His To Shatter

by Haley Pearce

  “I don’t know,” I said, “Maybe it had just occurred to him.”

  “Dara has a point,” Ashlee said, “A guy like Girard wouldn’t need you to get citizenship. Something’s fishy about this whole thing.”

  “Why would he say something like that if it wasn’t true?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” Ashlee said, “But I think that maybe you should let him explain himself.”

  “I have no interest in hearing his excuses and lies anymore,” I said. The sentiment was far more resolute than I actually felt. In truth, a little ember of hope was beginning to kindle in my heart. Dara and Ashlee were not the types to let guys off the hook. And if they thought that Girard was telling the truth, was it possible that he really was? It was too appealing of an out to take right then and there, and I insisted that we talk about other things. I apologized for acting so haughtily after they hadn’t taken the news of my engagement very well. They graciously accepted, and we enjoyed the rest of our breakfast on a relatively lighthearted note. But as they went on talking about the trip home and what to do with the last days of summer, my thoughts were only of Girard.

  We paid the bill and made our way back to the apartment. The sun was just beginning to warm the streets of Manhattan, and the city was coming to life before our eyes. In the bustle of human activity, it was easy to lose myself in reeling thoughts. What if Girard was really innocent of the betrayal I’d accused him of? But then who could have possibly sent that email, and what motive did they have? And if he really hadn’t said that horrible thing, belittled me that way, then could he ever forgive me for thinking so poorly of him?

  I wondered what I would do in his shoes, if he had accused me of such base behavior out of hand. I’d probably be just as furious with him for that, as I was now. Whatever the outcome, my future with Girard had suddenly turned grim. I felt myself preparing to mourn what we’d had yet again. Whether he was lying or telling the truth, our relationship would be forever marred by this disaster. How could we ever trust one another again after this episode? And without that trust that had so united us, allowed me to give myself up to him, what did we have?

  “Holy shit,” Dara breathed, as we rounded the corner onto Clinton Street.

  “What?” I said, still gazing at the sidewalk.

  “Madison...look.”

  I lifted my gaze, following Dara’s pointing finger to our front stoop. The bustling chaos of the city seemed to freeze around me as I took in the sight before me. Girard was standing outside of my building, leaning against the railing with a rolling suitcase at his side. He was wearing slacks and a short-sleeved polo shirt, and for the first time since I’d met him, he didn’t look entirely put together. There were deep creases in his clothing, and actual stubble on that amazing jaw of his. But the most strikingly unfamiliar thing about him was the expression on his face. He looked unsure, concerned. Girard, who had always seemed to have the entire world cupped in his palm, looked lost.

  That is, until he spotted me starting at him from the sidewalk. I watched his eyes flood with recognition and longing, repentance, desperation, and need. As I stood rooted before the man I’d fallen so irrevocably in love with, he flew down the steps to meet me. Dara and Ashlee stepped aside, and I felt Girard’s arms close around me. The feel of his body against mine was too bittersweet, too achingly perfect to stand. Despite my rage, my disillusionment, my confusion, I let the press of his firm chest, his strong arms, swallow me up. For a long moment, I luxuriated in the ecstasy of being close to him.

  “Madison,” he breathed. I was surprised to hear his voice catch in his throat. “Madison, I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

  “What are you doing here?” I said, pushing away from him with great effort.

  “I had to come find you,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

  Ashlee and Dara padded past us into the apartment. “You two take a minute,” Dara said, “We’ll be inside if you need us.”

  “Try anything funny and you’re done for, Mister,” Ashlee said. They scurried up the steps and slammed the front door behind them.

  “Madison, I’m so sorry for all of this,” Girard said, taking my hands and pulling me down to sit beside him on the stoop. “Will you let me explain myself?”

  “What is there to explain?” I asked hollowly, “That email said it all, didn’t it?”

  “Listen to me,” Girard said, his accent thick in his agitation, “I did not write that email, Madison.”

  “It was sent from your account,” I reminded him.

