Finding Gabriel (38 page)

Just let go.

The mantra echoed in Geoffrey’s mind as he stood before the rooftop’s edge. Down below, the sign, which swayed above the threshold at a slanted angle, was rotted, its letters nearly illegible.

And I am no different,
he inwardly mused.
Rotted, decrepit, and fuckin’ destroyed.

Located in a remote part of Paris, the quaint little building had barely seen any use over the last few decades. Vines crawled up the decaying walls, clinging on like a thousand desperate fingers.

A gust of wind breathed through the immense stone walls and urged once more:
Just let go. I fuckin’ dare you.

Geoffrey was sorely tempted.

Years ago, he and Ariah had often come to this exact spot and contemplated what the establishment had once been. A bustling café, which housed the legendary voices of the revolution? A home to those countless martyrs – a place where dreams had been born and a new day dawned? Or had it been an elite pleasure house, which catered exclusively to society’s precious darlings?

Geoffrey and Ariah had spent hours creating fanciful stories and elaborate fairy tales, painting a rich history for the dilapidated dwelling. Together, they’d breathed life into the rooms and infused the walls with laughter. It had been a harmless escape from the harsh realities of being an orphan. On the rooftop, the air had always seemed fresher … the lights of Paris had appeared brighter and more luminous. But it hadn’t been the breathtaking skyline nor the impressive sight of the Vendôme Column that had chased away Geoffrey’s shadows. It’d been Ariah’s smile.

Nearly a lifetime ago, Geoffrey had led Ariah to this exact spot as a way to help dry her tears. For countless weeks after being given to the orphanage she’d cried herself to sleep. And when the sleep would finally come, she’d toss and turn for hours on end.

Geoffrey had brought her to the rooftop one evening – and everything had changed. After that, they’d sneak out each night, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, and watch as the sun ascended over the sleeping city. The velvety skyline would erupt into a swath of vivid color – and for a passing moment, all was well in the world. Oftentimes exhaustion would claim Ariah, and she’d nod to sleep against his shoulder.

He regretted such a thing now. He’d imagined that the rooftop would bring them closer – he’d imagined it would help connect their souls in an unbreakable, everlasting way.

But she’d discovered her own private solace – and had often come here without him.

Could it reconnect us now, after all these years?

For a full day, Geoffrey had observed Ariah’s home with mounting resentment and sorrow. Heart pounding, he’d spied from the shadows – wondering why she hadn’t chosen
him
. And in a brutal flash of drunken stupor and mind-bending jealousy, he’d slit her husband’s throat and kidnapped their daughter.

Another blast of wind, another tempting offer:
Do it. Just let go of everything.
The blackened sky hovered overhead, weighed down with despair and painful memories. Christ. He could see her even now – fifteen years old and fearless, standing at the edge of the world.

The soft sound of weeping invaded his thoughts. He turned to the little girl – Emmaline, was it? – and a trace of pity volleyed through his limbs. She looked so damned pitiful … so lost, so scared, and utterly alone. And within that moment, Geoffrey saw the little girl Ariah had once been.

Emmaline was huddled against the wall, remaining as far away from him as the rooftop allowed. Dangerous resentment rapidly replaced any pity. She was his flesh and blood – the first true family he’d ever had – and Ariah had kept her hidden away.

Muttering a blasphemous curse, Geoffrey stumbled to his feet as he attempted to sober himself. He moved toward the child with clumsy strides. With each step, she shrank against the wall and buried her face in the sullied folds of her skirt. Brilliant golden ringlets framed her delicate body like a shawl. Geoffrey scratched the unkempt curve of his chin before lowering to one knee. He reached out and tentatively draped a hand over the child’s trembling shoulder. Her tiny face jerked up and back, as if his touch had burned. Then the blood drained from her features, leaving her skin with a chalk-white pallor.

Eyes wide and brimming with fear, she murmured, “Where’s my maman? Please … I only want to see Maman.”

Geoffrey withdrew his hand and scooted a few steps away. “Patience, wee one. She shall be here soon enough.”

Emmaline rubbed her nose and sniffled. Snot leaked from her nostrils and dribbled onto her upper lip. Those bright blue eyes – eyes that looked remarkably like her mother’s – were glazed, red, and swollen. Geoffrey sighed and fished a wrinkled handkerchief from inside his coat. He gripped it between two quivering fingertips and offered it to the girl. The handkerchief’s white linen waved in the breeze, resembling a flag of surrender. She dumbly stared at the sullied material for several moments. Then she crawled a centimeter or two closer and pulled it from his fingers.

