Her Faux Fiancé (21 page)

He went into the kitchen and boiled the kettle. Looking out the back window, he saw his mother and grandmother sitting in a set of wooden chairs, admiring the flower garden. He couldn’t imagine either of them being proud of him right now. He wasn’t proud of himself. Instead of the victorious feeling he’d expected, he felt shallow and petty. He’d ruined innocent lives in his quest for vengeance. And if he didn’t set things right, he risked losing the woman he loved. His beautiful sister, Karen, wouldn’t have wanted any of this.

He poured the boiling water into the pot his grandmother had left ready and carried the tray into the sitting room. Melissa MacEwan sat bolt upright in the chair, her eyes darting between him and the front door. He poured the tea and waited while she added a bit of milk to the cup. He should have offered her a Scotch. God knows he could’ve used one.

She took a fortifying sip of the hot brew before setting it down on the coffee table. Her hands shook less now, and finally she looked him in the eye. She had soft, brown eyes—Bambi eyes. Was it possible to feel worse?

“Ian has paid for what he did to your sister. When we were first married, he’d have nightmares about her. It made it hard for him to concentrate and get work. Finally, as time passed and more people forgot, it became a little easier. Still, he named our daughter Karen so he wouldn’t ever forget. Said it was the stupidest thing he’d ever done and if someone treated his daughter like that he’d kill them. But, I hope you’ll see, Mr. Sigurdson, by foreclosing now, it’s not only Ian you’ll hurt. I’m not asking for myself. I married him knowing what he’d done. I went to school in Arborg, but he told me when we started dating, said I needed to know his bad as well as the good. It’s the children, you see. We’ve already moved four times in the past six years. They love the new house, finally they have their own rooms—” Her voice broke, and she grabbed for her handbag on the floor, searching for a tissue.

Erik reached over, pulled the box of Kleenex from the side table, and put it in front of her. He might need one in a minute. He’d wasted so much time. For years, he’d only looked at the catalyst to his sister’s suicide. He’d kept her memory alive for all the wrong reasons. Rather than remembering his sister for her beautiful personality, he’d focused on the horror of her death. It was as useless to blame the people involved as the rope she’d used to hang herself. He should have spent his energy assisting others—educating people and working to eradicate the stigma of mental illness so teens like his sister weren’t afraid to ask for help. Instead, he’d made things worse, ruined other people’s lives. Ruined his own life. But there was something he could still rectify.

“I’ll tell the bank to hold off. We’ll come to some sort of arrangement—maybe profit-sharing. That way, I won’t burden the operating budget. Go home to your family, Melissa. I won’t cause any more trouble.”

“Really?” She raised her tear-stained face to his.

“Yes. I’ll get the bank to call Ian in the next half hour.” The relief on her face was worth the financial sacrifice. Chances were he’d never recover the money, but that didn’t seem important now.

“You won’t tell Ian I came to see you, will you? I mean, you can if you have to. It’s just, he’s feeling a bit emasculated lately … ”

“I won’t tell him, although I think he married an incredible woman. At least he made one right decision in his younger days.”

“Thank you.” As he stood, she flung herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“No need. I shouldn’t have done what I did in the first place. I’ve made things worse and will probably pay for it for the rest of my life as well.”

“I think your wife should be proud of you. It takes a big man to admit when he’s wrong and try to fix it.” Her hand flew to her mouth as though she realized that insulting him might not be the best thing to do in the circumstances.

He tried to smile to show he hadn’t taken offense, but it was nearly impossible given the state of his marriage. Would Analise forgive him? Or had he inadvertently destroyed his own chance at happiness? “Good-bye, Melissa. I wish you all the best.”

She climbed into a battered pickup truck and drove slowly down the driveway. As she turned onto the road he went into the kitchen and made a couple phone calls—the first to the bank, then to leave another message on Analise’s phone. It had been only three hours and already he ached to see her. It was going to be a long evening.

Erik took the stairs two at a time. The old Paris apartment building had seen better days, although it was clean enough. Hell, he’d seen better days. It’d been six weeks since he’d held his wife, and he didn’t know how much longer he could go on. Hope that she’d listen and take him back was the only thing that kept him going. And even that was fading now.

