Love Redesigned (9 page)

“I had . . . a run-in with Patrice in the l-ladies room.” She wiped her eyes on the towel.

Rage flared hot, and his jaw clenched around the vitriol he wanted to spew. He inhaled, fighting for calm. Inhaled again. It would not do any good to lose his temper with her already so upset. “Are you all right?” He shook his head. “Eh,
stupíde
! Of course you are not. What did that
chienne
say to you?”

She half-smiled through her tears. “I lost a lot of the French you taught me, but I do remember that word. I already called her that in plain old English.”

He grinned. “Good for you, my love. She deserved it, and more. I would like to wring her neck.”

“You mean her scrawny, over-botoxed, plastic surgery neck?”

He could see the effort she was making to make
him
feel better. He stood and helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you dried off and to bed.” He removed the towel from her shoulders and started drying her off.

She leaned against him. She had to be weak from sitting in the shower so long.

His protective instincts took over. He went slowly, rubbing the soft towel over her, not to seduce, but to comfort.

Her eyes closed, and she sighed.

Reaching her stomach, he noticed a long scar across her abdomen he had not noticed earlier when making love with her in the darkened bedroom. He knelt down to look closer, and chills raced through him, freezing his blood.

“
Mon Dieu
! What happened to you?” He looked up to meet her horrified gaze.

She grabbed the towel from him and clutched it to her front. She backed away from him.

He followed her, held her shoulders to stop her. “Tell me.” He fought to keep his voice gentle. “What happened to you?”

She started shaking again, her teeth chattering, and the tremors scared him. He grabbed the fluffy, thick hotel robe off the hook and wrapped her in it. Once she was bundled in the robe, he picked her up and carried her to her bedroom. He sat on the chaise longue in the corner, and held her on his lap.

“You do not have to tell me. But just know I am here for you.” He pulled her close, stroked her back, hoping to soothe her. Willing her silently to tell him what had happened to her.

“I was in a car accident,” she said, her voice quiet.

His hands tightened on her, and he breathed until he could calm down. “When?”

“Fifteen years ago.”

His eyes closed. It must have happened after she returned to the States.

“About two weeks after I returned from Paris, I wasn’t feeling well, so I went to the doctor. I found out I was . . . p-pregnant, about t-ten weeks along.”

A child?
His head spun, and shock raced through him, numbing him. “We have a child?” he croaked, his throat parched.

“No.” Her voice broke. “I’m so . . . so sorry,” she sobbed.

“I don’t understand. What happened to it?”

“The doctor told me I was pregnant, and even though I was in shock . . . I was ecstatic. I couldn’t wait to tell you I was having your baby. As I told you yesterday, I called you . . . Patrice answered. I was h-heartbroken . . . she was h-horrible. I wasn’t thinking straight. I had to get to the hospital. Dad was scheduled for another surgery. I was numb, in shock. There was a terrible thunderstorm, flooding in the streets. The car hydroplaned, and . . . and crashed . . . into a t-tree. I was pinned . . . behind the wheel, until someone f-found me and called 911.”

Tears slid down her face, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her.

Terror lodged in his throat, and he fought to catch his breath.
She could have died. Helpless and alone. I should have been there with her.

“There was so much damage from the accident. I almost died. My b-baby . . . our baby girl . . . didn’t . . . couldn’t make it. I had to have a . . . h-hysterectomy.”

Grief edged out the shock. He wanted to rage at the world. He’d almost lost her, and he’d lost his child.
Our child.

She sobbed against his shoulder. The sound tore him apart, and he felt helpless. What could he do?

She clutched his arm. He’d have to be strong . . . for her. He would give in to his own grief later.

“If only I hadn’t been driving, I’d still have h-her today. I would’ve h-had a piece of you in my life. Even after l-losing you.”

“I’m so sorry, so sorry. I could kill Patrice right now. I’m so thankful you survived. I hate you had to go through this alone. Was your father supportive? I know he was in the hospital, but was he there for you?”

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head. “I never told him. He was out of it for days, and by then I was starting to recover. I couldn’t add more stress to him while he was recovering. Daniel was th-there for me, though.”

