One Night in Provence

by Barbara Wallace

  She got out of the car, and he followed her across the front lawn. “The situation is different now,” he said. “I realized just how much was at stake. How much I...that is, we...stand to lose.”

  “Don’t you see?” He reached out and caught her arm. “If you come to France with me, I can make sure you have the finest doctors money can buy.”

  “French doctors,” she replied.

  “French, British, German. The best in the world. Whatever you need.”

  “I don’t need French doctors! What I need is for you...” She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “We have perfectly adequate doctors in Nantucket.”

  “My child deserves more than adequate care.”

  “Then I’ll go to Boston if I need to. Or are you going to tell me they aren’t good enough, either?”

  Yanking her arm free, she stomped up the front steps. The front door was open. They’d left in such a rush, she’d forgotten to turn the latch. Great, the way things were going, there was probably a robber pilfering through her jewelry.

  Philippe was two steps behind her. “Ma chérie, please.”

  “It was a scare, Philippe. Pregnant women have scares all the time, and they go on to have perfectly fine pregnancies. They don’t pick up and move halfway around the world.”

  “People die all the time, too,” he shot back.

  “No one is going to die.”

  The entire conversation was ludicrous; she didn’t know why she was even entertaining it. She headed into the kitchen, where she found the bowl of fresh fruit Philippe had brought the day before. Part of their country dinner he’d planned to make. Bread, fruit and cheese. She grabbed an orange and a knife and began slicing with vehemence.

  The worst part of this stupid conversation? It wasn’t that he had decided she needed to live in France, or that the basis for his decision had nothing to do with her, but rather his fear of losing the baby. No, the worst part was that she felt like an afterthought, and she hated herself for it.

  A shadow fell across the doorway. “I didn’t mean to upset you. When we were in the hospital, I realized—I mean, truly realized—how much...I don’t want to lose her... I don’t want to lose...”

  “I know. I don’t, either. When I first saw the spotting, I thought...” Jenna’s hands started to shake. The knife clattered to the counter as she pressed a trembling fist to her mouth. She would not sob. She would not...

  “Shh.” Philippe’s hands gripped her shoulders, turning her to his chest. “It’s all right.”

  She buried her face in his collar, letting his voice chase the tremors away. His arms were the balm she needed. The anchor. “I don’t know what I would have done without you at the hospital,” she said. His presence had kept her sane. She’d needed him.

  She loved him.

  A long, shuddering breath escaped her lips. She’d been dancing around the feeling with euphemisms for days, but now there was no escaping the truth. She loved Philippe d’Usay. She loved his child.

  And he didn’t love her.

  Sniffing, she pulled back. “You’re going to need a clean shirt,” she said. The collar was wet where she’d buried her face.

  “I have plenty of shirts.” He kissed the top of her head. “Why don’t you sit down and rest and I will bring you a proper breakfast. I will impress you with my culinary skills,” he said, guiding her to a kitchen chair.

  She let out a watery laugh. “You already impress me.”

  “Mon Dieu, it’s a miracle. And here I have yet to crack an egg. How far we’ve come from that day on the terrace when you thought me a threat to your virtue.”

  “I considered you a playboy who went through women like water,” she countered.

  “‘Like water’ is an exaggeration. I like to think I am more selective than that.”

  Jenna noticed he didn’t say was.

  Perhaps she was being childish by playing games with semantics, but words counted. For as long as she could remember, she’d promised herself that when she fell in love, she would pick someone kind, considerate and devoted. Most importantly, however, she would fall for someone as far removed from her father as possible. Leave it to her to fall for a kind, considerate playboy. Words reminded her, during moments like this, that while Philippe was a part of her life, he was not committed to her.

  “Fried or scrambled?”

  “Scrambled.”

  “Excellent choice. My fried eggs are horrible. You know,” he said, kicking the refrigerator door shut, “when you come to France, we can do this every morning.”

  She looked up from the orange rind she was playing with. “What’s that? Cry over fruit?”

  “Eat scrambled eggs.”

  “We have scrambled eggs in New England.”

  His face darkened, and he turned around. A second later, she heard the crack of an egg against the bowl. “I have lost every person in my life who has ever mattered to me. I can’t lose any more.”

  The naked vulnerability in his voice punched her right in the heart. She wasn’t trying to hurt him. Couldn’t he see that? She was trying to protect herself. “This baby means everything to me, too,” she told him.

  The baby she carried was part of Philippe which made her as precious to Jenna as her own life. “I would never let anything happen to her.”

  “I know, but...”

  “But what?”

  He turned around. “You’ll be halfway around the world. There’s only so much flying back and forth that I can do. There are too many people depending on me to be in France.”

  “I understand.”

  “But I want to be there. I want to be a part of everything. I want to hear the baby’s heartbeat, see the ultrasound.” His face grew wistful. “Watch her smile for the first time. Share her first Christmas.”

  In other words, he wanted to be a father. A true, hands-on father.

