by Juniper Hart
“It will be good,” Sage said with optimism she did not feel. She had not been left with many choices. While she had been paid handsomely during her time with Northeastern, she had spent wildly, boasting a closetful of designer dresses, high heels, and expensive handbags. She had a dozen high-end perfumes, cases of contour make-up, and barely any money in the bank.
In my defence, I was not expecting to be bringing a live human onto the planet now or ever, she thought ruefully.
“It doesn’t sound like it will be good,” Dayna remarked. “You’re going to live with your stepmother.”
“Yeah, but it’s in Paris! The City of Lights.”
“I thought Paris was The City of Love,” Dayna said sullenly, deigning to be contrary. Sage gave her a warm smile.
“Oh, come on, Day. You’re in Paris all the time. You’ll have a place to crash.”
“Sounds awesome. Your stepmom, her husband, your screaming infant, their two little shits, and a miserable, dejected version of you.”
Sage smirked at Dayna’s dismal summary. I really am going to miss the hell out of her. She’s been the light of my life for ten years.
“Some people believe that motherhood makes them happy,” she countered. “You’re going to be an aunt! Aren’t you excited?” She refused to let Dayna’s devil’s advocacy drag her lower than she was already feeling. She wanted to say it was the only option which would allow her to keep her baby, yet she kept her mouth closed, knowing that Dayna would argue with her further.
She was leaving for Paris at noon the following day. Micheline had reluctantly agreed to help her stepdaughter get on her feet, but Sage could hear the resentment in her voice. She had not even bothered telling her father, knowing that he was under the reign of the wicked bleached bimbo.
I’ll send him an email when the kid arrives, she thought sadly. She had hoped that David would be the same man to her child as he had been to her, with the camping and fishing, but David Aubin was not the same father she’d had in her childhood. Suddenly, he was Angelique’s drunken puppet.
Sage was starting her final trimester, and she had ballooned out suddenly, though only in her belly. Looking at her from the ribs up, no one would have guessed Sage was six months pregnant. Her hormones were beginning to overtake her, and she found herself sobbing inexplicably into her pillow or at commercials for toilet tissue. She talked to the baby constantly. She had opted to not find out its sex, but she found it unnerving referring to the child as “it,” so she called the fetus “Bean”.
“What are you going to name Bean when Bean is an actual being?” Dayna joked, shifting the topic. Sage realized she had tears pooling in her eyes.
“I don’t know. I have to figure it out when Bean comes out. If Bean looks like their father, well then, it’s going to have to be something exotic. If Bean looks like me, then we’ll have to name Bean—”
“Something white as hell?” The women started to laugh, and Dayna eyed her friend with compassion. “I know I am not the most sympathetic ear, Sage, but I want you to know I think you’re so brave for doing this by yourself. I can help you find this guy. There must be somewhere to—”
“No.” Dayna looked up, surprised at Sage’s tone. “Thank you, but no. That ship has sailed. I spent too much time daydreaming about a guy who was just a fling. He left me without even saying goodbye. I can raise Bean alone. I just need a little help to get on my feet.” She didn’t tell Dayna about how worried she was to have a shifter child around a family who knew nothing about her shifter ways. Then again, shifters had hidden their secrets from their mortal partners for millennia. Sage could do it, too.
When had her life gotten so complicated? Only a few months ago, she was carefree, living the dream. Maybe Dayna was right. Maybe she was already losing a big part of herself. Would she ever get it back?
Dayna smiled. “I know you can, but you don’t have to. If you need anything, ever, I am always here for you, okay? You and your screaming, shitting kid.”
Again, the two chortled, and Sage embraced her tightly. They parted and looked at one another.
“So?” Dayna laughed. Sage saw the glint of tears in her eyes. “What do you say?”
Sage laughed shortly and wiped her own eyes. “I guess I’m going to Paris!”
Cruz looked at the picture in his hands, his reality altered for a moment as he was brought back to the day in the snapshot.
“You know, we’re college graduates now,” Matin had said jokingly. “We can run for our lives and probably still end up really rich somewhere.” It was the same thing he always said after they had graduated, and yet that time, it really struck home for some reason. Perhaps there was an awful foreshadowing in the words that Cruz hadn’t ever noticed before.
He smirked slightly, glancing over his shoulder to where his mother stood with his father’s other two wives.
“No matter where we go, he will find us,” Cruz had assured his brother. “The best thing we can do is accept our fate and do what we’re told.”
Matin had gazed toward Jett hatefully. “That is easy for you to say. You are not the firstborn. The rules of primogeniture do not affect your life.”
“That is not true!” Cruz had argued, but in his mind, he had known his brother’s life would be much worse in the long run.
He stared at his twin’s face in the photograph now. They had been fraternal twins, but they had shared the same dark hair and eyes. Matin had been taller, more athletic, and more intelligent.
He was always so much smarter than me. I envied that about him. I envied a lot about him. I didn’t tell him enough how much I appreciated him, and now it’s too late.
Cruz placed the framed picture of their graduation into a box and reached for tape to seal its contents. He still had one more month left in Paris, but he had been slowly shipping his belongings to the Palace of Ara. It would be easier when the time came.