Jealousy, rage, and grief sliced through him, cutting his heart into pieces.
I should have been there for her. For her and my baby.
He closed his eyes as a wave of pain engulfed him.

“No one else knows, just Daniel. And now you.”

“Not even your cousin?”

“No, she was too young, and this wasn’t something I wanted to share with anyone. The grief was too raw. I had to take it a day at a time just to stay sane. I buried myself in work and taking care of Dad.”

“You said it was a girl?” His voice cracked. But he had to be strong. For her. He hadn’t been there for her fifteen years ago, but he would be now.

She nodded against his shoulder. “I named her Catherine Paris Haywood. Catherine for my mom, and Paris because of where I found you.”

He held her, until her breathing evened out and she relaxed into sleep, worn out from the emotions she’d experienced. She had lost so much, been through too much in her young life. All these years he had blamed her for a lie. He’d hardened his heart to her, trying to forget her, and all that time, she’d been suffering alone.

He vowed he would do whatever he could to help her, to make it up to her, as much as he could. Whatever she needed . . .
and please God, let it be me
.

Chapter 12

The next afternoon, Genevieve looked for Connie Sue to ask her a question about the cupcakes for the shower that night. She leaned against the wall outside the ballroom, so bone-tired she hurt. Reliving her nightmare the evening before had wiped her out completely. She’d never wanted him to know what happened. But now he knew.

He’d been so distant on the flight back to St. Armand. Yes, he’d been solicitous, taking care of her in little ways, but it felt like the ocean that separated them was even wider and deeper now. She shouldn’t have slept with him, or told him about the accident. Why did she leap from one mistake to the next?

The door to the ballroom opened, and Connie Sue rushed out.

Genevieve pushed off the wall and stopped her cousin. “Hey, Cuz, got a question for you. Do you want the cupcakes out on the table during the shower, or brought out later?”

“Um, I think on the table. I want everyone to see your gorgeous cakes right away. Who knows? You may end up getting enough business from my wedding you’ll have to move here.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I’m starting to build a small following at home. I don’t want to risk it.” She turned to head back to the kitchen, but Connie Sue grabbed her hand.

“Wait. You have got to see Melly and Bella in their flower girl dresses. Roman is doing their fitting right now, and they are just precious. I left my phone in the office, so I’m going to call Francois to get over here for this. I’m also going to get the camera. Toodles!”

Genevieve grinned, and opened the door to the ballroom quietly so she wouldn’t disturb the little girls and their fitting.

They were both standing on the platform, holding still, staring at themselves in the mirror. Roman knelt behind them fiddling with the tulle skirt on one of them—she didn’t know which twin she was yet.

Connie Sue was right. They are too cute for words!

He sat back on his haunches. “Well, ladies. Do you like your dresses?”

Melly and Bella turned around and launched their little bodies at him. He grabbed them close so they wouldn’t fall off the platform.

“
Merci, Oncle Roman! Nous sommes comme des princesses
!” Their excited chatter filled the cavernous room, echoing off the walls.

She smiled. She recognized the word ‘princesses’, their current favorite game to play, according to Connie Sue.

Each little girl kissed him on the cheek. His arms tightened around them. He held them close, and one of the girls squeaked.

She glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

Grief was etched on his face, heavy shadows beneath his eyes. He’d taken care of her the night before, been strong for her.

Her heart constricted. She recognized grief—it’s what she had lived with every day for fifteen years. And he had just found out last night.

She couldn’t bear to talk to him right now. It would only upset Melly and Bella. She quietly closed the door, and sank onto the chair in the hallway. She bent over, dropping her face into her hands and tried hard to stem the tears as they leaked through her fingers.

She had cried more on this trip than she had in the last several years.

“Are you slacking, Sugar?” Daniel asked, laughing.

She looked up, startled.

He hurried over to her. “What is it? What’s wrong? Why are you crying? You’re pale as my white duvet.”

“Sorry. I was just . . . Roman . . .” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose.

“What did Frenchie do now?” he ground out.