  He knelt in front of her, hands grasping the sides of her chair. “That is why I want you to come to France,” he said. “So we can share these moments together.”

  “Be a family,” Jenna whispered. Philippe painted a beautiful picture, prettier than any Provençal landscape. There was only one piece missing from his scenario.

  She stared at the buttons on his shirt, thinking how smooth and starched he looked despite a night in the emergency room. She tried to image the same starchiness holding an infant as she cried and dribbled formula. He probably wouldn’t show a wrinkle. To the outside world, Philippe d’Usay would never look less than perfect.

  “Tell me something.” Slowly, she lifted her eyes. “In this family picture, where are the baby and I when you have a date?”

  At least he had the courtesy to look shocked at the question. “Pardon?”

  “Would we be upstairs out of sight, or are we going to be super cosmopolitan about the whole thing and double-date and stuff?” With that, she pushed herself out of the chair and headed into the living room. Her teacups from the night before were still on the coffee table, half-full. Picking up the nettle tea, she gave it a sniff, smiling sadly at the barnyard smell.

  “What are you talking about?” Philippe asked.

  “You and your ‘selective’ lifestyle,” she replied. “A family—a real family—is based on mutual commitment and love. You’ve made it very clear you don’t believe in either.”

  “Perhaps I’ve changed.”

  Jenna nearly dropped the cup. “Changed how?”

  “What if I told you I’m just as afraid of losing you as I am the baby?” Taking the cup from her hands, he set it on the table. “There’s three parts to a family, Jenna. The baby, the father and the mother.” As he spoke, he traced a shape on her palm with his finger. “I cannot imagine my family without you as the third part. Our world would be very dark without you, Jenna Brown. My world would be dark. Je t’aime.”

 
She didn’t know what to say. His world would be dark? How she’d longed to hear words like that come out of his mouth. Her heart leaped with happiness.

  Her head, however... She stepped back just as Philippe leaned in for a kiss. He ended up stumbling slightly and stubbing his shin on the coffee table.

  “Leopards don’t change their spots, Philippe,” she told him.

  Lines of confusion marked his forehead. “What does that mean?”

  “It means...” That it took having his back against the wall for him to declare his feelings.

  Turning her back to him, she crossed from the sofa to the window. It was light enough now that she could see her backyard. The foliage had turned, she noted. The leaves on her maple had become a kaleidoscope of yellow and orange. New England foliage was beautiful until you had to rake it up.

  She played with the hem of her gingham curtain. “It means that you had a horrible scare tonight, and I think that you will say anything to make sure you have as full a role as possible in this baby’s life.”

  Silence. The air grew thick. She could feel Philippe’s eyes at the back of her head. Pictured how they widened before darkening with offense.

  “Is that how you really feel?” he asked.

  Jenna continued to look out the window.

  “Your silence says everything. If you don’t believe me, I don’t know what I can say to convince you.” There were footsteps as he walked across the room. Moving away, not closer. “You should get some rest,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To my hotel. I... I need to change my travel arrangements, and we obviously could use the space. Hopefully these negotiations will not take long, and I can return soon.”

  “Don’t.”

  She turned around. Philippe stood in the doorway, wearing a hopeful expression. It was clear he thought she wanted him to stay. “Don’t keep flying in and out.”

  His face fell. “You’re cutting me out?”

  “No.” She didn’t want to keep him from being a part of the baby’s life—she simply wanted to protect her heart. “I’ll let you know when there are important appointments so you can attend. But I can’t have you coming and going without warning. It’s too...”

  “Much like your father?” he asked.

  His comment brought her up short. “I was going to say disruptive. What on earth does my father have to do with anything?”

  “The way he pops in and out of your mother’s life.”

  “You think I’m comparing our situation to theirs?”

  Philippe folded his arms. “I don’t know, ma chérie. Are you?”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Am I? Since the day we met, I have had to fight to gain your trust.”

  “That’s not true,” Jenna said.

  “Oh, but it is. You held yourself back from day one. Always wary, always waiting for me to prove I was a cad. I needed to take two steps forward for you to take one. And now I lay my soul bare and you don’t believe me. So tell me, Jenna, who are you comparing me to, if not your father?”

  Jenna glared at him. Thanks to their argument, she never got her eggs—a promise Philippe failed to keep—and now she had a raging headache. The last thing she needed was his attempt at armchair psychology. And on top of it, to paint himself as the victim? Give her a break.

  “First off,” she said, stabbing the air with her index finger, “you didn’t ‘lay your soul bare.’ You decided I was moving to France for the baby’s sake.”

  “And yours,” he shot back. “Were you not listening? I told you how much you mean to me.”

  “Only as an afterthought. You wouldn’t have mentioned your feelings at all if I hadn’t pressed the issue.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Isn’t it?” she asked. “You weren’t exactly professing undying love.”

  “Do not presume to know my thoughts.”

  “Then don’t presume to know mine!” Her shout hung between them. Philippe ran a hand through his hair.

