Beautifully Broken (The Broken Series Book 2) (15 page)

Michael
followed through on his promise. He lined up a disposable phone within days of
my request. I was allowed a single phone call. It was my cousin, Lexie, who I
chose to call in the end. I thought she would handle the call better than my
parents, given the limited information I could provide and the brevity of the
call. I assured her that I was safe and that Michael wouldn’t hurt me. She
promised to let my parents, Kimme, and Kadyn know I was okay. She reluctantly
agreed to ask Kadyn not to come after me, once I explained that it could cost
him his life.

The
tension between Michael and me eased considerably after I spoke with Lexie. I
was relieved my family knew I was safe, and I was praying Kadyn would heed
Lexie’s advice so he would remain safe as well.

Michael
and I settled into a routine. During the work week, he’d get out of bed early
to watch the markets open. He’d work until noon, join me for lunch, and then take
me sightseeing for a few hours during the afternoon. He’d return to his office
just before the markets closed, but he always finished work in time to join me
for dinner. We spent every evening together, and I had his undivided attention
on the weekends.

I
tried to entertain myself in the garden terrace, the pool, and the library while
Michael worked, but I quickly grew restless. I wasn’t used to having so much
free time. I missed my job, my old life, and my friends. I felt lost, and I
grew increasingly irritable about my lack of purpose in life.

I
was feeling really homesick when I woke up this morning. I tried to eat breakfast,
but I burst into tears when the omelet conjured up memories of a breakfast I’d
eaten with my father. I stumbled into the shower, wept some more, then finally
forced myself to get dressed. I was sulking and on the verge of crying yet
again when I got this brilliant idea to bake cookies. I was certain that I
would feel better if I could do something productive, and the kitchen seemed
like the perfect place to start. I jumped from the chair and bolted toward the
bedroom door. I couldn’t wait to get started.

I
caught Rafael by surprise when I flung the door open. I paused in the doorway. I
hadn’t run my idea by Michael, so I wasn’t sure how receptive Rafael or the
cook were going to be to my plans. I prepared for battle as I folded my arms
across my chest. “I’m going downstairs to bake cookies.”

Rafael’s
eyebrows rose. “
You’re
going to bake cookies? Why?”

I
huffed out a breath. I silently studied Rafael as I leaned against the frame of
the door. “Do I need a reason?”

He
tried not to smile. “Madame Stone, I’m sure the cook would be happy to bake cookies
for you; or, if you prefer, we can send someone to purchase cookies from the pâtisserie
down the street.”

I
narrowed my eyes at Rafael. “I want to bake the cookies. I don’t want anyone
making them for me, and I don’t want anyone purchasing them from a store.”

An
amused look flitted across Rafael’s face as he stepped aside. “Okay.”

I
couldn’t help but smile as I pushed off from the door. I talked myself down
from doing a victory dance as I walked downstairs.

Rafael
didn’t say another word. He just followed me to the kitchen.

I
breathed a sigh of relief when I discovered the kitchen was empty. I was much
more comfortable asserting myself with Rafael than I was the cook. She seemed
polite enough, but she hadn’t said more than two words to me since I arrived. Thankfully,
she was nowhere to be seen. I stopped at the sink so I could wash my hands.

Rafael
crossed one leg in front of the other and folded his arms across his chest as
he leaned casually against the wall next to the doorway.

I
pulled the flour, sugar, salt, and baking soda from the pantry. It took me a while
to locate the vanilla. I couldn’t find any chocolate chips, but I did find a large
block of dark chocolate. I set that on the counter as well.

Rafael
looked thoroughly amused by the time I pulled the butter, eggs, and brown sugar
from the refrigerator. The cook, however, was not amused. Her jaw fell open
when she first caught sight of me. She quickly snapped it shut. She breezed
past Rafael, threw her hands on her hips, and glared at me from the other side
of the center island.

My
heart stalled. I set the food on the counter and began backing up as I
attempted to explain. “I just want to bake cookies. I promise, I’ll be out of
your way before lunch.”

