Beautifully Broken (The Broken Series Book 2) (32 page)

I
shook at the madness beneath the scream.

“My
career…” he shrieked through gritted teeth. He forced my head back under the
water.

This
time I had air in my lungs, and I tried desperately to hold onto my breath. His
thumbs pressed painfully into my neck, forcing the air out as he shook me by
the neck. Suddenly, he pulled me back up.

I
gulped greedily for air.

“My
firm…” he spit, forcing my head back down. His face became distorted under the
water.

I
clawed for air as he lifted my head again.

“My
wife…” he rasped, and suddenly I was immersed again. I clawed at his hands,
trying desperately to break his grasp. He held me under much longer than before.
The water stung my eyes as I comprehended his final intentions. A broken sob
robbed me of all remaining breath.

Instinct
forced me to breathe, only it was water and not air that burned through my
lungs. Fear shredded me. Another breath. Excruciating pain. My body seized,
then refused to move. Shades of gray swirled into black as he released my neck.
I floated in the darkness.

In
the darkness there was pain. Someone beat at my back and chest. Blow after blow
after blow, until water rushed through my lips. My back arched as air cut
through my lungs. Pain ripped through me as my body demanded more air. Rafael and
Michael’s faces swam before me, then merged into one. Then, there was nothing.

*
* * * * *

My
eyebrows furrowed. Something wasn’t right. I slowly opened my eyes.
Why was
I in the hospital? Had I been vomiting again?
My back was killing me, and I
couldn’t move my legs. I looked down at my legs. Michael’s arms and head were sprawled
across my lap.

A
chair scraped, drawing my attention to the side of the bed. Rafael was standing
by my side. Concern etched his handsome face. His brown eyes softened as he
reached for my hand. “Kristine,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Kristine?”
Michael asked as he lifted his head. He looked foggy from sleep.

“Michael,”
I rasped. Tears clogged my throat, but I didn’t know why.

Michael
helped Rafael prop me up against the pillows. He gently caressed my cheek.
Rafael poured some ice water from a small stainless steel pitcher and handed me
the Styrofoam cup. My throat was raw, and the water burned, bringing more tears
to my eyes.

I
studied Michael. His eyes were filled with pain. His hair was wildly tangled,
and he had a thin scruffy looking beard. I longed to tease him, to tell him how
much he looked like a pirate in that moment, but there was a pain thrumming in my
chest that made it impossible to speak lightly. I tried to clear my head, to
focus on the cause of the pain in my chest and in Michael and Rafael’s eyes.
Finally, I had to ask, “What happened?”

Michael
opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He sank back into his chair
and pressed his face to my hand. Warm tears dampened my hand. I looked at Rafael.
“Please tell me what happened,” I pleaded with growing alarm.

Rafael
shook his head as if trying to dislodge the images that swam before his eyes.
He stared at his brother, who sat broken in the chair. He didn’t look at me
when he finally spoke; he was still staring at Michael. “We came home after we
were measured for the tuxes. We were looking for you. Jean didn’t respond to
the text, and we couldn’t find you in the house. We came out to the garden and
saw Emerico Alentisca in the fountain. We couldn’t see what he was doing. Then
Michael spotted Jean, and we knew… we knew it was you.”

My
eyes widened with understanding. I looked at Michael. His head remained bowed,
his wet face still pressed to my hand. I reached for Rafael with my other hand.
“Jean. I remember… that man… he was trying to kill him. Please, Rafael, please
tell me Jean survived.”

Rafael
nodded. “Jean is here, in the hospital. He has a head injury, but he is stable.
He said you saved his life.”

I
sank into the pillows, shaken but relieved. “Thank God,” I whispered as I
closed my eyes. An image of the man’s face twisted in hate flashed before me. I
opened my eyes hoping the image would disappear, but it didn’t. “He said he
lost his firm and his wife. Was it…”

“Yes,”
Michael groaned.