  “That it was,” he said, “But I didn’t send it.”

  “OK,” I drawled, “Then who sent it? The elves that come to clean your office every night?”

  “Not an elf,” Girard said, “Some kind of witch, perhaps.”

  “What?” I asked, “What are you—?”

  “Think about it, Madison,” Girard said, staring at me intently, “Who has access to my home, my office, and therefore all my email accounts and contacts?”

  Realization washed over me like a cold bath. “Monica,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Monica,” Girard confirmed, squeezing my hands, “She’s the one who sent that message to you, knowing that it would make you furious with me and cut me out of your life.”

  “But why...why would she do that?” I asked. Almost immediately, I regretted my question. Surely Girard would take this opportunity to tell me that he and Monica had been lovers for years, that she was the only woman he could have in his life. Had he come here to set the record straight and break things off on his terms?

  “Madison,” Girard said, “Monica and I have a...complicated history.”

  Oh Jesus, I thought.

  “We’ve known each other for a very long time. Since we were children, actually,” he went on, “Her older brother Geoff was my closest friend, when I was a boy. We were inseparable. We even enlisted together in the Foreign Legion—” his voice cracked as he went on, “I lost him in Bosnia. Stray bullet. Friendly fire. When I returned to France, Monica was just getting out of school. She was lost without Geoff, and so furious with the world for taking him away. I took her under my wing, the way a big brother would...but I’m afraid that she’s come to misunderstand our relationship, some. I’ve known for a long time that she thinks of me more romantically than I’m comfortable with...but you have to believe me, Madison, that it is not reciprocated. She’s used to seeing me with other women, but she’s never seen me in love with someone. She lost her head when she found out I had proposed to you, and in her anger she sent you that message to try and break us apart.”

  I struggled to comprehend everything he was telling me. “Did she...admit it?”

  “Yes,” Girard said, “I suspected it immediately after you sent me the email. She can’t lie to me, after all these years. She acted monstrously, but she did it out of love.”

  “So...you won’t let her go?” I asked quietly.

  “No,” Girard said, dropping his eyes from mine, “No, I can’t do that. Out of respect for Geoff’s memory, and the friendship that we shared. But rest assured knowing that I have never in my life had a romantic or sexual thought towards Monica. I’ve always considered her the little sister I’ve never had. She’s like family to me, Madison. You can’t erase family.”

  “I know,” I said. I was keenly aware of how fraught the ties of family could be. I knew what it was like to be let down by the people who were supposed to love and support you the most. But amidst my bitterness toward Monica, and my utter confusion, a shining ray of happiness began to spread within me. It had all been fake. Girard wasn’t after anything from our marriage but a life spent with me. New, hot tears sprung to my eyes and began to course down my flushed cheeks.

  “Madison,” Girard said softly, pulling my body against his, “All I want is to be with you, to be your husband and your friend. Please don’t let this silly act of spite derail us. You’re far too important to me.”

  “Gir
ard,” I said, wiping away the tears lest they spill onto his already-rumpled clothing, “I can’t begin to tell you...The past few days have been...”

  “Horrible,” Girard finished, “Unimaginably horrible.”

  “Yes,” I said, looking up into his gorgeous face. His features were twisted with concern, but even so he was the most stunning man on the face of the earth. At least, in my eyes.

  “Listen, I have a room at The Trump waiting,” Girard said, “Come uptown with me so we can talk properly. I don’t want there to be anything left between us.”

  “The Trump?” I said, “You don’t rough it, do you?”

  “Why would I?” he smiled, “I figured if there was an off chance you might join me, I should make sure the accommodations were good enough for you. Will you come with me?”

  “Of course,” I said, my body thrilling at the second implication of his question. “Let’s go.”

  Girard helped me to my feet, ever the gentleman. As I grabbed his hand, treasuring the weight of his grasp, a voice called out from across the street.

  “Hey!” I looked and saw Kyle standing opposite us, his face stormy.