She
began speaking rapidly in French. I was quite certain she was angry, but I
didn’t have a clue what the woman was saying. Suddenly, she whipped the dish
towel from the counter and started swatting it in my direction.

I
stared at her in disbelief, then stumbled back against Rafael as she shooed me
out of her kitchen. Rafael steadied me as we retreated into the hallway. Then
he nearly fell over laughing.

I
glared at him. “I don’t understand why she got so upset. It’s not like I was
trying to take over the kitchen.”

Rafael
couldn’t stop laughing long enough to respond. I stalked off to the bedroom and
slammed the door in his face, furious over having been banned from the kitchen.

Rafael
tried to make it up to me a few days later. I was in the library trying to
track down something…
anything…
to read in English, when he popped his
head just inside the door. “Madame Stone, I thought you might like to know that
the cook just left for the market.”

I
was confused by the random report until I noticed the smile tugging at the
corner of his lips. My eyes widened. “Do you think she’ll be gone long enough
for me to bake something?”

He
slowly nodded.

I
quickly shoved the book back onto the shelf. Rafael was grinning by the time I
rose from the lower shelf. My heart tripped when I got a load of his smile. I
couldn’t help but wonder how many women had lost their panties to that man’s
smile.

Rafael
turned as I brushed past him. “Do you need any help?”

I
glanced back at him as he trailed after me. “I couldn’t find any chocolate
chips last time I was in the kitchen, but I found a big block of chocolate. If
you truly don’t mind, I could use some help breaking that up into chunks for
the chocolate chip cookies.”

Rafael
seemed to be enjoying the role of co-conspirator. He closed the distance
between us. “You don’t need a recipe?”

I
laughed. “I could make chocolate chip cookies in my sleep… with my hands tied
behind my back.”

We
took turns washing our hands in the kitchen sink. I pulled the block of
chocolate out of the cupboard and handed it to Rafael.

His
eyebrows rose as he studied the thick block of chocolate. “I might need a
chisel and a mallet for this.” He immediately began digging through the
drawers.

I
pulled the butter, brown sugar, and eggs from the refrigerator, then dug
through the pantry for the flour, sugar, baking soda, vanilla, and salt.

Rafael
winked as he handed me a large mixing bowl, measuring cups, and a wooden spoon.
“I thought you might need these.”

I
grinned. “The bowl could prove useful.” I was practically giddy by the time I began
mixing the butter, sugar, and eggs together. I shot Rafael a grateful look. “I
think this may be the most fun I’ve had since arriving in Paris.”

Rafael
chuckled as he continued chipping away at the block of chocolate. “Don’t let
Monsieur Garcia hear you say that.”

“Let
me hear
what?
”

I
jumped skittishly. “Michael, you scared me!”

Rafael’s
face fell as Michael narrowed his eyes at me. “What are you doing in here?”

I
offered a tentative smile. “I’m baking cookies.”

Michael
scowled. “We can purchase cookies from the finest pâtisseries in France.”

My
shoulders fell. “I know, but I really want to bake. I make really good cookies,
Michael. Please… just this once? Let me bake while the cook is out.”

Michael
shook his head as he tugged me from the kitchen. “I don’t want you in the
kitchen. You are not a servant, and I won’t have you behaving like one.”

I
gasped. I yanked my arm out of his hand and quickly stepped in front of him. I
folded my arms across my chest. “Servants aren’t the only people who cook,
Michael. All kinds of people cook.”

Michael’s
jaw clenched. “Not where I come from. Where I come from, it is important to
maintain a certain degree of separation between the employer and the hired servants.”

I
literally saw red. I had to take a number of deep breaths before my vision finally
cleared. I was fuming over Michael’s superior attitude until I caught Rafael
shaking his head and rolling his eyes behind Michael’s back. I burst out
laughing.