She blew loudly into the material; the sound echoed off the rooftop and fractured the silence. Then she sniffled once more and rolled the linen into a tight ball between her fingertips. Geoffrey observed as her knuckles turned white from the lack of circulation. Her clenched fists shook as she visibly battled to be brave and untouchable. He stared at her lovely features, examining them one by one, as if seeing her for the very first time. And when she lifted her chin at a defiant angle and met his eyes, he saw himself within those fiery depths.

Christ. She’s my little girl. Can it be so?

“Please, monsieur … take me back home. I promise you won’t get into no trouble.”

Geoffrey said nothing. He simply returned her inquisitive stare in sullen silence. With each passing moment, her skin grew paler, her breaths turned more shallow, and her knuckles were drained of more blood. Soon the tears ran anew, cascading down her pale cheeks. “Why am I here? Who are you, monsieur?”

More silence pressed between them. He tried to weigh his options – though it was a daunting task beneath his alcohol-fogged thoughts.

Should he tell her now? Should he tell her that he was her true father – that they were one and the same, cut from the same fucking fabric?

The truth would emerge soon enough.

The beer bottle rested between Geoffrey’s perspiring palms. He skimmed his fingertips up and down its smooth surface, contemplating his options and seething with anguish. Then he squeezed the bottle’s neck between his fingertips until it was on the verge of shattering. The little girl surveyed his every move, her eyes wide, wary, and cautious.

He fucking disgusted the child. His daughter, his only flesh and blood, abhorred him.

“
Mon Dieu,
it’s fuckin’ hot,” he complained, simultaneously rolling up both sleeves.

He laughed as the child’s eyes enlarged at the profanity. Then she inhaled a steadying breath and repeated her question from moments ago: “Who are you?”

Geoffrey paused his frantic movements. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig for courage. The alcohol raced down his throat in a soothing, slow burn. Relief and a welcome numbness coursed through his veins and helped fuel his resolve. He’d already drank two full bottles and was bordering on sheer drunkenness. He took another swig before setting it atop his propped knee.

“Name’s Geoffrey.” The little girl’s face whipped up and back, as if the word held meaning.

Dangerous, sweet hope clawed inside his chest. Had Ariah spoken of him before? Surely she’d mentioned him in passing. For many years, he and Ariah had been close to soul mates.

“You know me, eh?”

The child grasped onto the material of her skirts and twisted the sullied linen between her fingertips. Her eyes danced across the rooftop, surveying the shadows and hidden caverns. She tried to shroud her fear – but it was etched into every line of her pert features. Finally she shook her head and continued wrestling with her skirts. Those wild curls danced about, manipulated by her frantic movements.

“
Non
, monsieur.”

“She never spoke of me? Not once? Not in all these years?”

Cold silence. And one that spoke volumes.

Geoffrey felt the anger slide through his veins and mingle with the alcohol. Pulse racing at full force, his hand fell to the dagger he kept beneath his ratty coat. He mindlessly ran his fingers across the jagged snarl as burning resentment crashed down. Then he thrust the bottle against his lips and drank himself into an untouchable, bleak oblivion.

•

An eerie silence dominated Paris’s streets. Even the wind was absent, as if Mother Nature had chosen to hold her breath. Ariah and Gabriel slipped through the winding roads and darkened boulevards at a nimble pace. The surrounding stonework towered all around in menacing shapes, appearing as monsters within the limitless night.

Ariah’s heart reached breakneck speed as she wove her fingers through Gabriel’s. His hand was as precious as a lifeline. She felt as if she was drowning … gradually slipping into the depths of despair, all while being swallowed whole by her own sins and the ghosts of her past. Yet so long as Gabriel was at her side, she’d remain afloat.

Her breath shone against the night air in dense, expansive clouds. Tears threatened to spill. She lifted her chin at a defiant angle and picked up stride. In silent response, Gabriel grasped her hand more tightly and followed in her footsteps. His opposite hand rested on the small of her back, guarding her in an intimate, reassuring gesture. Thumb and forefinger gently caressed the length of her spine, easing the tension within. Every so often he’d lean in close and whisper. The mesmerizing, throaty baritone resonated inside her chest and echoed each of her frantic heartbeats.