  “Kyle?” I said, “Hey! This is—”

  “The scumbag, I presume,” Kyle growled, crossing the street and, to my alarm, stepping up to Girard confrontational. “You have some nerve, coming here.”

  “I’d advise you to back up, young man,” Girard said, perfectly calm.

  My mind flashed to the extensive hand-to-hand combat training Girard had gone through. I lay a hand on Kyle’s shoulder and said, “There was a misunderstanding, Kyle. I got upset over a miscommunication. A false communication. This is Girard, my fiancé. Girard, this is my friend Kyle. I’m so glad you two are getting a chance to—”

  “Madison,” Kyle said angrily, “You’ve practically been comatose since you got home. This is the asshole who did that to you. Where are you headed off to with him? Can’t you see that he’s bad news?”

  “I’m telling you Kyle,” I said, getting heated myself, “I had it wrong. It was just a mistake.”

  “This is a mistake,” Kyle insisted, looking pointedly at Girard, “Marrying some entitled capitalist douche bag is a huge mistake, Madison. I know you’re probably being blinded by his money and the GQ thing he has going on, but if you stop and think about it for a second, you’ll realize what a terrible mistake it is, letting him back into your life.”

  “You are overstepping, young man,” Girard said, “We’ve never met, you know nothing about me or my background, and certainly not my business practices. I realize that you are, most likely, underemployed and inept, probably in debt as well, but there’s no need to take that out on me. I hope to meet you again on better terms.”

  Girard lay a hand on the small of my back and guided me away from Kyle, down the sidewalk. As I turned my back, I heard a soft thwack. Spinning around, I saw Kyle with his fist raised for just one second—just long enough to realize that he’d had the nerve to sucker punch Girard. I didn’t even have time to speak before Girard flew into action, twisting Kyle’s arm behind his back and tossing him onto the stoop of our building in one fluid motion. Kyle sprawled out on the stairs, shocked and embarrassed. Girard smoothed down his shirtfront, eyeing Kyle with contempt.

  “Next time, I’ll actually hurt you,” Girard said, turning away, “Try to improve your manners before then.”

  I turned away from Kyle and took Girard’s hand in mine once more. I knew that Kyle would be furious with me for deserting him, for heading off with Girard after I’d been so badly hurt. But there was no way I was ever going to get Kyle to understand. His feelings for me would always cloud his judgment, always make him hate Girard. I just hoped that Ashlee and Dara would be able to make up for it by finally coming around to accepting my relationship with Girard. It would have been wonderful if my three best friends could just be happy for me, happy about this wonderful new relationship I’d stumbled into, but they were too protective of me for that. They’d come around with time, I knew. How could they not see how much Girard and I loved each other, made sense together?

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty

  * * * * *

  Girard hailed a cab on Houston Street and opened the door for me. I slid into the car and smiled as he settled in beside me. I had forgotten how satisfying it was just to be near him. To be sharing a little pocket of space in the world beside this incredible man. He took my hand once more as the cabbie sped uptown. We wove through cars, busses, and bikers at an alarmingly fast clip, and soon enough, Central Park was looming up ahead of us. We spun off into Columbus Circle and came to a stop in front of the staggeringly tall Trump Tower. I craned my neck as we stepped onto the sidewalk, amazed by the sheer height of the building.

  “This is your hotel,” I said, amazed.

  “It’s our hotel,” Girard said, leading me up the stairs and into the lobby. The entire foyer was covered in gold leaf, and I was afraid to touch anything lest I break it. I realized how out of place I probably looked, in my jeans and t-shirt among so many business suits and smart skirts. Girard, for one, didn’t mind in the least. He led me through the lobby like he was escorting the Queen of New York. An elevator whisked us up dozens of stories, letting us out at the very top of the tower. Of course Girard had gone for a penthouse.

  “I think you’re going to like this,” Girard said, opening the door with the swipe of a card. The door swung open into our room, and I stepped slowly over the threshold.