“He
was one of the missing partners,” Rafael confirmed.

My
head fell back again. “Where is he now?” I whispered. I was nearly too scared
to ask.

“He’s
dead,” Rafael bit out bitterly.

Michael
lifted his head from my hand. “Rafael broke his neck when he pulled him off of you.”

I
cupped his wet cheek in my hand. “Then it’s over. He can’t hurt us anymore,” I
whispered as our eyes met.

Michael
choked down a sob. “
Mon coeur
, I’m afraid there is more.”

“More?
More people?” I asked, thinking of the terrorists and the other missing partner.

Michael
kissed the inside of my hand. “We lost the baby,” he rasped. “Our baby is
dead.”

My
breath caught.

Michael
bowed his head. His shoulders were hunched; his back wracked with deep
gut-wrenching sobs.

“No,”
I whispered, refusing to believe it.

I
reached for my stomach and froze when I felt the pad between my legs. “No,” I
moaned as it all sank in. Tears streamed down my face. My fingernails raked
over my arms as a deep keening sound escaped my chest.

Rafael
sat next to me on the bed. He pulled my tear drenched face to his chest as
Michael lie sobbing at my knees.

*
* * * * *

We
returned home the next day. A dark cloud had settled over the house in our
absence. Downcast heads and sullen faces replaced the smiles and excitement I
had grown accustomed to seeing among the staff. My legs were still pretty shaky,
so Michael and Rafael helped me climb the stairs to the bedroom, where I
insisted on taking a long hot bath. I was anxious to scrub the hospital smell
from my skin.

I
assessed my injuries as I undressed for the bath. I had a nasty bruise along my
back and side from where I had fallen against the sculpture. A few scrapes marred
my hands and legs. There were small nicks across my face and dark thumb shaped
bruises on my neck. I suspected these bruises were the reason Michael could
barely stand to look at me.

I
climbed inside the tub and ran the lavender scented soap over my arms and legs.
My back and neck were sore, but that was nothing compared to the dull, steady
ache that had settled in my chest. I was only eleven weeks pregnant when we
lost the baby. I barely had time to grasp the reality of the situation, but our
plans and dreams for this child consumed Michael and me in a way that nothing
else could.

I
sank into the warm water, squeezed shampoo into my hand, and methodically
worked it through my hair. The day I miscarried, Michael asked the doctors to run
a blood test. That’s how he discovered our child had been a girl. She was tiny
at eleven weeks, but she had arms, legs, fingers and toes. Michael wanted her
to have a name, and we agreed on Genevieve Siobhan Garcia. Losing her hurt more
than any pain I had ever known. Nine years of abuse at the hands of my
ex-husband paled in comparison to the pain I felt at losing Genevieve.

I
sighed sadly. Michael seemed to be taking the loss of our baby even worse than
me. I suspected he was blaming himself for my injuries and for Genevieve’s
death. As much as I wanted to dispel that belief, I was too afraid to broach
the subject with him. I sank into the water so I could rinse the shampoo out of
my hair. I kept my face above the water, no longer comfortable with being fully
submerged.

I
stepped out of the tub and quickly dried off. I cinched the bathrobe around my
waist before walking back into the bedroom. Michael was standing by the windows
overlooking the gardens. He was wearing the same crumpled clothes he’d been
wearing at the hospital. I didn’t want to see the fountain or the broken
sculpture, but I needed to feel Michael in my arms. I stepped behind him and
wrapped my arms around his chest so I could rest my head on his back.

Michael
stiffened in my arms.

“I
can feel your pain, Michael,” I whispered across his back.

“
Oui,
mon coeur
. I’m sure you can.”

I
hugged him a little tighter. I needed to feel him relax in my arms. He didn’t.

“It
should never have happened,” he whispered hoarsely.

“No,”
I agreed. “I wish it never had.”

“It’s
all my fault,” he mused.

