by Jules Wake
Four simple words. Who knew four words could rip your heart out?
Yves held all the aces. He’d described himself as her fiancé. He could give Siena everything. What could Jason offer?
‘He wants me to fly back with him but I’ve said I’d just go out to dinner with him. He’s waiting in the car. It was the only way I could agree to get him to go.’ She crossed over to touch his arm and he flinched. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Are you going to tell him that you’re not going to marry him? He seems to think it’s a done deal.’ It felt as if he was grasping at the unravelling string of a kite inevitably pulling through his grasp. Illogical. She was going next week anyway. Why should a few days more make any difference? ‘Tell him now.’
She sighed. ‘I’ve tried. He wants to talk. It’s only fair.’
‘It wasn’t fair when he punched you.’ And being a jerk, making it harder for her, was fair? He couldn’t help himself.
‘No but I’m a different person now. Stronger. I can stand up to him.’
Typical sunshine princess, convinced she could take on the world and win.
‘I owe it to him.’
‘You owe him nothing.’
She gave him a disapproving look as if to say, you’re better than this.
‘He’s a long-standing family friend. He says he feels humiliated and wants us to discuss what we’ll say to people. I owe him that much.’
‘I don’t trust him.’
‘Jason. We’ll be in a restaurant in public. I’ll have my phone on me. What can possibly go wrong?’
Jason could think of lots of things. Yves, silver-tongued, promising her skiing trips, sailing in the Bahamas, convertible Mercedes and next season’s Prada handbag. All the things impossibly out of his reach.
Swallowing hard, he pulled her to him. ‘Please don’t go.’
The words hung between them.
Her face softened and with a tender smile, she put both arms around his neck and kissed him.
‘I won’t be long. And then,’ she nipped at his lips, ‘we can pick up where we left off. Maybe discuss things. I’m not sure I want to live in France. Do you think Will would keep me on? I could come back in the New Year. What do you think?’
With a heavy sigh, he let go of her, moving away to the other side of the kitchen. He hadn’t planned to have this conversation.
‘I’m being unfair. This is good timing. You’re going home anyway. Why not now? Not back to him. But home. It’s been nice. We’ve had a great time. I will miss you but you were always going to leave. I can’t look after you.’ And he sounded like a knob. A prize top-dog top-knob. ‘You need someone, not Yves, of course, but someone who can buy you decent wine, fly you to Paris to see the Christmas tree at Galeries Lafayette every year, get tickets for a box at the rugby. Give you the things you’re used to.’ He tried hard not to look at her. ‘The things you deserve.’ Jeez, why did trying to do the right thing sound so wanky?
‘What if that’s not what I want any more?’ Her chin lifted in the familiar Warrior Princess stance. ‘What if I want to stay?’
Longing, stealthy and beguiling like a serpent gliding through water, wound its way around him. Easy to ask her to stay. But wrong.
‘Siena,’ his sigh sizzled with frustration, ‘I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. What can I offer? I like you, a lot.’ A vice closed around his heart, tightening with each word. ‘But it’s never going to be long-term. I can’t look after you, not like you’re used to. There will be someone right for you one day.’
‘Who says,’ she shot at him bitterly, ‘I need someone to look after me?’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘OK. You rescued me but I would have … I would have done something.’ Her voice hardened. ‘What’s changed, Jason?’
‘Nothing, we always knew there was an end. It’s a few days earlier, that’s all.’
Siena stared at him, still in combat mode. Glorious, proud. Not going down without a fight. She stormed over to stand nose to nose with him.
‘Do you know what I think? This isn’t about me at all. This is about you. Running scared. Not wanting to commit. Scared of what you might feel.’
‘No it’s not. This was always temporary. We agreed. You agreed to that. Fun. Sex. Day to day.’ He wasn’t lying, so why did he feel so bad?
‘Bullshit Jason. We’ve got more than that and if you’re too cowardly to admit it, that’s your problem but don’t make it mine. If you want me to leave, say so.’