“He didn’t do anything. He’s got the twins in the ballroom. They’re trying their dresses on, and he was hugging them. It was the most precious thing, and it damn near broke my heart.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I told him last night. He hasn’t even had twenty-four hours to process I lost our baby,” she whispered in a strained voice.

“Oh, Sugar,” he murmured. “You okay?”

She nodded, then shrugged.

“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” He straightened, his tone turning sharp. “He’s not blaming you, is he?”

She started to speak but the door opened, and the twins raced out of the room, followed by their nanny.

“I need to go. I can’t see him right now.” She hurried down the hallway in the opposite direction.

Roman leaned against the wall feeling as if his world had caved in. The night before he’d been in shock, but it became reality when the twins hugged him.

He should have had a fifteen year old daughter.

Pain roared through him, and it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

The door opened, and he turned his back, not wanting anyone to see his tears.

“You better not be blaming my Gigi for the accident, you sonuvabitch,” Daniel said. “Can’t you just leave her alone? How could you make her feel the accident was her fault? It’s not enough that she has to see you now, be reminded of the hell she went through, but you blame her?” He grabbed Roman’s arm.

Roman twisted around to shake him off. “No!”

Daniel fell back a step. His eyes widened.

“I would
never
blame Genevieve. She told me about the accident. The fact she almost died . . . with our child--” He broke off, a sob forcing its way out of his chest. He sank to the dressmaker’s platform, holding himself as if to ward off killing blows. He couldn’t bare himself like this in front of anyone, and he tried to contain the raw emotion.

Daniel’s hand reached out, hesitated. “Crap.” He sat down and wrapped an arm around Roman’s shoulders. “It’s okay. You need to grieve. You need to let go.”

At Daniel’s words, the dam broke, and a sob ripped from his chest. All the years of loneliness poured out of him, all the heartache he’d suffered being separated from the one person he had ever really loved.

The one person who now couldn’t give him the children he wanted so much.

The tears slowly subsided, and embarrassment filled him to have been so emotional in front of this man who already hated him.

Daniel removed his arm and handed him a handkerchief.

Roman took it, not meeting his eyes. “
Merci
.”

“It’s a lot to absorb, I know,” Daniel said, his voice catching.

“You were there with her, weren’t you?”

Daniel nodded. “I was her emergency contact. When they called me . . .” He shuddered. “I was terrified I’d lose her. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. She’s closer than a sister could be.”

Roman rubbed a hand through his hair, weary, drained. “Thank you for being there for her. It’s killing me I never knew, that I was not there for her.”

“I understand now what happened, but I have to tell you, she was heartbroken. Between losing the baby, and you, I didn’t think she’d ever come out of it. She was just a shell for over a year. It didn’t help she had to go straight from her own recovery to caring for her dad.”

“I vow to spend the rest of my life taking care of her. If I could make it up to her, I would.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whatever she needs, I’ll make sure she has it.”

“You can’t just throw money at her,” Daniel snapped.

“That’s not what I mean. I want to take care of her.”

“She’s not going to accept charity.”

“I do not think of her as a charity case. I cannot explain right now. I must think.”

“And here I was just startin’ to like you.” Daniel narrowed his eyes.

Roman quirked his left brow. “Are you going to hit me again?”

Daniel grinned, his face reddening. “Sorry about that, old man. Truce?” He held a hand out.

Roman gripped it, and they shook hands. “Truce.”

Daniel shifted away from him and stood up, facing the mirror. He straightened his shirt, tugged on the cuffs.

Looking away, Roman stared at the cold marble floor, his thoughts cascading, tumbling.

“You love her?”

His voice was quiet, but Roman heard the heat beneath the words. He looked up and met Daniel’s stare in the mirror. “I care for her deeply, but I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Just don’t hurt her. That’s all I ask.”

“That’s the last thing I want.” He refused to look away until Daniel turned around and crossed to the door, closing it quietly behind him. The bond he felt now with her friend was tenuous, but it was a beginning. They both cared for her.

Now what do I do? I want children, but I want them with Genevieve.

He stood up and walked out of the ballroom, more than ready to go home and be alone. On his way to the front door, he nearly ran into Genevieve pushing a cart holding a tower of pink cupcakes.

