“I do, God help me. I keep thinking, if it were true, then he’d have told me. But he wouldn’t. I know him. This explains so much and leaves me with nothing but questions.”
She sucked in a breath. “You never told me what the bastard wants.”
“For us to stew. He or she will contact me in five days’ time.”
“The only thing he can do is threaten to release the news to the press. It’s all well and good dealing with the aftermath of today’s headlines. But I’m not having him go through it all again. He’s kept it a secret for so damned long. He obviously doesn’t want it to define him.
“On top of that, the invasion of privacy…we’ll be lucky if we ever get him out of the penthouse again! This time, we’ll pay. Whatever it takes. “
“I agree, but what if this time the blackmailer doesn’t want money?”
Frowning, Devvy asked, “Why should that have changed? That’s what all blackmailers want, right? Money!”
“This is different, Devvy.”
“How can you say that?” she snapped.
“Stop thinking with your heart, dammit,” he griped. “Think logically. You’re right. Alex has kept this a secret. So secret even I don’t know about it. So, who does know? Who could know?”
“The abuser. It has to be him. Or, maybe somebody in Child Protection Services. The abuse must have been reported. I mean, surely his mother…?” Devvy hesitated. “She would have found out, right?”
A long, shuddery sigh blew down the phone. “I have a small file here. If it is someone in Child Protection Services, then they would have access to this information. But why sit on this info for so long? Alex made his money a long time ago. Why not go to the source? Why come to me?”
“I don’t know.”
“There’s too much about all of this we don’t know. According to this file, the abuser’s dead. Saves me going after him and castrating him, I suppose.” He hissed as though the idea of missing out irritated him.
For the first time, non-violent, pacifist, and peace-loving Devvy entirely agreed. She’d always known that everybody had a trigger, something that would free them from the cage society’s mores bound them in, and set them loose.
The idea of Alex, her amazing, astounding lover, being abused as a little boy…. Put a knife in her hand and she would have done some damage.
Serious damage.
And she wouldn’t have felt an iota of guilt.
This entire situation, the revelations and then the waiting…. Devvy didn’t like where her thoughts were leading her. She didn’t like what was popping into her head.
All she kept seeing was Alex’s mother yesterday. How she’d hovered and doted on her son. How she’d obsessed over the tiniest things. How each time Alex had made a veiled insult, she’d flinched as though mortally wounded.
How could a woman, so obsessed with her son, so meticulous and so aware of him, fail to spot the signs her child was being abused.
The only answer Devvy could come up with was Antoinette hadn’t failed.
She prayed she was jumping to conclusions. But what part of this situation didn’t make a person do that?
Devvy remembered her parents being entirely unaware that for most of fifth grade, Rosie Simmons had been her tormentor. At six to Rosie’s eleven, with nearly twenty pounds of weight difference between them, Devvy’s suffering had only come to an end when a teacher had discovered Rosie doing what Rosie did best during recess. Using Devvy as a human cushion.
Until the school had notified her family, her mom and dad hadn’t had a clue. She was certain that was the same for a lot of kids, where bullying was concerned. Even more so for those who were being sexually abused. Parents tended to find out too late to protect their children and then were ridden with guilt at not having spotted the signs.
She tried to imagine Antoinette not spotting the signs and knew that if the woman could notice the button on Alex’s cuff was loose, go so far as to offer to stitch it back on while they were having coffee, then she’d notice her child’s withdrawal as he was abused by someone who should have protected him, someone his mother had brought into the household.
“What are you thinking, Devvy?”
Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Horrible things.”
“This is a horrible situation to be in, chérie. If he’d told us, instead of keeping it a damned secret, we could have regrouped…. I don’t know, be dealing with the actual threat rather than the repercussions of his secrets.”
“Hey! Don’t say it like that. He has every right to keep this to himself. There’s nothing in the relationship handbook that says every single secret has to be out in the open.”
He grunted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Devvy. Things like this can’t be kept hidden. They’re too huge. They’re bound to have an effect on the relationship as a whole, which, in this instance, it sure as hell has! Twenty years and I still haven’t shared a roof with him!” he blasted.
“Did you know when I was seven, I was bullied? Or that in tenth grade, when I was twelve and my classmates were nearly sixteen, Lewis Goodman tried to grope me?” Silence whistled down the line. “No. You didn’t. I didn’t tell you. I’m sure there is something you haven’t told us. That’s your right.
“It isn’t your right to start blaming Alex for protecting himself against something that should never have happened to him. So, before we confront him with this, you need to get your head in the right place. You need to cool off.”
“What do you mean confront him? We can’t let him know about this new threat!”
She snorted. “We have to tell him, Bastien. We can’t hide this from him. He has a right to be involved, to know that his history is being used as a pawn in some fucker’s sick game. I won’t hide this from him,” she warned.
“I can’t confront him about this, Devvy. I just can’t.”
“You have to. You have to support him, to let him know this doesn’t change things between us.”
“Of course it changes things!” he snapped.
She stiffened. “You can’t mean that.”