‘Yeah, I want you to leave.’ The lie slipped out to the soundtrack of another voice roaring denial in his head
With a slam of the door, an explosive bang that disturbed each piece of china on the dresser from somnolent slumber, she flounced out of the kitchen. A whirlwind of hair and defiant, furious attitude. He heard the second slam of the front door.
Christ, he was a pillock.
The quiet of the house throbbed with portent, as if punctuating the seismic mistake he’d made. A blanket of silence so empty he immediately wanted to fill it again with the sounds of her awful singing, the funny little noise she made in the shower when the first cascade of water hit and her tuneless humming as she applied her mascara.
Of course he’d miss her. The company. Her cooking. The sex. He was only human. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? There was tons of stuff he wouldn’t miss, like the softness of her bottom squashed up against his groin every morning or the fact that no matter what position they fell asleep in, when he woke he’d pull her to him.
Siena fumed. So cross with Jason that she barely heard Yves.
‘I have to say,’ Yves looked over his menu at her, ‘you’re looking well. What happened to the Prada?’
Jason was an idiot.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
Yves glanced at his phone before tutting and repeated his question.
‘I sold it.’ Satisfaction for that still hummed in her belly and it had been worth being admonished by a pint-sized, foot-stamping bundle of outrage and indignation. Nanna had insisted she kept the sewing machine. Jason had laughed when he realised what she’d done with the money. That was the first time they made love.
‘Are you listening to me?’ Yves caught her wrist.
‘Yes.’ She had no idea what he’d said. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Celeste had private detectives keeping an eye on your sister’s house. You took your time getting there. I was beginning to give up hope. They followed you back here. Back to my question. How did you manage to find someone to look after you so quickly?’ He snorted. ‘I guess it’s easier for women. A bit Neanderthal for you though, darling. If I’d realised you liked rough,’ the ice blue eyes dropped to her cleavage and then further down, ‘I’d have upped my game.’ Again he picked up his phone, his finger tapping the screen.
Mustering every ounce of loathing, she levelled a scathing look at him. She wasn’t scared of him, although she had to clench her back teeth quite hard to stop herself shaking.
‘We share a house. It’s Laurie’s house. She let me stay and I got a job. No one is looking after me.’
Although despite his grumpy, unwelcoming denials, Jason did make her feel looked after. It was the little things he did. Handing her up into the Land Rover. Drying her off after a shower together. Stepping in front of Will.
The one thing that he said he couldn’t do and he did it all the time without realising it.
‘A job? Doing what?’
‘Waitressing.’
‘You. Waitressing?’ Yves let out a guffaw of laughter that caught the attention of the other diners, their heads turning like curious meerkats.
With quiet dignity she ignored the staring faces. ‘Yes.’
‘I never thought I’d live to see the day that the ninth Comtesse was a waitress. Grand mère would spin in her grave.’
‘Yves. I’m not going to marry you. It’s over. I’m not coming back to France.’ As soon as she said it, she knew it was true. She c
ouldn’t go back. Not now. ‘Why do you even want me? You said yourself I’m …’
‘Frigid? Cold? Ungrateful?’ He arched a sardonic eyebrow.
‘Maybe we’re not compatible.’
‘So you’ve decided. Like that,’ he flicked his fingers, ‘that it’s over.’
‘It never started. You and Maman assumed. I’m not ready to get married. I want to do something with my life.’
‘So what is it you are doing that is so wonderful?’ He looked genuinely bemused. ‘Working? Serving people.’
With a rueful smile, she picked up the glass of red wine Yves had insisted she had. It seemed easier to agree to the small request when she knew she had a far greater battle ahead. ‘Doesn’t sound great, but I like it.’
The lines in Yves’ face had deepened, contorted by disbelief and disgust.
‘Be honest, Yves. Do you even love me?’
Yves considered the question, his head tilting to one side, before answering with surprising gentleness. ‘People in our position do not “love”. We have traditions and values to uphold. Land to preserve. Legacies to honour.’ His glance returned to his phone and suddenly animated, he tapped the screen.
