Je Suis À Toi Read online

  Angelique gave me more than one smile, holding thousands of questions and no resolutions. Did she have any idea what was going on with my husband? Did Frederick talk to her about whatever Q had said in confidence?

  And how damn unfair was it that Frederick knew more about Q’s issue than I did?

  I’m his wife, dangnamit.

  My finger itched beneath my wedding ring, agreeing with that fact. I wanted to wrench off my rings and shove my newly tattooed digit under Q’s nose. I wanted to scoop the still unnamed puppy off the street and hit Q over the head with the squirmy tiny body.

  Not that I’d ever hurt such a cute creature that way.

  I would use much more acceptable devices to punish my husband.

  If anyone needed strapping down and hitting, it was him. Purely for driving me mental with worry and confusion.

  “He’ll get better,” Angelique whispered, pacing with me as I left Q to discuss whatever he damn well wanted with Frederick.

  Screw him.

  If he wasn’t man enough to discuss the mess between us, then fine. Two could play the silent treatment. I was aware I’d just contradicted my previous conclusions about giving him time, but there was only so much I could tolerate before I reached a limit.

  Not talking was one of those limits.

  “Oh, he’ll get better all right.” I glared at Angelique. “When we get home, he won’t have a choice.”

  My friend patted my shoulder. “It won’t be anything you can’t overcome together.”

  Really?

  I wasn’t so sure. I knew Q. I knew when he sank into his thoughts and twisted himself into hundreds of knots trying to do the right thing. Doing his best at killing himself to be something he wasn’t. When he got like that, nothing could reach him. The last time, he’d sent me back to Australia after the best sexual experience of my life.

  If he tries to push me away again…

  I stopped those thoughts immediately.

  I couldn’t contemplate that. Anger was much better at keeping the uncertainty and pain at bay. The pain of knowing today was the last day of our stolen vacation, and tomorrow, we’d all travel back to reinsert ourselves into life. And it’d been ruined.

  Q would return to work, even though he promised me he’d cut back his hours, and I would continue to be the figurehead for our charities and run the household. He’d use the long hours to keep his issues buried until I blew up at him and we had a fight that rattled the windows of our home.

  I glowered at my husband.

  Not only had he pissed me off, but he’d also refused to accept his birthday gift.

  Well, screw it.

  If he didn’t want to name this puppy, I would. I wasn’t giving him or his siblings and mother up. They needed me. Just like Q needed me even when he pretended he didn’t.

  My thick winter boots stomped on the cobbles as I announced, “I’ve thought of what to call the puppy.” My gaze fell on the waddling fat form by my ankles. He slipped on the icy ground, pulling this way and that on a leash he had no experience with.

  I wanted to pick him up, but he also needed to get used to it.

  Everyone’s heads snapped toward me.

  Q narrowed his eyes, blistering with dark intent. I smiled coldly at him, ignoring everyone else. “I’m going to name him Courage because he actually has the bravery to face scary things in life without tucking tail and running.”

  Q’s face blackened. His body language slipped from wound up to lithe and lethal.

  My muscles trembled; my core automatically grew wet for him. He’d trained me so well that whenever he got the possessive, dominating look in his eyes, it took all my willpower not to bow in the street and beg him to be my master. To hurt me if it made him feel better. To let me hurt him if it made him somehow return to our open, loving relationship.

  How had this weekend turned into something so fraught with unspoken barriers?

  Frederick grinned. “I get the underlying tones but actually think Courage is a great name. What’s the bitch called?”

  Ripping my gaze from Q, I focused on Frederick. “Don’t call her that. I know it’s the technically correct term for a female dog, but she’s a mother, after all.” Doing my best to make the atmosphere light, after the swirling ferocity between Q and me, I laughed. “Let’s not disrespect her.”

  “Oh, I know.” Suzette spun around, walking backward as Franco continued down the footpath to the wrought iron bridge over a babbling brook ahead. “Perhaps Sally? Short for Salvation.”