  “Holy...” I breathed, taking in the space with awe. The penthouse was absolutely sprawling, and the walls of the main room were entirely made up of windows. We looked out onto the city with a bird’s eye view; Central Park spread out beneath us like a green picnic blanket, and the iconic buildings of midtown sprouted up like iron and steel trees all around us. Long hallways led down to rooms unknown, and I knew at once that this place was bigger even than the home I’d grown up in.

  My eyes struggled to take in every expensive, pristine corner of the room. I was so boggled by the enormity of the space that I almost didn’t see the golden box sitting in the middle of the floor in front of me, tied with a red ribbon.

  “Is that for me?” I asked Girard.

  “Who else?” he said. “Open it.”

  I went excitedly to the box and snatched it up. It was as light as a feather. I untied the ribbon with great care and lifted the top off the golden box. A nest of delicate tissue paper obscured the contents of the package, and I nudged them aside, searching for my gift. My fingers brushed against something at the bottom of the box, and I raised up Girard’s present to get a better look.

  “Oh,” I whispered. In my hands was a beautiful vintage teddy. It was ivory with gold stitching, made of silk and lace and tulle. It was the most gorgeous item of clothing I’d ever seen, and I clutched it to my chest as I turned to face Girard. “Thank you,” I said, “It’s lovely.”

  “Put it on,” he said. His voice was thick with happiness and something else, something that sounded very much like desire. I made to move past him toward the bathroom, but he said, “No. Here.”

  I eyed the tall windows and felt a little shiver pass through my body. “Here, here?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Girard said.

  The exhibitionist streak in him was showing, and though I’d never been inclined that way before, I suddenly felt the desire to experiment with my husband-to-be. Smiling, I set the garment down and walked out to the middle of the room. Practically surrounded by windows, I lifted my t-shirt up over my head and flung it onto the leather couch. Girard stood his ground, watching me. Under his gaze, I felt like the sexist creature on the planet. I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down my legs, watching Girard notice the bruises he’d left on my hips. I kicked my pants away and straightened up in my panties and bra. Having Girard back in my life made me brave, made me want to revel in my own body.

  I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra, let it fall away from my body as my
breasts bounced, released. Even from across the room, I could see the eager bulge beginning to swell in Girard’s trousers. He was good at staying composed, but between the telltale hardness in his pants and the hot, pulsating desire clouding his eyes, I couldn’t be fooled. Slowly, I slid my panties down over my thighs and stepped out of them. Just being in Girard’s presence had me getting wetter by the second. I missed the feel of him against me, inside of me. I couldn’t believe it had only been a few days since we’d had each other. Every moment I didn’t spend with him seemed like meaningless void, my purpose now was to be in his presence.

  Smiling through my aching desire, I reached down for the teddy. I slipped the airy garment over my head and moaned as the silky fabric brushed against my nipples, making them hard. It was the perfect fit, caressing my every curve like it had been made just for me. I spun in a little circle, to give Girard and the city of New York a nice view. My hair fell in ash blonde waves against my shoulders, and as I caught sight of my reflection in one of the huge windows, I felt for the world like some kind of goddess.

  Girard began to cross the room toward me, intent and serious. I stood rooted to my spot, letting him come to me. The sight of this gorgeous man approaching me with such desire shining in his eyes was making me shake, my knees trembled with anticipation. As Girard drew up before me, the air between us seemed to crackle with desperate lust.

  “Can you trust me, Madison? After what happened,” Girard asked, his voice throaty.

  I looked up into his dark, brilliant eyes and saw the truth there. “Girard,” I said, “Nothing you could do would make me trust you less. I’m yours. I’m entirely in your hands. Anything you want from me, just say the word.”

  Girard smiled down at me, and put his hands around my hips. He pulled me in against his body and brought his mouth to mine. His firm lips opened mine beneath him, and I threw my arms around his shoulders as his powerful tongue dove into my mouth. Our kiss seemed to grow, to encompass our entire bodies, charging our every cell with need and want. I could feel Girard hard and throbbing against my thigh as his tongue flicked against mine, driving me mad with want of him.