‘Have you ever been in love?’
He swallowed and looked over her shoulder. Eventually, he brought his gaze back to her face and said with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Once. A long time ago.’
They lapsed into silence. His phone beeped and he grabbed it. Siena rolled her eyes as he read a message before looking back at her. Suddenly, she warranted his full attention.
‘Do you love him?’ Yves’ question startled her.
‘Yes.’ She held his piercing gaze. ‘Yes. I do.’
‘Enough to make sacrifices?’
The question warranted serious thought but she knew the answer.
‘Yes,’ she admitted, with a steady calmness. Conviction strengthened and grounded her.
Yves nodded. She could hardly believe this uncharacteristic sympathy. It had never occurred to her that he’d once loved someone.
‘And does he love you?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘If he doesn’t, where does that leave you?’
She shrugged again, ignoring the numb emptiness in her chest.
‘Don’t give it all up, Siena. Love hurts. Leaving your life behind on a whim. Sexual attraction. It’s a mistake. I’m older and wiser. I know, I promise you.’
This was a side of Yves she’d not seen before.
‘At least come back to Paris and make peace with your mother and Harry. You said you’d come back for the party. You mother wants you home. Come home for Christmas. Like you said you would. I’ve got tickets for the last flight to Paris.’
She shook her sadly. Jason might not want her but she couldn’t leave, not without saying goodbye to him properly.
‘No, I can’t Yves.’
They finished their meal in virtual silence until Yves looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got time to run you home before my flight. You could still come back with me.’
Siena looked at him. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
‘I give up; the girl of my dreams doesn’t want me. I get it.’
Her withering glance made no impression on him. ‘Don’t give me that. I was never the girl of your dreams.’
In the darkness of the car with the engine running smoothly, she relaxed into the leather seat. The darkness outside raced by and Yves kept up an almost incessant stream of chat, about everyone they knew, although her mind kept straying.
Picturing Jason in the kitchen. It didn’t have to be over. She needed to reassure him that she didn’t need anything from her. He was panicking. Thinking about Stacey. Not learning from the past. Not moving forward. She was different. He’d laid out the rules from the outset. She’d accepted them. There had to be a way to make him see that. If he didn’t love her, he did care. Or was that wishful thinking?
Yves interrupted her chain of thought again. He was positively verbose and the journey seemed to be taking forever.
‘Where are we?’ she asked. They were on a much busier road, with three lanes and lots of lights.
Yves didn’t say anything; he was too intent on the road, which had an awful lot of traffic. Blue signs over the road flashed by so quickly she couldn’t read them.
Alarm bells started to ring.
‘Yves. Where are we?’
‘Ne t’en fais pas. I didn’t programme the navigational system properly. It’s taking us rather a circuitous route.’
But she did worry.
‘Yves! This is the airport.’
He ignored her, concentrating on the unfamiliar lanes of traffic.
‘Yves. Stop the car. Yves!’
‘Stop being ridiculous, Siena. I can’t stop here.’
‘I’m not going with you.’
‘Let’s have the discussion when we get to the terminal.’
‘I’ve already told you.’
‘Give me one more chance, Siena.’
She shook her head and mutinously folded her arms. He couldn’t force her to get on the plane.
They pulled up and Yves handed the keys to a valet before coming round to open her door.
‘I’m not getting out.’
Yves face hardened. ‘Do you know what?’ he spat. ‘I’ve tried playing Mr Nice and now I’m going to furnish you with a few facts. I suggest you get out of the car right now otherwise you will be extremely sorry.’
Siena swallowed hard, a rushing in her ears. He couldn’t force her onto a plane. And! He didn’t have her passport. Of course he didn’t. It was in the top drawer beside her bed in the house. She was perfectly safe.