Michael
narrowed his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

I
resisted glancing back at Rafael. I didn’t want to get him in trouble. My voice
held a bitter note. “
This
is funny… ridiculous even. I’m not the
employer, Michael. You are. I don’t even have a job anymore because you robbed
me of my job. You expect me to feel comfortable here? You want me to consider
this my home, but I’m not even welcome in the kitchen. I am nothing more than a
glorified guest!” My fists clenched as I stared Michael down. “Scratch that.
I’m not a guest. I’m a prisoner. Once again I’m a prisoner in my own home.” I
turned and stalked out of the room before he could respond.

Michael
made some effort to apologize later that night, but he wouldn’t budge from his
position. The kitchen was to remain off limits.

*
* * * * *

Rafael
tried redirecting my energy. He presented me with two new books... one on
French history and another on French cuisine, which he thought would help me
better navigate the menus when Michael and I went out to eat. That kept me
engaged for all of a day.

The
gardener, an elderly gentleman named Theron, took pity on me. He started
joining me in the garden terrace shortly after I was banned from the kitchen. He
encouraged me to work alongside him, dividing and nursing the flowering plants.
Sifting the dark soil through my hands proved more effective than therapy. No
matter how homesick I felt, the garden terrace always left me feeling at peace.
The gardener’s English was about as good as my French, but I found the small, gray
haired man utterly charming. Rafael warned me whenever Michael was nearing the
garden, so I had sufficient time to wash my hands and plaster a bored look on
my face. If Michael knew about my rendezvous with the gardener, he never let
on. He either chose to turn a blind eye or he truly didn’t know I was gardening
with Theron.

Michael
began secreting gifts in random places for me. My favorite by far was the iPod that
I discovered on a table in the library. He had already preloaded it with hundreds
of songs by a variety of American, French, and British artists.

A
few days later, he left a new pair of athletic shoes and some exercise clothes
in the center of the closet. When I inquired where I might run, Rafael informed
me that Michael had converted a storage room next to the pool into a
state-of-the-art gym for me. I hadn’t even seen the construction crew in the
house. The gym proved to be a Godsend. From that point on, I took my
frustration out on the treadmill.

Days
melted into weeks. Michael remained patient with me, even when I grew sullen
and pined for my family and friends. Despite my occasional bouts of sadness, he
relaxed more with each passing day. I made a concerted effort to be more
receptive to his affections, and this seemed to chip away at the tension, the
manipulation, and the threats that had previously plagued us. The man standing
in front of me now was relaxed, caring, and kind. This made him even more
difficult to resist, but Michael wasn’t the only one I was finding difficult to
resist. The city of Paris had completely seduced me too.

One
day it was the Musée Rodin, where Michael took me to see August Rodin’s famous
sculpture, the Thinker. Although I enjoyed seeing this famous work of art, it
paled in comparison to a marble sculpture of Christ and the Magdalene. One of
my favorite pieces was a bronze sculpture entitled Eternal Springtime, which
featured a man and woman in a sensual pose. The woman kneeled at the man’s feet.
Her back arched deeply over his arm just as he was leaning in for a passionate
kiss. But it was the sculpture entitled I am Beautiful that captivated me most.
As with most of Rodin’s sculptures, the lovers depicted in this one were
entirely nude. Rodin had captured a man holding a woman over his chest. The
woman was nestled into a small ball as her knees rested on the man’s chest. The
man’s broad back arched beautifully under the strain of lifting the woman. For
reasons I could not identify, the sculpture seemed to capture my relationship
with Michael. It wasn’t until we left that I learned that the sculpture was also
referred to as The Abduction.

Michael
and I explored the Musée d'Orsay during another outing, and I found I enjoyed
this museum far more than the Louvre. The ceiling of the Musée d'Orsay was constructed
almost entirely of glass. A massive gold clock hung on an arched glass wall at
the end of the lobby. While the Louvre had seemed a bit stuffy, this museum
felt airy and light. The artwork was comparable, so I suspected it was the
architecture of the building that made me prefer the Musée d'Orsay.