Bastien groaned. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I love the infuriating bastard as much as I ever do. I wish the fucker who abused him was alive so I could go and kill him. I’d spend twenty years in prison to avenge him. But I can’t sit there and let him know I know about his past, when he wasn’t the one to share it with me.
“You said it yourself. He’s kept this from us. Not once did he ever say or do anything that might have led me to believe this happened to him. I can’t watch him crumple, when he finds out I know.”
“I’d share the cell with you if I could,” was all she said, after taking a second to process his words.
A strained chuckle was her reward. “You’re not supposed to make me laugh. This is serious,” he chided with a sigh.
“Who’s not being serious? I’d kill the fucker, too. And I understand. I’ll tell him, but there’s something I want to do first.”
“What?”
“We’ve got five days until we hear from the blackmailer. As long as I tell him we know and what’s being threatened before then, it’s okay. And I want to go and visit his mother.”
Sebastien blew out a breath. “You…” He paused. “You think she knew about his abuse?”
“You should have seen her yesterday, Bastien. You wouldn’t have believed her. She was totally obsessed. She watched him, constantly. It was unnerving. The attention she gave him. I never realized how focused someone could be on someone else.
“I swear to God, she only looked away to blink! It’s no wonder he can’t stand being there. It was the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen. How could she not know what her son was going through, when she pays that amount of attention to him?”
“She might not have been like that when Alex was younger.”
“You think that kind of behavior happens overnight?” Devvy glared down at the white tiles beneath her feet. “Bull. If this is true, if what that file s
ays is true, then she can confirm it before I go to Alex about this.”
“I hope to God she says it’s all lies.”
Devvy’s sigh juddered out of her. “So do I, cher. So do I.”
Disconnecting the call was tough. She wanted to remain connected to Bastien, needed his silent support and understanding. Shell-shocked, before it had become a cliché, was the only way to describe the way they were both feeling.
In the end, Sebastien’s PA called him and he muttered into the phone, “I’ll see you later, mignonne.” Before the phone cut off and before she could return the sentiment, he whispered, “Je t’aime.”
The phone felt like a ticking time bomb in her hand and she shoved it onto the kitchen table and backed away from it as though it could explode any minute. The phone wasn’t at fault, but still, she wasn’t feeling very rational at the moment.
Her hands shook as she switched on the faucet and ran the cold water over her wrists. She felt hot, nauseated and trembly, like she’d just run a marathon and was on the verge of collapse. Those emotions magnified at the prospect of actually exiting the kitchen and returning to the lounge.
The door became the next ticking time bomb, and it took her a good ten minutes to actually approach the jamb. Crossing the threshold was the hardest thing Devvy had ever had to do. She knew it would be the first of many hardest moments in the upcoming days, but this one still felt like flying to the moon in her nightgown.
She wanted to go over to him, wrap him up in her arms, and just love that little hurt boy inside him. But he wasn’t a little boy anymore. He’d think she was trying to initiate sex, and that was the last thing she wanted at the moment. Especially as she couldn’t actually tell him why she wanted to hug the breath out of him.
Eyes burning with tears she couldn’t let fall, she returned to the lounge, and was eternally grateful that he was still stuck in his studies.
She managed to sneak back in, lounge back on the sofa, and pretend she hadn’t just learned Alexei had been molested as a child.
Yeah, like that would be easy. Or even possible!
Devvy sat there and stared into space for only God knew how long. Around her, the squeak of Alexei’s pen, the muttered curses he mumbled under his breath as he worked, the otherwise silent atmosphere all signified that the world hadn’t come to a standstill for this momentous moment.
Her world had. And so had Bastien’s.
Learning of something like this about a partner’s past, yeah, it was supposed to stun. And you were supposed to feel a strange guilt, as well as empathy, sympathy, and pity. The whole gamut of emotions. That was the way it was supposed to be.
But this?
It explained so goddamn much.
Bastien had once labeled Alexei as quirky. He wasn’t. He was disturbed. Repressed. Locked in tight and unable to free himself.
After all this time, decades had passed since his infancy, yet he still couldn’t share it with the man he loved. Potentially, he hadn’t shared it with anyone. She only hoped his psychiatrist knew. It meant that someone in his life was trying to deal with and heal that part of his past.
His inability to share his secrets was worrisome. Yes, it affected their relationship, because if he could hide this, what else could he hide? But that was a secondary issue and unimportant in the scheme of things. Both her lovers were, by nature, remote. They didn’t share their emotions easily. In truth, their emotional intelligence was nil!
What concerned her was how he would ultimately react to finding out they knew about his secrets.
He’d said, the morning after their first night together, he’d tell her his secrets. Eventually. And she believed him. She believed, when the time was right and he was comfortable, he would have told her, and she knew this was the secret that had had him launching off the bed like he’d been shocked with a cattle prod and screwing himself up into a ball on the floor.
If he’d had the chance to share this with her, he’d have been in control. Alex liked to be in control.
In this instance, he wouldn’t be the master of the situation. Devvy could only see things going downhill fast.
“You were gone a long time.”