The minute she got out of the car, he gripped her arm and almost frog-marched her into the terminal and straight over to the Air France check-in. The girl on the desk wore a jaunty elf hat, green felt with a black buckle, holly poking out of the top. Down the check-in line, there were Santa hats and tinsel halos. She smiled. Yves couldn’t do anything. Festive spirit withstanding, they had their jobs to do. Procedures to follow.
‘You don’t have my passport,’ she hissed.
‘Siena. Siena. Siena. What do you take me for?’ With a slow triumphant smile, he withdrew a passport from his inside breast pocket.
Fear skittered up her spine. ‘I’m not getting on a plane with you.’ She raised her voice.
His grip on her arm tightened painfully and he whispered in her ear, his voice full of menace. ‘Do as I say, otherwise you will be very, very sorry. And so will your new boyfriend. Has he mentioned Stacey to you?’
Breath whooshed out of her lungs and she gave him a wide-eyed stare.
‘I rather thought that might capture your attention. We’ll check in and I can explain.’
‘But there’s no point.’
‘Hear me out. I think you’ll find there’s every point.’
Glancing around the airport, she was reassured by the sight of a British policeman. There were quite a few of them. She couldn’t come to any harm, she hoped…
Once checked in, Yves relaxed his pincer like hold on her arm. Absently, she rubbed at the pinch mark he left. Jason would be furious when he saw them.
‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’
Yves had insisted on them going to a coffee bar, where a half-hearted attempt had been made to remind customers that it was December. The staff wore flashing, glitter encrusted badges and earrings along with late-night faded smiles. Tinsel had been draped along framed pictures of cities of Europe on the walls. One of Paris. Taken from Sacré-Coeur. Siena smiled.
‘It’s quite simple. You have one choice. You get on the flight with me and I do you a favour.’
Frustration knotted her stomach. Why wouldn’t he listen? ‘Yves, I am not going back with you.’ She tapped her phone to emphasise the point.
‘Did you not wonder why I didn’t come knocking at the door, the day after you returned from your sister’s house?’
Siena stared mutinously at him. In the background, she could hear Silent Night playing. She hadn’t got Jason a Christmas present yet. Her eyes went back to the picture of Paris and the droopy loop of gold tinsel that obscured the Eiffel Tower. Her photo was much better.
‘I was busy. Gathering information. Information makes you a king. I don’t know who said that first, but it’s true.’
A Hollywood blockbuster would be her guess.
‘Stacey. His ex. It would be a simple matter to persuade her to make a claim against him. Half the proceeds of his flat in London. Did you know about it?’
‘Yes. And she hasn’t got a leg to stand on.’
‘Not without a very good lawyer. Non.’
She went very still.
‘Of course, with a good lawyer she could make a case. Even if she didn’t win. It would cost a lot of money. So I suggest that if you want to spare him a nasty, protracted court case, you get on the plane with me.’
‘You bastard,’ she snarled at him.
‘Ma mère would disagree.’ His mouth curved in self-satisfied smirk.
He leaned over and before she realised what he was doing he’d snatched her phone from her.
‘Give that back.’
‘You don’t need it. We’re talking. You can have it back when we’re on the plane.’
With a firm hand balled in the small of her back, threatening a punch, Yves guided her towards the security gate. Resolve stiffened her. She refused to let him win. As they passed an armed uniformed officer standing guard, she pulled away from Yves, let her legs go limp and collapsed at the policeman’s feet.
‘Up you come, young lady.’
Before she’d had chance to thank him, Yves intercepted. ‘So sorry officer, she’s a bit tipsy.’
The policeman’s face darkened. ‘I hope you’ve got time to pour plenty of coffee into her. If she’s drunk they won’t let her on the plane.’
‘I’m not drunk,’ protested Siena her heart pounding. ‘Smell my breath.’
The policeman backed away.
‘Darling, leave the poor man alone. Let’s go find you a coffee.’
‘No,’ she grabbed the officer’s arm. ‘I don’t want to catch the flight. He’s making me.’
The man’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Yves more carefully.