Stonewalled by Gunnar, Erik had had to track down Analise’s father to find out her address. Monsieur Tagan had to call his lawyer to find out exactly where she lived. What father didn’t even know his daughter’s address? What husband lost his wife after only two days? The familiar ache in Erik’s chest intensified.

He slowed as he approached Analise’s floor. If only he’d gone straight back to Gunnar’s farm after Melissa MacEwan had left. He should have braved the shotgun to explain to her. Instead, he thought he’d give her the night to calm down and had presented himself at dawn. He hadn’t believed her grandfather’s word that she’d already left. Only after searching the house and finding all her stuff gone had the reality of his situation hit him. Then panic had set in. As a world traveler, Analise could have gone anywhere. And Gunnar had been no help. He said his first allegiance was to his granddaughter, and until she gave him permission to divulge her whereabouts, he wasn’t going to say a thing.

Yesterday, he’d seen an advertisement for her photographic exhibition at the Hôtel de Ville but she hadn’t been there. What he had found, though, was some of the most moving photographs he’d ever seen. Analise had a gift for finding the humanity in even the most inhumane situations. He hoped she’d be able to find enough compassion in herself to listen to him. Because he couldn’t go on for much longer without her.

His heart was racing by the time he got to the seventh floor. It wasn’t from the exertion of flying up the stairs, however, but from the possibility of seeing his wife face to face. He banged on her door for several minutes to no avail. Unwilling to be defeated yet again, he sat on the floor, his back to the door, waiting for her return. He kept his eyes on the stairwell in case she saw him first. He wasn’t going to risk her fleeing before they could talk.

Half an hour passed before he heard light, weary footsteps on the wooden staircase. He tensed and stood, rehearsing yet again what he wanted to say, although he was pretty sure that despite his preparation, all that was going to come out of his mouth at seeing her was a string of begging pleas.

A dark head appeared around the corner, and his heart leapt, only to fall flat on the floor as he realized it wasn’t Analise. The woman was at first startled to see a man at the end of the corridor. She extricated her phone from her bag and pressed a couple of numbers before she advanced on him.

A torrent of French followed, and she gestured wildly. Unable to keep up with the rapid-fire tirade, he put his hands up in front of him in the international sign for surrender. Surprised, she stopped for a moment.

“
Parlez-vous anglais
?”
He used one of the few phrases he remembered from school, asking if she spoke English.

“Yes, I speak English. Who are you? What do you want?” She had one hand on her hip and waved her phone at him with the other.

“Do you know Analise Thordarson?”

“I ask the questions, or I call the police and let them question you.”

“My name is Erik Sigurdson. I’m Analise’s husband—”

“She is not married.”

“She is. We were married in Canada six weeks ago. I have our marriage certificate with me if you want to see it.”

Wordlessly, the Frenchwoman held out her hand. Erik pulled the document out of his pocket and handed it over to her. She examined the paper carefully, then passed it back to him.

“Analise did not tell me she got married. Although, that would account for her sadness. I thought you were another one of those government men come to interrogate her.”

“Government men have been interrogating her?” Erik’s protective hackles rose. He should have been here to defend her. She’d asked for his help, and he hadn’t even done that. So far, he was proving to be the worst husband. Ever.

“They stopped now. Probably something to do with that other man she used to see. I always told her he was too slippery. You must be the same or she would be with you.” She shook her head as if to say that some women never learn.

“I’m not slippery. However, I am an idiot. I did something very stupid, and she ran away before I could explain and tell her that I fixed it. Please, do you know where she is? I need to see her.” The desperation in his voice must have got through to the woman because her face softened.

“It is good for you that I am a romantic woman. I will call her and see if she is still in Paris. She sold her apartment and moved out yesterday. I offered for her to stay with me, but she said she had other friends,” the woman explained as she dialed.

Erik couldn’t follow the phone conversation that ensued in rapid French. That was going to be his first priority when he got back to Manitoba. Learn French so he could understand Analise when she was upset with him. The woman snapped her phone shut and raked him with her gaze.

“She says you are stupid yet not dangerous. She is at the Eiffel Tower, third level, saying good-bye to Paris. If you want to see her, you are to go there.”