“Do you need help?”

She avoided his eyes. “Could you please open the Salon door?”

He opened the door and helped her roll the cart over the threshold. “Pretty cupcakes.”

“Thanks. Do you want one? I have plenty of extra. They’re pink champagne.”

“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry,” he said.

She looked up at him, searching his face. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, not meeting her eyes. “I’m fine. I must leave—”

Her phone chimed and she snatched it up off the cart. She looked at the screen and her shoulders slumped.

“Problem?”

“No . . . well yes, actually. I’m still waiting on the bank to let me know if they’ve approved my loan application.”

“Are you buying a house?”

“No, I need financing for the building I’ve had my eye on. This is the third bank I’ve tried, and I’m almost to the point of desperation. I made special cakes for each one so they can see exactly what I want to use the money for. This one said I might not hear until the end of the month.” She tossed the phone down on the cart and began setting up the cupcake tower.

He was drained, and all she could think of was money? “I’ll leave you to your work.
Au revoir
.”

The pressure kept building in his chest and he needed to get out of there. He opened the front door to see Patrice walking up the steps.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Francois’ mother invited me.”

He’d almost forgotten they were friends.

“When did your little American come back into your life?” Her lip curled, and the lines of time were evident on her face.

“She is here for the wedding. Her cousin is the bride, and she’s making the cakes.”

Her lip curled. “Oh,
she’s
the one? I did not realize.” She moved closer to him and touched his arm. “Just between you and me, Francois’ mother is very worried the cakes will be in poor taste. When he told her they were hiring an unknown, she decided to have a contingency plan in case they are disastrous.”

His eyes narrowed. “I have sampled some of Genevieve’s pastries, and they are divine. Tell my aunt there will be no need for a backup.”

“I’m sure that’s not all you’ve sampled,” she said, contempt dripping from her voice. “She is trying to get into your good graces, if not your bed, to secure financing for her little business.”

He looked at her, startled.

“Oh, yes. I heard the little baker was trying to start her business. That is why Constance and Francois decided to take a chance on her. I just hope she does not let them down. There will be many important people at the wedding who could make or break her. Just keep it in mind.”

He loomed over her, clenching his fists.

She flinched, stepping back.

“You know nothing about her. And I’ll tell you something else. You stay away from her, and you better stay away from me. I was grateful to you for helping me start my career, but you’ve interfered and intruded where you are not welcome.”

She ran a hand down his arm. “She is not worthy of you, or your status. I only want what’s best for you, and for your career.”

He looked at her slim hand on his arm, wanted to hurl her though the window. It was her fault he and Genevieve had lost their child. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, say anything to her. He flung her hand off him, and strode down the steps. Yanking open the door, he got in his car, slammed the door. He glanced up at her as he put the car in gear, and noticed her pale face.
I hope I never see her again.

Driving down the lane to the road, doubts assailed him. His heart ached, and echoes of his father’s voice berating his drawings filled his mind.
“You’ll never be good enough. Who would want your designs? You need to make a real living. But then maybe you take after your mother, and you’ll never amount to anything.”

The shower for Connie Sue was drawing to a close, and Genevieve slipped out after the cupcake tower had been decimated. Pleased they had been devoured by the chattering women, and received rave reviews, she was relieved to escape. Directions from Francois in hand, she pointed the rental car toward Roman’s house. She hadn’t even taken time to change out of her little black dress and high heels.

Reaching his house and heading up the path, she soothed a hand over her stomach, hoping her nerves would settle down. Something was bothering him. He’d been so distant earlier in the afternoon when she talked to him in the hall, and she wanted to help if she could.

But she needed to be careful. No more sex. She couldn’t handle getting in any deeper, not when she had so much at stake back home.

She knocked on the door and waited, and the scent of wisteria drifted to her with the breeze. A moment later he opened the door.

The butterflies kicked up double-time, and she swallowed hard. He stood in the doorway, so outrageously sexy. It wasn’t fair a man could look that way—dangerous, brooding, wearing just a white t-shirt, jeans and bare feet. She wanted to jump him right then and there.