The impressive monuments and ancient buildings seemed to come to life. With each step, the dagger grated against her thigh, flooding her with memories. Long-ago images of that night plagued her mind like a raw sore …

Ariah felt the tears run anew as she thought of Emmaline.
How very frightened and confused she must be.
She shook her head, willing away the turbulent thoughts. Summoning her inner strength, she squeezed Gabriel’s scarred hand and held tight. “We are almost there.”

•

A chill overcame Ariah as she stepped onto the rooftop. Gabriel remained close behind, an ever-present and reassuring force. Ominous silence filled the air and weighed heavily on her chest. She envisioned herself as a girl of fifteen years, overly thin and full of ambition, standing at the edge of the rooftop. She also saw Geoffrey – the hero, the protector he’d once been.

Mixed into those memories was the evening she and Gabriel had spent in each other’s arms. Within that exquisite moment, the past had fallen away, leaving only the two of them and the prospect of a fresh beginning. She turned to Gabriel – and observed as his eyes roamed across the rooftop in recognition.

This was where they’d made love. This was where she’d unfastened the chains of her past, replacing those dark memories with remnants of light.

Ariah’s breaths misted the air in tight coils, reflecting the coldness she felt within. She crept forward and desperately searched her surroundings. Long, impenetrable shadows cascaded across the familiar stonework, obscuring everything from sight. In the distance, the frail lights of Paris dotted the horizon in endless strings and swooping constellations. Only a pair of fluttering lanterns relieved the shadows, providing little light.

Panic seized her. Where was Geoffrey? Where was her daughter? Were they even here? Or had she been mistaken? A gut-wrenching ache twisted her chest. She gripped onto the wall for support.

Around her neck the cross and Doctor Mongeau’s ornament glittered beneath the moonlight; she latched onto the two emblems, shut her eyes, and counted to five. She felt physically ill – as if she was on the verge of vomiting. Gabriel came into step beside her, intimately close, and tracked his palm over the curve of her shoulder. She fed on his nearness, on the security he offered, and felt that impossible weight lift from her breast.

“I … I was so sure he’d be here.”

Just as she was about to step forward, a ragged, painfully familiar sight stopped her. Geoffrey emerged from his shadowy concealment. A putrid stench radiated from his body and polluted the air. Ariah wrestled with the desire to take several steps backward. Instead, she straightened her posture and returned Geoffrey’s penetrating stare.

Mon Dieu
. He’d gone mad. That much was painfully clear.

“Ari. So you’ve come. How very decent of you.”

“Maman!” Emmaline darted forward and tore through the shadows. In spite of his obvious drunken state, Geoffrey was worlds faster. His hand shot out and tangled in Emmaline’s curls. He gave a firm, unyielding tug and reeled her back to his side.

Barely breathing, Ariah lurched forward and hollered a torn cry. Her hands violently shook, her legs grew limp and fluid, and the very air vacated her lungs. She echoed her daughter’s despair, feeling the pain as if it were her own. Her heart leapt inside her throat – knotting her words into a strangled, incoherent sob. “Geoffrey, let her go! I beg you!”

Gabriel stilled Ariah with a hand to her forearm, rooting her firmly in place. Then he stepped around her body in a brisk, determined movement, creating a flesh-and-blood barrier between her and Geoffrey. Ariah stared at the sweeping material of his greatcoat, trusting in him with all her heart and soul. Then she saw something peculiar in Geoffrey’s gaze – a brief recognition, perhaps – as he examined Gabriel from top to bottom.

“Free the child.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command.

Geoffrey reciprocated Gabriel’s calculating stare. A smirk curled his mouth into a foul jeer. He scanned Gabriel’s marred features before fixing his gaze on Ariah.

“A small world, isn’t it, Gabriel?” His words were slurred and nearly incoherent. Ariah tensed as his eyes darted from her to Gabriel. She sensed a mounting tension … a growing hostility. And it poisoned the very air. “My Ari … never imagined you’d be one to take a beau on the side.” His grasp tightened on Emmaline’s hair in an unconscious gesture. Emmaline cried out and attempted to wriggle free. “Now tell me, monsieur: How the fuck does a renowned colonel come to be with a lowly orphan girl?”