Saying good-bye to Paris?
If she moved on, he’d have no way to find her. His heart raced. He had to get there before she left.

“Right. Thanks. I appreciate it.” He sprinted for the stairs; the woman’s laughter followed him down the first two flights.

• • •

Analise hugged herself, although she wasn’t cold. This was her favorite view of Paris. To see the grandeur of the city from a height where you felt you were part of it. She’d hoped that coming here would give her some peace. Of all the places she’d lived, Paris had been home the longest. Except the noise, the pollution, the social unrest, the threat of terrorist attacks disturbed her more than soothed. She longed to be back in Manitoba—where you could see for miles and not have another single person in your view if you chose.

A warm breeze blew her hair against her face and flattened her dress against her belly, which now had a tiny bump. She ran her hand over the evidence that her baby was growing. If it weren’t for her pregnancy and knowing that she was solely responsible for the little life, she would have crawled into bed and stayed there for the next six months. Losing Jean-Claude had been bad. But the inevitability of what she’d long expected could happen had helped her deal with that blow. It was the sudden revelation of Erik’s duplicity, especially so soon after she realized she loved him, that hurt the most.

And now he was coming to say good-bye. She shouldn’t have run away, but she’d needed time to think about what she wanted, what she needed, before she saw him again. He was probably delivering divorce papers or wanting to discuss some sort of settlement. Well, he could go through her lawyer, keep it all professional. She could survive on her own. As if to reassure herself that all was going to be okay, she rubbed her baby bump again and stared out at the view of Paris in the evening.

The Tower wasn’t too busy. As it was dinner time, most tourists were busy stuffing their faces with escargot or
coq-au-vin
, or trying to decide which was the best
prix fixé
meal deal. The distant sound of horns blaring from the streets below would always remind her of Paris. Not that she’d be gone forever. Her baby was French; she’d have to make sure they came to Paris often. And she was kind of looking forward to telling her father he was a granddad, especially as his new wife was only in her early 30s.

She saw Erik before he saw her, and her traitorous body wanted to run into his arms. She’d forgotten how tall and handsome he was. No, she’d not forgotten. She could still remember the security she’d felt when he took her in his arms. The way his heart beat under her cheek and his breath ruffled the top of her hair. He stepped off the elevator and stopped, hugging the steel frame.

Zut
, she’d forgotten he was afraid of heights. Well, it sucked to be him, because if he wanted to talk to her, he’d have to come over to the edge—she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. When his eyes met hers, she had to lace her fingers into the iron mesh railing. Every cell in her body was straining to throw herself at him. Her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss. Damn body, it was supposed to be on her side.

He took four hesitant steps toward her then stopped. She wasn’t sure if it was his acrophobia or that he was unsure of her reaction. At least he wasn’t holding out an envelope of papers for her to sign, ending their marriage.

“
Bon soir
, Erik. Welcome to Paris.”

“Analise.” Her name seemed wrung from him.

He took two steps closer, and she could see the pain in his expression. She should relent and move from the edge. Searching his face, however, she saw his focus wasn’t on the view or the long way down, but on her. He seemed oblivious to his position so far above the ground.

“This is convenient,” Analise said. “I can say good-bye to both Paris and you on the same evening. Twice the closure.”

His eyes closed when she mentioned good-bye, opening only when she’d finished.

“I won’t ever say good-bye, my love.”

Confused, she took a step toward him so she could read his eyes. “Why are you here, then?”

“To beg you to give me another chance.”

He sank to his knees. Several people stopped their sightseeing to watch the drama playing out before them.

“Erik, I—”

“Please, Analise. I was a complete ass. I was living in the past, thinking I could fix it. I thought if I avenged Karen’s death, I would prove myself a worthy brother. The second I saw you again, all the feelings I had for you came flooding back. Only this time they weren’t the emotions of a college boy, but the raging desires of a man. I tried to reason with myself that once I had you, it would be enough. When I found out you were pregnant the one thing I wanted was to protect you and care for you and the baby for the rest of your life. So I rushed you into marriage, hoping that in time you’d come to love me as I love you.”