with her in his arms.
Before he sat, he removed Penny’s steak from the grill and placed it on her plate. “It may be slightly pink, but it’s not blood red like ours.”
“It’ll be fine. If it’s not, I’ll put it back on the grill.”
The meal wasn’t as lively as it would have been if it weren’t three o’clock in the morning.
As soon as they finished, Penny, Marcelle, and Skye said goodnight and went to their respective bathrooms for a relaxing bubble bath.
Remy cleaned the grill while Clay and Rick washed the dishes.
Just as they finished, Kenzie, David, Kaitlyn, and Bastien stumbled through the door.
Rick gave them an evil eye. “I hope to hell none of you were driving.”
“We took an Uber. What’d we miss?” Kenzie asked.
Remy shrugged. “Alistair Robertson, aka Marshall, had a connection to the Illuminati, and he died in a car accident when his brakes failed.”
“Goddamnit,” David said. “I thought we’d put that organization to bed. What’d Elliott say?”
“Fix it. And now I’m going to bed.”
Kenzie tried to block him. “No, wait! We want the deets.”
“Not going to happen now, Lady McBain. I’m tired, and a beautiful woman is waiting for me. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
Kenzie stepped aside, giving him a small curtsey with her arms extended to the sides, like wings. “I don’t want to interfere. Go ahead. Leave us in the dark for hours.”
He gave her the middle finger and strutted away.
“Asshole,” Kenzie said.
“Back atcha.”
When Remy entered the bedroom he shared with Skye, he found her sitting up in bed, her face flushed from her bath, scrolling through her phone and listening to cozy coffeehouse covers. She smiled at him, and he met her gaze, which sent a shiver of overwhelming intensity through him.
“There you are. I was getting ready to send you a text,” Skye said.
He sat down on the bed beside her, and the heady scent of lavender wafted over him, evoking peace and tranquility and reminding him of the garden outside of his room at the plantation.
A place he would go to when war memories threatened him.
When the pain and trauma of Hurricane Katrina and his father’s death haunted him.
When the horror of Bastien’s close call with death swamped him. Lavender always calmed him.
Remy cleared his throat. “Send it.”
She smiled. “That’s silly. You’re right here.” She put her phone on the bedside table and took his hands in hers. “Thank you for this wonderful day. My life has changed completely, but in some ways, it hasn’t changed at all.”
“You’re welcome, but I doan understand how it hasn’t changed at all.”
There was a brief flicker of wonder in her eyes.
“Well, I’ve always had good friends, access to wonderful music, and excellent food.
I’ve always lived in a beautiful home, filled my closet with the latest in women’s fashion, and felt loved every day of my life.
That hasn’t changed. What has changed is that I adore and am adored by the most remarkable man I’ve ever met.
And your family believes you’re as remarkable as I do.
I see it in their eyes, their smiles, and in their stories. ”
“There are lots of stories.”
“Here’s the thing, Remy. If my parents hadn’t gone back in time, Marcelle and Bastien wouldn’t have traveled, and you wouldn’t have come after them. We would never have met. And if the stars aligned, and we met on the streets of Inverness, I would be your grandmother’s age.”
“That would never do,” he teased.
“You’re right. I prefer being here with you. I want to sing, to make records, and to have bigger shows than we had tonight. We haven’t even made love, but I feel that you’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you. I don’t want to do anything that would risk that.”
Damn, she smelled good. If Remy didn’t need a shower, he would take her in his arms and never let go.
But he was too disgusting to do that. “Skye, you can have it all. The records, the shows, the family, my everlasting love. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.
If you can dream it, I will make it happen. There are no limits.”
She wrinkled her brow. “But we have to have money to do that, and we don’t know what’s in Capone’s safe.”
As soon as he could, he’d tell David and Braham that if they didn’t find any valuables in Capone’s safe, Remy would give them gemstones to put in there. That might be cheating, but Skye would feel better if she had money of her own.
