He ended up coming in just as I was wrapping a towel around me, his damp hair and jeans telling me he’d showered after a visit with his trainer.
“Hi, ace.”
“Hi, wife.” He came up to me, tugged open my towel, and lowered his head to my breast.
My breath left me when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, drawing rhythmically until it hardened.
Straightening, he admired his handiwork. “God, you’re sexy.”
I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed his chin. “How’d things go tonight?”
He looked at me with a wry curve to his lips. “Dr. Petersen congratulated us, then went on about how important couples therapy would be.”
“He thinks we got married too soon.”
Gideon laughed. “He didn’t even want us having sex, Eva.”
Wrinkling my nose, I resecured my towel and grabbed a comb for my wet hair.
“Let me,” he said, taking the comb and leading me to the wide lip of the tub. He urged me to sit.
As he combed my hair, I told him about seeing Detective Graves at my Krav Maga class.
“My lawyers tell me the case has been shelved,” Gideon said.
“How do you feel about that?”
“You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
There was no inflection in his voice, which told me it mattered to him more than he’d tell me. I knew that somewhere, deep down inside him, Nathan’s murder was haunting him. Because I was haunted by what Gideon had done for me and we were two halves of the same soul.
That was why Gideon had wanted us to get married so badly. I was his safe place. I was the one person who knew every dark, tormented secret he had, and I loved him desperately anyway. And he needed love more than anyone I’d ever met.
There was a vibration against my shoulder and I teased, “Is that a new toy in your pocket, ace?”
“Should’ve turned the damn thing off,” he muttered, digging his phone out. He looked at the screen, then answered with a clipped, “Cross.”
I heard a woman’s agitated voice coming through the receiver, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“When?” After hearing the answer, he asked, “Where? Yes. I’m on my way.”
He hung up and raked a hand through his hair.
I stood. “What’s wrong?”
“Corinne’s in the hospital. My mother says it’s bad.”
“I’ll get dressed. What happened?”
Gideon looked at me. Goose bumps swept across my skin. I’d never seen him look so … shattered.
“Pills,” he said hoarsely. “She swallowed a bottle of pills.”
WE took the DB9. While we waited for the attendant to bring the car to us, Gideon called Raúl, telling him to meet us at the hospital to take over the Aston Martin when we arrived.
When Gideon slid behind the wheel, he drove with tight focus; every turn of the wheel and press of the accelerator was skilled and precise. Enclosed in the small space with him, I knew he’d shut down. Emotionally, he was unreachable. When I placed my hand on his knee to offer comfort and support, he didn’t even twitch. I wasn’t sure he even felt it.
Raúl was waiting for us when we pulled up to the emergency room. He opened the door for me, then rounded the hood and took the driver’s seat after Gideon got out. The gleaming car was moved out of the drop-off driveway before we walked through the automatic doors.
I took Gideon’s hand, but I wasn’t sure he felt that, either. His attention was riveted on his mother, who stood when we entered the private waiting area we’d been directed to. Elizabeth Vidal barely glanced at me, going straight to her son and hugging him.
He didn’t hug her back. But he also didn’t pull away. His grip on my hand tightened.
Mrs. Vidal didn’t even acknowledge me. Instead, she turned her back to me and gestured at the couple seated together nearby. They were clearly Corinne’s parents. They’d been talking to Elizabeth when Gideon and I came in, which seemed odd to me since Jean-François Giroux was standing alone by the window, looking as much like an outsider as Elizabeth was making me feel.
Gideon’s hold on my hand slackened as his mother pulled him toward Corinne’s family. Feeling awkward standing in the doorway alone, I went to Jean-François.
I greeted him softly. “I’m very sorry.”
He looked at me with dead eyes, his face seeming to have aged a decade since we’d met at the wine bar the day before. “What are you doing here?”
“Mrs. Vidal called Gideon.”
“Of course she did.” He looked over to the seating area. “One would think he was her husband and not I.”
I followed his gaze. Gideon was crouched in front of Corinne’s parents, holding her mother’s hand. A sick feeling of dread spread through me, making me cold.
“She would rather be dead than live without him,” he said tonelessly.
I looked back at him. Suddenly, I understood. “You told her, didn’t you? About our engagement.”
“And look how well she took the news.”
Jesus. I took a shaky step toward the wall, needing the support. How could she not know what a suicide attempt would do to Gideon? She couldn’t be that blind. Or had his reaction, his guilt, been her aim all along? It made me sick to think of anyone being that manipulative, but there was no denying the result. Gideon was back at her side. At least for now.
A doctor entered the room, a kind-looking woman with cropped silvery blond hair and faded blue eyes. “Mr. Giroux?”
“Oui.” Jean-François stepped forward.
“I’m Dr. Steinberg. I’m treating your wife. Could we speak privately for a moment?”
Corinne’s father stood. “We’re her family.”
Dr. Steinberg smiled gently. “I understand. However, it’s Corinne’s husband I need to speak with. I can tell you that Corinne will be fine after a few days’ rest.”
She and Giroux stepped out of the room, which effectively cut off the sound of their voices, but they were still visible through a glass wall. Giroux towered over the much shorter doctor, but whatever she said to him had him crumbling visibly. The tension in the waiting room ratcheted up to an unbearable degree. Gideon stood beside his mother, his attention snared by the heartrending scene unfolding before us.
Dr. Steinberg reached out and placed a hand on Jean-François’s arm, still speaking. After a moment, she stopped and left him. He just stood there, staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped as if a great weight pressed down on them.
I was about to go to him, when Gideon moved first. The moment he stepped outside the waiting room, Giroux lunged at him.
The thud as the two men collided was teeth-rattling in its violence. The room shook as Gideon slammed into the thick glass wall.
Someone shouted in surprise, then yelled for security.
Gideon threw Giroux off and blocked a punch. Then he ducked, avoiding a blow to the face. Jean-François bellowed something, his face contorted with fury and pain.
Corinne’s father rushed out at the same moment security arrived with stun guns drawn and aimed. Gideon shoved Jean-François off again, defending himself without once throwing a punch of his own. His face was stony, his eyes cold and nearly as lifeless as Giroux’s.
Giroux shouted at Gideon. With the door left open by Corinne’s father, I caught part of what was said. The word enfant needed no translation. Everything inside me went deathly still, all sound lost to the buzzing in my ears.
Everyone rushed out of the room as both Gideon and Giroux were flex-cuffed and hustled toward a service elevator by the guards. I blinked when Angus appeared in the doorway, certain I was imagining him.
“Mrs. Cross,” he said softly, approaching me carefully with his cap in his hands.
I could only imagine how I looked. I was stuck on the word baby and what that could possibly mean. After all, Corinne had been in New York as long as I’d known Gideon … but her husband hadn’t been.