Alex’s offhand comment jerked her from her thoughts. “Huh?” she asked, not really retaining what he was saying. Her eyes flickered from the sofa’s linen covering and over to him. “What did you say?”
“You were gone a long time,” he repeated patiently.
“Where?”
“The kitchen.”
“Oh!” She blinked. Her gaze dropped down to her watch and she saw that at least forty minutes had passed since she’d staggered into the lounge. Trust Alex to notice but to comment after the fact. “I had something to eat,” she lied, hating the untruth yet unable to share the real reason behind her long stay in the kitchen.
“I thought Bastien called.”
“He did.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “What did he want? Is everything okay?”
“Oh. Yeah, everything’s fine.” Christ, Devvy! Could she be more inane? “He said he’s set the company’s attorneys onto the papers.”
Another lie. But founded on the truth. She knew that particular task would have been the first on his agenda today.
“My cancer foundation could do with the funds,” he remarked.
“Sure. Whatever we win will go to fight the cause.” Devvy’s smile was strained.
“Are you all right, chérie?” Alex asked, taking a step away from the whiteboard and plugging the lid back on his marker pen. He strode over to the sofa, climbed over the back, and pushed himself in the small space between her and the cushions. “You look sad.”
It was a relief to touch him, to have him squished so closely to her. He reached for her hand and tucked his fingers between hers. When he squeezed, it was almost as though he’d squeezed the tears out. She burst into sobs, the racking, whooping, convulsive waves of weeping just exploded out of her. She didn’t wait, she jumped up, straddled his thighs and threw herself against his chest, trusting him to take her in his arms and hold her close.
He did just that, and in French, and sounding extremely confused, started to murmur soft whispers in her ear. That he was soothing her felt so unjust. She should be cradling him. She should be the one tending to him. But the tears just wouldn’t stop. They left her trembling, a quivering mess on his lap, and they only ceased to fall when exhaustion hit her first.
The gasps that came in the aftermath of her sobs left her even more tired. He said nothing, asked no questions, but she sensed his perplexity and ignored it, unable to come up with an adequate lie as to why she’d gone from happy to sobbing after speaking with Sebastien. He let silence reign, only clucking his tongue or humming to soothe her. She let him rearrange her limbs, felt no surprise as he stood with her clutching limply to him and strode out of the lounge. When seconds later, he laid her down on the bed and climbed beside her, she immediately latched onto him, tucking her head underneath his chin and taking comfort from his scent.
When tiredness threatened to keel her over, to put an end to this sorry scene, she mumbled against his Adam’s apple, “I love you.”
As she said the words, only then did she realize how deeply she actually did love him. With all her heart and soul, and down to her bone marrow.
This was her man, and she’d protect him with her last breath.
Chapter Sixteen
Staring up at Antoinette Ivanov’s apartment building, Devvy squinted as the afternoon sun reflected off the polished glass balustrades lining the balconies and the rays cascaded into her own personal lightshow. The bursts of sun were temporarily tattooed on her retinas as she finally crossed the busy road and made it onto the building’s side of the street.
Either side of her, polished perfection made her feel even more uneasy. The pavement had large rectangles of lawn adorning the curb, and each expanse of grass looked as though it had been hand cut with a pair of scissors.
A few steps away, the c
oncierge’s glass walls showed her tousled and messy reflection. She’d gone to sleep in Alex’s arms, woken up without disturbing him from his own rest, and come directly here.
The minute she’d awoken, she’d needed to have some answers. Waiting until tomorrow was like asking for a decade to pass. She had to know now if this blackmail attempt was a lie or if it was the truth. And asking Alex was totally out of the question. There was no way she could that to him, especially if the blackmailer’s information was, God forbid, correct.
Devvy sucked in a breath, seeking the strength to go through with this interview. She just knew Antoinette was going to be a pain in the ass. She sensed that getting answers from her was going to be tougher than getting blood out of a stone.
She had to stay calm. She had to put the old witch at ease. Otherwise, she’d never find anything out, and Christ, she had to know.
Striding into the concierge, she smiled as the same woman from yesterday sat behind the desk. Smiling was the last thing she felt like doing, but Devvy had to play this role. Striding in there like Joan of Arc, demanding answers, demanding to know why Antoinette hadn’t done more to protect her son wasn’t the way forward.
The prospect of grabbing Alex’s mother by the shoulders and shaking her, just shaking and shaking and shaking until the answers spilled from the older woman’s mouth, was infinitely pleasing.
She ignored it, pushed it away, and brightened her smile as the concierge stood, neat as a pin in her uniform, and returned the smile. She made Devvy feel all the more unkempt, but by God, what the hell did appearances matter when she had important issues to deal with?
“Madame Ivanov is expecting her son. He’s just parking the car,” she lied.
The woman nodded, picked up her phone and dialed the connection to Antoinette’s room. Devvy’s French was limited, but even she could understand the woman as she told Antoinette her son and his companion were waiting to be invited up to the apartment.
The older woman’s excitement literally throbbed down the line.
The concierge smiled again and nodded. “She is waiting for you. I’ll send Monsieur Ivanov up, when he comes in.”
Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 27