“Money will never be a problem. You want it, you can have it without putting a dent in my bank account.”
“I appreciate that, but I need to have money of my own.”
“I haven’t looked at the file you brought with you, but if you have stock certificates for companies that are still in existence, they might have value. Kevin will take care of that for you.” He stood. “If you’ll give me ten minutes to take a shower, I’ll join you in this big, comfortable bed.”
“I’ll keep your side warm,” she said in a breathy voice, her gaze lingering on his lips.
“Hold that thought.” He rushed into the bathroom, stripped, and walked into a stream of hot, pulsing water. The shower was big enough for two, and they’d have to take advantage of that later.
He lathered up, working the soap into a fragrant foam that enveloped his hair and skin. As his hand glided over his body, reaching his testicles, he froze in absolute, heart-stopping terror.
He yanked his hand back as if burned, his breath catching in ragged gasps. Then, driven by a horrifying compulsion, he felt again. His fingers trembled as they confirmed the chilling reality—a hard, marble-like lump nestled within his right testicle.
He collapsed onto the built-in shower bench, the weight of an invisible hammer blow forcing the air from his lungs. How? A silent scream echoed in his mind. How could he have missed this? An uncontrollable tremor seized his entire body as salty tears mingled with the spray of water.
The terrifying truth slammed into him. His père had died of the same disease.
The cancer had metastasized from a small lump to ravage the lymph nodes in his abdomen and ultimately consumed his bones.
Watching his father’s agonizing descent, the mutilation of surgery, the onslaught of radiation and chemo that withered his body had been a soul-crushing ordeal.
A protective vow solidified within Remy.
He would sooner walk through fire than subject Skye to the same agonizing helplessness his mère had endured.
He remained there, crying until the water ran ice-cold.
Shivering, he twisted the faucet handle to turn off the water. The thought of making love to Skye—of sharing that intimacy—felt irresponsible now. There was no way he could move forward or offer her a future. Not while this shadow of mortality loomed over him.
After he toweled off, he wrapped a warm towel snugly around his waist. He softly padded out of the steamy bathroom and into the hushed bedroom.
Skye, exhausted by the day’s events, had succumbed to sleep, and her breathing was a gentle rhythm.
A wave of quiet relief washed over him—a moment’s reprieve before the inevitable.
The weekend had to proceed exactly as planned.
But as soon as he stepped back onto the plantation grounds, he’d find Charlotte and have the hard conversation.
They would have to decide which world-renowned center to pursue for treatment—the storied halls of Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, the comprehensive care of Mayo Clinic, the expertise of Cleveland Clinic, the pioneering spirit of MD Anderson Cancer Center, or the cutting-edge research at Johns Hopkins.
But for now, he needed to rein in his emotions. He repeated the facts like a mantra—testicular tumors were highly treatable, especially when caught early.
He couldn’t wait until they returned home. He’d make that call to Charlotte first thing in the morning. Hiding this crushing burden from her, trying to manage it alone, was clearly unhealthy. Sharing the news would ease his mind, and together they could forge a battle plan before his return.
Suddenly, the frantic pounding in his chest almost exploded into a full-blown physical panic. Elliott’s premonition hadn’t been about a brooch. It had been a direct warning about Remy himself. If the warning had been about the family, Elliott’s instinct would have been to call David.
Remy extinguished the lamp and gingerly slipped under the covers, a silent prayer that he wouldn’t disturb Skye—this exquisite woman he had kissed in his mind a thousand times over.
As if sensing his presence, his turmoil, or both, she immediately rolled toward him in her sleep, and he pulled her warm body into the protective circle of his arms. She let out a contented sigh and went completely limp against him.
As physically drained as he was, sleep remained elusive.
The stinging tears returned, and he focused on slow, deliberate breathing techniques known to promote calmness.
It felt like an eternity, but eventually the tears subsided, the panic receded, and he relaxed just enough to fall into a deep, albeit fretful, sleep.