A noise at the door caused him to start. His father’s goons had finally left him in peace after what had happened in Madrid, but in light of his impending marriage, Cruz had been filled with the fear that they would return, if only to catch him in the middle of something so they might report back to Jett.
Father is not worried about me running; he knows he will find me anywhere I go. There is nowhere in the world a bear can go that he won’t be found. It was unsettling and yet somehow comforting. That meant that, somehow, somewhere, he might find Sage. But will I be married by the time that happens?
Cruz hurried toward the front entrance and pulled open the door. A pamphlet flittered to the floor where someone had wedged it in the door, and Cruz saw a middle-aged, blonde woman delivering more from flat to flat. He glanced down at the advertisement and arched an eyebrow. It was for a cleaning service.
I wonder how she got in here, he thought idly. The security in the posh building was top-notch. Watching the tall, blonde woman quickly stuff papers into the mailboxes was interesting, though hardly cause for alarm, yet Cruz could not stop staring at her for some reason.
As if feeling his eyes on her, she turned partially, her eyes wide with worry. Cruz’s heart caught in this throat as they stared at each other. She offered him a frigid smile before disappearing into the stairwell and out of view, leaving him to stare after her. He had Sage on the brain. He was seeing her everywhere, and it was not healthy. That woman looked like she was in her forties and looked nothing like Sage, not even remotely.
Sighing, Cruz retreated into his condo and shut the door. He glanced at the flyer in his hand and started to ball it in his fist before he reconsidered. The apartment could use a good cleaning. Maybe he would call her. He snorted at his ridiculousness and sighed.
You must forget about Sage, he told himself. It was not meant to be, or else you would have been reunited by now. You will always have the brief time you shared with her. Hopefully, when you are forced to marry that girl, those memories will keep you sane.
“You seem distracted, Jett.”
The Sheik of Ara turned
to his first wife, the one whom he had named his empire for, and smiled warmly. She had been the most loyal and faithful companion, the true love of his life. Why had her children been such a disappointment when she was such a joy? They had inherited her father’s bleeding heart and her disposition. Neither traits were fitting for the heirs of a Sheik’s empire. But that was not Ara’s doing. She had done the best she could have with what she had been given. The boys had been born weak. It was Jett’s position as their father to strengthen them, give them backbone and business savvy.
“Jett, my husband, what is it?” Ara asked again, approaching him cautiously.
“It is nothing, Ara. I am thinking of Cruz, trying to understand where I went wrong. Matin was not as difficult. They were twins. How could they be so different?” Ara stared at him with intelligent brown eyes but said nothing. “It is my own doing,” Jett went on. “I spent too much time focusing on Matin and not enough time with Cruz. But how could I anticipate something would happen to him? We are immortal, indestructible. He was so full of potential. I’m ready to give this all up, but I don’t think Cruz is ready.”
Ara’s irises clouded at the thought of her son, but she remained silent as Jett continued to pace around the lavish study, his white robes fluttering about to accentuate his movements.
“It is not too late,” he said aloud, though the words were more for his benefit than for his first wife’s. “This marriage is what he needs to set him on the right path.”
“Is it?” Ara asked, finally, breaking her husband’s thought process. He looked up sharply and regarded her.
“You do not believe so?” Ara smiled briefly, but he could not help noticing her eyes did not shine with their usual spark of light.
“I believe you are always confident in what you are doing,” she replied diplomatically. Jett found himself irritated by the response.
Bear women are masters of talking in circles, he thought with exasperation. Her tact was not what he needed at the moment.
“You do not think I am doing right by him?” he demanded, and Ara cast her eyes downward demurely.
“No, my love. I believe you are doing what you believe to be right. My only fear is…”
“What? What is your fear?”
“He already regards you as someone who is his enemy. Forcing this union upon him will only drive a bigger wedge between you.”
Jett eyed her speculatively. “I imagine my father felt the same when he arranged for me to marry you, but it served only to bring us closer together. And look at how marriage has grown into a relationship of trust and security.”
Even if you were not my mate.
But what importance were mates? Love had no place in business. That was a western concept, and one he didn’t abide by. Jett had gotten by just fine without being matched with his mate. Probably better, when he thought about it. There were no real emotions to interfere with the business, no petty squabbling. The Council of Seven preached mates, but they weren’t necessary. One ought to look at what terrible acts had been committed in the name of love. Their way was much better, and Cruz would see it, as his brother had done before him.
Ara smiled again and nodded.
“Of course you are right, Jett,” she conceded. “Cruz will grow to respect Kalyn, if not love her. She is a sweet girl.”
“From a good family,” Jett added, but he could not stop a growing knot of concern from forming in his belly. “Their pack is strong, and they will continue our bloodline properly.”
“Indeed,” Ara conceded.
I have already lost one son to death. I do not know if I have it in me to train yet another one if Cruz fails me. I will simply have to ensure he does what he is told.
Jett wondered, then, why he suddenly felt insurmountably guilty from the idea.
13
“Sage! Wake up!”