  “What are you afraid of, Jenna? We could have something good. A true family.”

  Until you broke your promise and left us alone.

  Left her alone.

  The world would be a lot better if people used their heads instead of their hearts.

  Wasn’t that what Philippe said the other afternoon? Well, she was using her head.

  “I think you better leave,” she told him.

  “Jenna...” He took a step forward. Jenna held her breath. Her resolve wasn’t as strong as she made it out to be. One kiss, one impassioned please and it would shatter. Convince me I’m wrong, she pleaded with him silently. Change my mind.

  “I’ll let you know my travel itinerary as soon as I know it.” Turning on his heel, he walked away. Leaving Jenna alone.

  “At least my father says goodbye when he leaves,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HE’D DONE THE right thing, Philippe told himself. Walking away. If he had stayed, he would have lost his temper. A leopard didn’t change his spots, indeed.

  Heaving a groan, he threw himself facedown on his hotel bed. Why was she being so stubborn? He was offering her a wonderful life. A home, a family. Mon Dieu, he’d told her he loved her!

  And what had she done? Spat it back into his face. Suggested he was lying to get his way.

  Only after your back was against the wall.

  Argh! He flipped over onto his back. When they left the hospital, he’d been consumed with worry. Making sure Jenna and the baby came home were foremost in his mind. He intended to tell her his feelings, but then they started arguing about France and the conversation got away from him. But he did tell her eventually. Je t’aime. I love you. Even a woman who didn’t speak French had to know what he meant. And if she didn’t understand, hadn’t he implied his feelings enough? After all, he’d told her he couldn’t lose another person whom he loved. Wasn’t the meaning obvious?

  She hadn’t said she loved him back.

  A hole opened in his chest, the pain ripping through him. Reminding him he was, again, alone with no one to love him in return.

  Jenna, with her wary wall, had a point. In fact, he knew she was right. He should have listened to his own advice and walked away as soon as Jenna started slipping under his skin. Instead, like a fool, he kept coming back for more.

  Perhaps if he had, his chest wouldn’t feel so battered and empty. Turns out he didn’t need someone to die to feel alone.

  The biggest irony of all? After years of protecting his heart from pain, he was destroyed by a woman who played the game better.

  * * *

  Jenna sighed and began counting the syringe kits for the third time. No one ever mentioned the downside of keeping your pride. Dignity might let you walk with your head held high, but it also left you with a six-foot-two hole in your heart.

  “At least I’ve got you,” she said to her belly. Baby, at least, seemed to be doing better. There hadn’t been any more spotting or cramping, which was good. In fact, she noticed today her pants were too snug.

  “You look a million miles away.” Shirley joined her behind the counter, a stack of admission papers in her hand. “Everything okay?”

  Far from it. Everything was blown to smithereens.

  “I had to use an elastic band to button my pants this morning,” she said out loud.

  “Because of the baby or the breakfast treats?”

  “That’s not funny.”

  Her friend held up a hand. “Sorry. Didn’t realize that was a sticking point now.”

  No, Jenna was the one who was sorry. Shirley didn’t know that talk of pastry poked at the hole in her heart.

  At least she was at work. She refused to waste her time crying over what might have been. Give the sting a couple days to fade and she�
�d be fine. Alone, but fine.

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” She started counting the syringe kits again. “I’ve forgotten how to count to ten. Stupid baby brain.”

  Shirley gave her a look but fortunately decided to keep any comments to herself. “We’ve got a new patient arriving this afternoon,” she said. “Coming over from the hospital to go on hospice.”

  “And so goes the circle of life,” Jenna replied. “We live, we die and in between we struggle not to make fools of ourselves.”

  “Wow, thanks for the wisdom, Miss Sunshine.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to be witchy. I’m just tired.” Despite being exhausted, she hadn’t slept very much. Another reason why she was unable to count the kits.

  Shirley slid the kits to her side of the desk. “What happened?” When Jenna finished explaining, her friend practically pushed her into a chair. “Oh, Jenna. I’m so sorry! What are you doing at work on your feet, you idiot?”

  “I’m fine,” Jenna replied, slapping her friend’s hands away. “Work won’t hurt me. Besides, I need to keep my mind occupied.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?” Shirley asked. She pointed to the saline bags that were still uncounted.

  “How do you think?”

  “I can’t believe he walked out like that—and that you let him.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Beg him to stay?”

  Their final goodbye wouldn’t stop haunting her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the look on Philippe’s face when he said goodbye. The light in his eyes faded away, leaving them dark and shuttered. “If he wanted to stay, he would have.”

  “Oh, sure—totally,” Shirley drawled. “I know I would stay if I told someone I loved them and they threw it back in my face.”

  Not her, too. Philippe painting her as the bad person she understood. Didn’t like, but understood. Shirley was supposed to be on her side, though. “He didn’t say he loved me. He said he needed me to make a family.”

  “He didn’t say anything else?”

  “Something in French that was probably supposed to be romantic, I’m not sure.”