  I cocked my head. It could work. We could have a theme of Salvation and Courage and Bravery and Screw You, Maître, for being a Wimp.

  My heart pounded. “I kinda like it.”

  Q huffed. “Sally? Really.” He rolled his eyes. “First, you bring a pack into my house, and then you name them ridiculous things.”

  Slamming to a halt, I yanked too harshly on Courage’s lead. His fat body flew backward, sprawling by my feet.

  Oh, God.

  I’d already hurt the poor thing, and I’d only had him a few days.

  Keeping him secret since I’d been to the shelter, hadn’t been easy. Suzette had kept him in her quarters with Franco at night, and I’d kept the mother and puppies comfortable in the stable by day.

  After waving Q and I off in the car at the start of the weekend, Suzette had bundled little Courage with her, and he’d hitched a ride in the helicopter before being looked after by the staff at Castelnaud-des-Fleurs.

  If Q were so adamant about not having dogs at home, then I would find them new families. But I couldn’t deny my heart was already attached. Especially to this little guy.

  “It’s not a ridiculous name.” I planted a hand on my hip, daring Q to take possession of his gift and fall in love like I had. “It fits. And unless you say otherwise, it’s sticking.”

  His nostrils flared. I waited for him to jerk me close and whisper sinful commands into my ear. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, physically forcing himself to relax. The rage siphoned from his gaze, leaving his true thoughts locked to me.

  I hated the distance.

  The coldness left in his wake as he pulled away.

  What was so bad that he couldn’t tell me? What was he so afraid of?

  I’d stupidly hoped that Q would fall for his animal just like I had. That he would find whatever it was that he’d lost…or perhaps realised he would never have.

  Maybe his past had finally caught up with him? The fact he’d dispatched his father, lost his sister and mother, and been alone for most of his days might’ve damaged him deeper than I knew. Had he not got over that and it tortured him still?

  Kissing Courage’s head, I dropped my guard and looked at Q with everything bared.

  Please…stop these games and talk to me.

  I don’t like this distance between us.

  But he didn’t do what I’d hoped.

  Instead of tucking me in his powerful embrace and kissing me tenderly, he looked at the picturesque distance and shut me out.

  If he wanted to sulk, then so be it.

  When he was ready to discuss like a rational person, he would have to grovel.

  And I wouldn’t make it easy for him.

  * * * * *

  That night, after our final dinner in the great hall and a few semi-awkward hours drinking by the fire and playing poker, Q and I retired to our room.

  The angry standoff from this afternoon had mellowed to a sad chasm, and I didn’t know how to cross it.

  And Q didn’t try.

  He had a shower. On his own.

  He slipped into his boxer-briefs. Behind closed doors.

  He climbed into bed without ordering me onto my knees or any other depraved, delicious thing.

  He’d turned inward, and I couldn’t reach him.

  Even Courage, the French bulldog mix, couldn’t touch him. I knew I probably shouldn’t (forming bad habits so soon), but with Q’s emotional distance and the fear that I’d done something catast
rophic with no idea how to fix it, I tucked the puppy into bed with me. I fell asleep holding the snoring black creature all because my husband wasn’t available.

  My dreams were lost and confused. And for the first time in a long time, I dreamed of Mexico and hallucinations and hurting other women. Q had cured me of so many broken pieces, but the ghostly memories would always be there, waiting to attack me in times of stress.

  I woke around three a.m. to an empty bed and galloping heart.

  Q was gone.

  Courage was gone.

  I was alone.

  And terrified.

  The warehouse and smoking gun from pulling the trigger on Blonde Angel faded as I clutched the bedspread and reminded myself that the nightmare was in the past. That I was safe and loved and wanted.

  Only, Q had made me feel the opposite. Tonight, Q had hurt me more than any whip or spur. And I couldn’t stomach any more distance between us.

  I needed him.

  He needed me.

  This is stupid.