Sage’s eyes flew open, and she stared at her stepmother’s aghast face. Humiliation flooded her face as she realized where she was and why she was being confronted in the middle of the night. The dream had been real, hot, and very vivid.
These damned hormones. I’m disgusting. Now I’m waking up the entire household.
“What’s the matter?” Sage muttered guiltily, pulling the blankets over her nightgown. She suddenly realized that her stepsisters were standing in the doorway, looking terrified, only adding to her shame.
“You were screaming like a maniac!” Micheline snapped. “Were you having another nightmare?”
Sage nodded, swallowing quickly, hoping that her mortification was etched all over her face as clearly as she was feeling it. The story had always been the same—that she was suffering from night terrors.
“Yes, Micheline. Sorry to have woken you again,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep, girls.” Her stepsisters looked relieved and smiled weakly before turning back to their respective rooms. Micheline gave her stepdaughter a peculiar look before heading toward the door.
“Get some sleep. You need your energy for tomorrow. We have a lot to do, don’t forget.”
Sage sank back into the pillows as her stepmother retreated, willing her face to regain its normal tone. The sex dreams had become more frequent, and she had woken up the family every night since arriving in Paris. Sage had read online that it was a common part of pregnancy, given the hormonal changes, but it did not make it any easier to explain to Micheline.
Sage sighed and settled back against the pillow, wishing her stepmother hadn’t interrupted the dream. It was just getting to the interesting part. Still, Micheline was right. She needed to get some rest. Her figure was undergoing slow changes to accommodate the child growing in her womb, and she was feeling increasingly tired. But Micheline did not care about her stepdaughter’s physical state as she laid down the rules from the moment Sage had stepped into the small house in Courbevoie on Friday afternoon. Her mother had made her plight quite clear.
“We are not rich, chérie. In fact, your stepfather and I struggle very hard to make ends meet.”
Sage was surprised to hear the revelation. She had always assumed that Micheline had married up and that while their home was far from opulent, it was not that of a pauper.
“The girls are young, and we keep our financial problems well hidden from them, but they do exist. And while we would never turn you away, especially in your ridiculous position, we expect you to pull your own weight around here. For the life of me, I can’t imagine how you would ever find yourself pregnant and alone in this day and age, but I am not going to judge you.”
Sage had arched an eyebrow. Oh? That wasn’t being judgmental then?
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she had replied, trying to keep the bite from her words. “I will tend to the girls and clean the house. My cooking leaves a lot to be desired, but—”
Micheline had snorted. “No, Sage, I don’t mean that you are becoming a house slave. I mean you must contribute to the household financially. The girls cook and clean while Jean-Claude and I are working. They are old enough to care for themselves. It is money we need, not a nanny.”
They are ten and twelve! Sage had thought, mildly shocked. However, she had said nothing. Who was she to be giving parenting advice, after all? Still, she had glanced warily at her stepmother, trying to understand what Micheline wanted from her.
“I am not a French citizen, and I don’t have a work visa. Even if I could find work under the table, no one will hire me in my condition.”
Micheline had smiled thinly. “Of course I have considered all of that, Sage. That is why you will work for me.”
Sage’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Okay. What will I be doing?” she had asked, too tired to argue. Micheline had told her, and Sage had gritted her teeth. Her situation kept getting better and better. She needed the work, though. Babies were expensive. “Okay,” she had agreed.
“You start Monday morning.”
As Sage glanced at the clock on her nightstand, she exhaled again. It was almost four
o’clock in the morning, and Micheline would be waking her once more in a couple of hours.
Maybe I will fall back into that dream again, she thought hopefully, but her slumber was dreamless.
“I will be back to pick you up at ten o’clock,” her stepmother said, leaning across Sage’s lap to open the car door. “Don’t be late. We have a schedule to maintain.”
Sage nodded and stepped out of the vehicle, pausing to remove her items from the trunk before waving at Micheline. She lugged her belongings through the double doors, nodding at the concierge. She introduced herself, and he checked his logbook and nodded, pointing in the direction she was to go. Sage thanked him and continued toward a bank of elevators. She pressed the button for the top floor and leaned back against the mirrors. As it always did whenever she was in an elevator, her mind returned to Madrid and Cruz.
Will I ever ride in an elevator again without envisioning my bare ass pressed against the glass? she wondered, smirking slightly.
The doors opened, and Sage looked up and down the hall, glancing at the scrap of paper in her hand. Suite 1502.
She grimaced slightly, wondering how she was going to have enough time to do what needed to be done. If Micheline expects it, I better damn well do it. I can’t really afford to piss her off now, can I? Otherwise, I’ll be dealing with the bimbo’s wrath in New Jersey, and this will feel like a cake walk.
Sage gathered her bearings, determining that suite 1502 was to the right. She lugged her supplies to the doorway, careful to keep everything back from the intricate wainscoting, lest she scratch it.
I don’t even want to think about how much it would be to repair this woodwork, she thought, raising her hand to the gargoyle knocker on the door.
“Un minute!” came a voice from within the condo. Sage grunted silently.
Hurry up, buddy. I’m tired already.
“Pas de problem,” she chirped back, stifling her true feelings as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again. She glanced at the paper in her hand again.