I
tugged at his shoulder, forcing him to face me. “This wasn’t your fault,
Michael.”

His
eyes met mine briefly before he looked away. “If I hadn’t reported them… if I
hadn’t tried to walk away,” he argued, cloaking himself in blame.

I
reached for his hands. “Then we’d still be in danger, maybe even more.”

His
haunted eyes met mine. “I would have never met you. At least then you’d be
safe.”

I
shook my head. “I wasn’t safe before I met you, Michael. I was in even more
danger then.”

“I
should have left you with the soldier,” he persisted.

I
sucked in my breath. “Don’t say that, Michael. I wasn’t any safer with him than
I am with you. I love you, Michael. I still want to be with you.”

“I
don’t know how to heal from this,” he confessed brokenly.

I
kissed his hands. “We just need time,
mon chérie.
We will heal in time,”
I replied encouragingly.

“I
don’t think any amount of time will heal these wounds,” Michael responded as he
walked away.

My
shoulders fell. A chill swept over me, then settled deep inside my bones.
Michael had always been so confident and determined. I had never seen him look
so hopeless. It struck me then that Genevieve wasn’t the only one I had lost
that day. I lost Michael too. I turned numbly toward the windows. The base of
the fountain was still there. The broken pieces of the sculpture that was meant
to reflect us were gone.

*
* * * * *

The
days that followed were some of the most difficult days I had ever known. I
needed Michael. I didn’t know how to heal without him, but each time I reached
for him, he was gone. He locked himself in his office most days. I tried to
respect the fact that he might need space to heal, but the distance between us
only made things more difficult for me. I ate dinner alone most evenings. No
amount of pleading or cajoling could convince Michael to join me.

I
was beginning to loathe sleep. I went to bed alone every night. I was having nightmares
from the attack; and every once in a while, I woke to the haunting sound of a
baby crying as I mourned what could have been. I would reach for Michael, but he
was hardly ever in our bed. There were a few nights he would climb into bed when
he thought I had already fallen sleep, but I was too afraid to move closer or
hold him, because I feared it would make him want to leave.

Whenever
I tried to kiss Michael or show him some affection during the day, he would
respond numbly. Then he’d walk away. We didn’t talk about babies, or nurseries,
or even the wedding. In fact, we hardly talked at all.

One
day I mustered up the courage to ask Rafael where Michael was sleeping. He told
me that Michael was sleeping in the nursery, next to our room.

Rafael
hovered over me. He seemed frustrated with Michael’s behavior and my growing
isolation. He kept nudging me toward the garden terrace and would distract me
with gossip about the other staff when Theron wasn’t around. Twice, he took me
to coffee at the café on the Champs Elysees. My addiction to the stuff was the
one thing that had returned to normal.

It
was Rafael, not Michael, who rescued me from my nightmares. He said he could hear
me screaming in my sleep. On those nights, he would pull one of the chairs from
the window close to the bed and sit there until I fell back to sleep. I
wondered if the man ever slept. He was the consummate protector, day and night.

One
morning, I discovered a new sculpture standing in the center of the fountain.
It was a sculpture of a little girl carved into a patch of flowers. She was
watering the flowers with a small watering can as she admired a butterfly
perched on her other hand. Her hair was blowing gently in the wind, and there
was a peaceful smile on her face.

I
fell to my knees when I saw her. I wept for hours on that balcony. That was the
only time Michael came to me. He sat on the floor and rocked me in his arms
until my tears subsided. I fell asleep in his arms, completely exhausted from
all the crying. He was gone before I woke.

We
lived in this state of limbo… existing but not really existing… for two weeks.
I was growing increasingly concerned by Michael’s efforts to avoid me. My
cousin was flying into Paris in three days, and I didn’t even know if the
wedding was still on. Finally, I mustered the courage to confront him.

I
announced my decision to Rafael as I brushed past him in the hall. “I am going
downstairs to talk to Michael. Do you know if he’s still in his office?”