  A simple conversation could clear the air. I was willing to do what was necessary, so why wasn’t he? Running my hands over the cold side of his bed, my body craved to slink against his warm form and demand the comfort he’d withheld. I wanted to be touched and rocked to sleep in his masterful embrace. Only then could I find strength to slay my night terrors and be the strong woman Q adored.

  Where had he gone? Where had Courage gone?

  And why did he leave without a goodbye?

  Heart racing, I climbed out of bed and wrapped myself in a fluffy white dressing gown.

  Slipping silently from our bedroom, I made my way through the castle, seeking out the two things I needed most.

  It took me almost half an hour to find them. They weren’t in the great hall or game room. They weren’t in the kitchen or many lounges.

  When I finally did find them, I huddled against the wall, draped in shadows, not wanting to be seen. Because there, on the frost-bitten grass with the moon wrestling with the dawn, was Q.

  Courage stood on two legs, his chubby front feet on Q’s knee as he sat on his haunches over the puppy. My lover’s breath puffed in icy curls as he scruffed the puppy behind its pert ears.

  I couldn’t hear what he murmured, but his body said all I needed to know.

  Q was hurting.

  The master of my heart and owner of my soul was in pain.

  And I despite my upset and wish that he would talk, I couldn’t remain mad at him.

  Instead, I would do everything I could to help.

  THE DRIVE HOME was a fucking nightmare.

  Courage, the damn puppy, was given prime of place on Tess’s lap while I drove the Aston Martin to the brink of its engine capacity. Frederick, Franco, Suzette, and Angelique had returned the same way they’d arrived—in my helicopter—while Tess and I left the large castle behind, following the curved driveway and hitting the patchwork countryside of rural France.

  I’d had the good mind to make Tess fly home with them.

  I needed some space to get over my fucking self and find peace again. And I couldn’t do that with Tess silent beside me.

  We hadn’t discussed it.

  I hadn’t been able to sleep, and at some point in the night, the damn puppy needed to piss. Against my wishes, I’d scooped him up and crept through the sleeping castle. I didn’t want to be swayed by the animal. I didn’t want to fall in love with the breakable body and overly trusting spirit. But in that moment of just man and beast, with frost for company and moon for illumination, I couldn’t stop the thawing in my heart.

  And with the thawing and affection for another creature came the awful conclusion that what I’d been trying to convince myself I didn’t need these past few months was more than just a need. It was past rational sense or understanding. It was deeper than that. It was a part of me, and I had no fucking clue how to tell Tess that I was a failure to her. That I’d let her down. Let myself down. And I only had myself to blame.

  When we drove past the turn-off to the barn where we’d stopped and fucked before our picnic, Tess huffed softly, lacing her fingers with mine on the gearshift.

  I flinched but didn’t tug away. I permitted the contact and even managed to smile while swallowing every agonising thought into my gut.

  How did people do this? How did they allow themselves to become so weak and desperate for things they had no right to want? What happened to my cold-hearted bastard self where I needed nothing and no one? Why couldn’t I remain such a beast who was satisfied with pain and pleasure from his esclave? Why did I have to fucking grow up?

  The awful questions kept me company the entire drive. Tess remained silent, petting Courage, who’d fallen asleep and snored on her lap.

  When we finally arrived home, the day was done and so was I.

  Leaving the chateau staff to unload our belongings and place the Aston Martin back in the garage, I launched myself from the car and waited until Tess passed me the dog. I escorted her inside, took a deep breath, and said, “I need some time alone, esclave.” Passing her the puppy, I glanced away. “I love you, but please…let me sort myself out on my own. I don’t want to take this out on you.”

  Her chest rose as if preparing for a fight. Her eyes glowed with agony, unable to understand why I wouldn’t let her in.

  I wanted to.

  Fuck, how I wanted to.

  But I couldn’t do it.

  Not yet.

  Not looking back or paying any attention to the sudden flurry of dog feet hurtling from the lounge, I strode to the staircase and headed down into the gaming room and my fully stocked cellar of expensive whiskey.

