Her Inconvenient Groom by Niomie Roland

Chapter 35

 

In the gray haze of the hospital room, Chantelle heard a sound. The lightest footstep, the kind of sound that made her wonder whether she was dreaming. She turned in its direction, but although her vision was getting better, in the darkness there was only movement, not shape.

Nurses again? she wondered. How many times a day did she need to be weighed and tested and checked and prodded and asked over and over, “Comment allez-vous, madame?”

But something told her it wasn’t a nurse. The nurses came announcing themselves, always cheerful, always peppy, even when she wished they would dial it down a notch. And they usually turned the dimmer up a bit so they could clearly see their instruments of torture while they were looking into her eyes and ears and throat and punching her with tiny holes like a sieve.

If it wasn’t a nurse at this hour, who could it be?

Murderer, Chantelle thought. The person who had tried and failed to kill her had returned to finish the job. And if so, how would he have made it past the guard placed at her door?

She didn’t know if it was cold fear or her sluggish, reluctant limbs that made it hard for her to grasp the call button, but as she felt frantically around for it, it seemed to elude her grasp. She opened her mouth to scream instead. Surely, that would be enough to make everyone come running.

“Don’t,” said the voice, mere feet from her bed. “Please, Chantelle.”

“Dustin!” she croaked through a mouth that was Sahara-dry. She peered at the silhouette in the darkness as it loomed into view. “Is that you?”

“It is.” He was far closer now, right next to her. She could feel his warmth. His shape was clearer, his face looming through the dense fog. “Please don’t scream.”

Scream? For joy, maybe. He was free, out of jail. Here, with her. Her relief was palpable. “I wouldn’t. I never would.”

He was very close to her now, but made no attempt to touch her.

“How? Why are you here? I thought you weren’t allowed to have contact with me. The policemen said—”

“I know. I waited until it was late enough and slipped in.” He chuckled softly. “I even had to sneak off the estate.”

“You’re back home?”

“I didn’t think that would be wise. I’m staying with Alex and Liam. I ran away to see you. Although I guess by now they know that, considering how good their security system is.”

“You ran away to be here,” she repeated contemplatively.

“Yes. But I’m not here to harm you. I’d never hurt you. I didn’t before, and I wouldn’t now—”

“I know,” she asserted simply.

“You know?” He sounded incredulous.

She tried her best to make out his features, and then begged him, “Come closer, so I can see you.”

His hand reached out to tap the desk lamp on the side table, creating a soft pool of bluish white light that embraced them both. And now she could see him. His face was taut and haggard, stubble more pronounced than she remembered. Eyes haunted and dark. She felt deep anguish at the thought of what he must have suffered, locked away like that.

She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, allow him to enfold her, but she had no idea how he felt. The last time she’d seen him, things had gone awry and the time before that, he’d been leaving. Leaving her and their baby for his old life back in the States.

So why would she think he’d want to hold her?

“It’s so wonderful to see you. Amazing that you’re here.”

“I got bailed out.”

“I know.”

“How did you—” He paused as realization kicked in. “Did you do this? Did you post my bail?”

Now that the truth was out there, she felt oddly shy. On paper it was ridiculous, a victim of attempted murder posting bail for the prime suspect. But with nothing but the briefest hesitation, she had instructed Sienna to call her French legal office and give them clear instructions to get Dustin Spencer out of jail, no matter what it took. “I did,” she admitted.

He was taken aback, perplexed. “Why?”

Why, indeed? How could she possibly tell him that she did what she did because she loved him? Why would she dare to imagine that such an admission would be welcome? So she simply said, “I knew an injustice had been done to you. I knew the cops had it wrong.”

“How could you know that? As far as everyone is concerned, I had means, motive and opportunity.”

“Maybe. But you’re missing the most crucial ingredient.”

“Which is?”

“Enough evil in your heart to attempt to destroy someone so utterly, cause them so much agony.”

The next thing she knew he was kissing her, fervently, like a starving man. She didn’t realize how much she had been longing to feel his lips on hers again until they were there, in their familiar warmth. He kneeled forward on the bed to get closer to her, slipping his arm around her.

And then he pulled away, looking almost appalled at his behavior. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“It’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “The only thing that would upset me now would be if you didn’t kiss me again.”

He looked unsure, and then to her enormous relief he complied, pressing his lips against hers again. She wished she was strong enough to fling her arms around him, pull him down to her so that he was pressing against her body, and was stunned by the rush of fervent desire that coursed through her.

Wasn’t her body dying?

Then why did it feel so much?

He lifted his lips from hers and looked into her eyes, his face still so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. “God, I missed you. All those days, wondering if you were dead or alive. Knowing that if you died, I would, too.”

“I was worried about you, too. Wondering if you were okay in there, if you were going to be okay through everything they would do to you in there.”

He shrugged, trying to make a joke of it. “Well, the food wasn’t as good as Rosemarie’s—”

“Dustin! I was scared for you!”

“And I for you.” He paused, and Chantelle had the feeling that whatever would come next would be serious, weighty. “I missed you, Chantelle. Every moment, every day. And now that I’m here again, I know I don’t want to be apart from you. Please, let me be with you.”

“What do you mean?” He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying.

“I mean, can we try to make this marriage work? A real marriage, rather than just a business contract?”

Chantelle let the full impact of his plea reverberate through her. It was as weighty as if he was proposing to her, offering to tear up the farcical piece of paper they’d both signed when each of them was desperate for something that the other had possessed. And replace it with something real.

Now, both of their reasons for uniting had been removed. For Dustin, his sister was out of the hospital. As for Chantelle, Kai Clark no longer lived anywhere but inside her heart. Their hearts.

“Chantelle?” He was waiting anxiously for an answer, but it was an answer that she couldn’t give.

“I don’t know.”

“How could you not know?” he asked in anguish.

She shook her head. “Why would you want me? What could I give you? I lost our child.”

“No sweetheart, our baby was taken from us.”

She hung her head, fighting back the tears. “He’s gone, my little one. There’ll be no little baby footprint tattoo. No baby Kai.”

“We could have another,” he suggested. “You and I, we could make another baby.”

“They aren’t puppies!” she burst out. “They can’t just be replaced.”

Instead of reacting with anger to her outburst, he pulled her against him so that her head lay on his chest. “I know. That didn’t come out right. What I was trying to say, Chantelle, is that I love you. I want to make a life with you. Be a father to our children, if you’re willing to have them.”

She didn’t want to give herself hope that such a life could be possible. What if she believed in it, only to have happiness torn from her grasp, as this baby had been torn from her womb?

After she was silent for several moments, he lightly kissed her eyelids and said reassuringly, “It’s okay, darling. You don’t have to answer now. I’m just glad you know how I feel. And glad to know that, thank God, you’re okay.”