  I needed to forget.

  I needed to drink…

  For just a little while.

  “DO YOU KNOW what’s going on, Suzette?”

  Suzette tucked dark hair behind her ear, shaking her head. “No idea.”

  We’d convened in the kitchen—where we always seemed to gravitate—after an uneventful dinner.

  Franco spent the evening patrolling the chateau and briefing his security staff on the week ahead. Q hadn’t returned from his gaming room meltdown. And Mrs. Sucre had the night off.

  I’d hoped Suzette would help me. After all, she’d been key for me understanding Q at the beginning. She had a sixth sense where her employer and friend was concerned. Then again, so did I.

  When we’d arrived home, he couldn’t wait to be on his own. He couldn’t even look at Courage or the other puppies as they came charging from the lounge. Considering he was so attentive and kind to those in need, he didn’t relax around the dogs—almost as if their juvenile charm angered him rather than soothed.

  They were only dogs. All they wanted was love. He spent hours caring for his birds…so what was the difference?

  I spent another few minutes with Suzette, drowning in questions and worry before I retired to my bedroom. Q wasn’t there, and I deliberated whether I should encroach on his personal space and demand an explanation.

  But he’d promised he would tell me within a week.

  The week wasn’t up yet.

  And I’d vowed to stop being angry and give him space. I didn’t want to hurt him when he was already hurting.

  So, instead of doing what I wanted, I forced myself to relax in a bath, and when I finally slipped into bed, I stared at the ceiling for hours waiting for Q to join me.

  In all the years of our marriage, we’d never slept apart.

  I had to trust that tonight would be no different. He would come to bed. He wouldn’t shut me out so completely.

  I was right.

  As the glowing screen of my phone showed two a.m., Q finally entered our tower bedroom. His dark silhouette glowed in stark contrast to the white rug as he stripped dark jeans and black t-shirt and climbed into bed.

  I lay there, not wanting to damage an already damaged situation, but I couldn't stomach the silence anymore.

  I expected him to be drunk. But no whiskey fumes swir
led off him.

  I bit my lip.

  Damn.

  It would’ve been easy to get a reaction out of him if he’d been drunk. That was how I got him to string me up and fully show me what he was capable of the first time. He unlocked his cage when he consumed alcohol.

  As a few minutes ticked past and we lay stiffly side by side, I’d finally had enough.

  Sitting up, I turned on the bedside light, grabbed the black bag Q had used in Castelnaud-des-Fleurs, and unzipped it.

  Q propped himself up on his pillows never taking his eyes off me as I loaded the tattoo gun, reached across and removed his wedding ring. Silently, I requested he hold his hand strong and sure.

  Without a word, he obeyed.

  He let me turn on the vibrating needle and ink his skin with the same inscription he’d done for me.

  Je suis à toi. I’m yours.

  The words made me his possession. But it did the opposite.

  I felt as if I tied a rope between us, staking claim once more that he was mine. With every letter I scrawled, I reaffirmed the vow that he belonged to me in sickness and in health, in happiness and in strife. No matter what he was going through or the fear and pain he refused to share, I would be there for him.

  When I’d finally finished and placed the now quiet tattoo gun back into the bag, I whispered, “You’re mine, Q. I’ll be here until you want to talk. And then…when you do, I’ll accept whatever it is you’re dealing with. We’ll get through it together.”

  Sighing heavily, Q clutched me to his side. “I’m sorry I’m being such a bastard.”

  “I just wish you’d tell me.”

  “I will. I promise.” Kissing the top of my head, his powerful arm stretched above us and turned out the light.

  Darkness cocooned us, reminding me that we’d found each other in this painful black void and made it our home. Q would do anything for me and me for him.

  Having his warmth surrounding me finally stole some of my anxiety, and I relaxed into him.

  His chest rose and fell, his heartbeat thudding gently against my spine.

  I loved this man.

  With all my heart and soul.

  He was more than just my master and friend—he was my life.