Breaking Out (21 page)

He didn't answer. He wouldn't lie to her and he couldn't honestly say if he would have come. “May I use a telephone?”

She looked disappointed, but showed him to the closest phone. His cell service was shit this far out in the country. Claudette shut him into the library, and he found the phone on the table by the window.

As he dialed the hotel, he looked through the curtains. He stilled when he saw Tibet sitting on a cement bench in the garden. She must have returned from shopping.

He frowned. She was crying.

Tibet was a tiny woman with dark black hair and tiny features. Her nose was long and her lips thin and tight like a bow. Her brows were narrow and arched naturally high. She was a beauty of the European sort, a native of France.

He stared as she dashed away a tear with a handkerchief. She was alone. He'd never seen much emotion from her, or perhaps he never really looked. This was the woman who destroyed his parents' marriage.

“Bonjour, Hôtel Patras. Puis-je vous aider?
 . . .
Bonjour?”

Lucian stared at the phone. He was rendered mute a moment as he waited for his brain to kick in. It didn't. His mouth was the first part of his body to work, and he was shocked when he heard himself say, “This is Lucian Patras. I need to reach Jacques Dubois. He's a chauffeur there.”

“Oui,
Monsieur Patras,
I can reach Jacques for you. He is still on zee road. Shall I telephone him for you?”

“Yes, please tell him to return to my father's estate with my belongings. I'll be staying here.”

Chapter 20

Jeu Sur

Translation: Game On

The Parisian culture was something that had always appealed to Lucian. He adored watching the people from the benches bordering the River Seine, loved the scent of fresh baguettes flowing from café windows. The fluid language was familiar and eased his mind like lyrical poems even when he was overhearing a mother chattering on about her list for the market. He loved Paris, but had never been more miserable in his life.

Meandering up the cobblestone thoroughfare, he sneered at couples as they embraced and strolled along beside him. Bistros opened their doors to patrons, beckoning guests to dine on their cuisine, but he wanted nothing to do with such vulgar displays of culture. Everything he'd eaten in the past week tasted like ash on his tongue. Even the most delicate and buttery pastries filled his mouth like flavorless mush.

The skies weighed like dull blue cotton, and the manicured grounds sat like graves beneath his feet. Nothing was as it should be in the most romantic city in the world when he had no one to share it with. The idea of being there alone never bothered him before, but it bothered him now.

A group of young women dressed in their slim heels and swank Blemar Pierre dresses tittered by. One dark-haired beauty offered him a shy wave behind the backs of her friends. Lucian couldn't even muster a smile. He was miserable, and he knew the cure to what ailed him was nowhere on that continent.

What was he doing there? Wasting time dancing around his family issues, knowing there were so many more pressing decisions to be made, like deciding what held more value, his word or the woman he loved.

Stupid question. Evelyn of course was more valuable. How could he have let things come to this? What was she doing at that very moment?

He thought coming here would put some distance between him and his issues, but all it did was make him feel less in control of himself, a feeling he loathed above all things.

She was his, and he had pushed her aside in some twisted attempt to do the honorable thing. He paid her no honor with such actions. She would eventually find out, and he was a fool to assume Parker Hughes would be the only one responsible for her hurt.

Lucian was as much to blame as the boy. They'd both acted like self-serving pricks. So why was he still over three thousand miles away from her? Why was he still letting fate decide what was best for him? She was his, damn it. It was his job to protect her. What if this was killing her?

He shivered as a chilling thought ran through his mind, not for the first time. What if she was fine? What if she was over him? Perhaps she truly hated him and now moved onto other endeavors? For all he knew, she and Hughes were laughing at his expense right at that very moment.

Lucian ground his teeth together and shouldered his way through a crowd. He needed to get back. He was as useless as tits on a bull sitting here with his thumb up his ass in old fucking
Paree
. He hadn't even done business since he arrived.

He couldn't think straight. Nothing made sense. His head was so twisted up. He was adrift and desperately needed to get back on track.

He took a cab back to the mansion, and Claudette greeted him at the door. “Your father is sleeping,” she informed him.

He needed to get a call out to arrange his flight home. “I'll be in the library.”

She nodded and stepped aside, taking his coat.

As he shut the door to the library he turned and stilled.

“Lucian.” Tibet stood from the dainty table by the fireplace. “I'll be finished here in a moment. I was just trying to figure out some of these insurance papers.” She was flustered and appeared to be crying again.

He awkwardly stood with his hands in his pockets. For seven days he had successfully avoided being alone with the woman who ruined his mother's life.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized again. Her trembling hands gathered several papers and hurriedly pushed in her chair.

He sighed. It was her damn house. He could be nice. “You don't have to leave on my account.”

She eyed him curiously and nodded, lowering her small frame back into her chair. She mumbled something in French. Tibet was many things, but timid was never a label that fit her.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room. “Is there something I might be able to help you with?”

She shook her head hopelessly, her mouth tight, but pushed the papers in his direction.

He approached the table and took the top page. They were life insurance papers. His stomach sunk like a lead balloon. He swallowed. “These are for Dad.”

She sniffled. “
Oui
. I can't seem to make sense of things. Christos told me to take care of things, but . . .” Her shoulders quaked. “I do not want to make plans for my husband's death,” she sobbed.

Discomfort had him holding his breath. He searched for comforting words and came up short. Was he really that sick?

The papers were all written in French. His mind switched to metric as he reviewed the policy. He needed to take himself out of the equation in order to comprehend what he was reading. “Everything looks to be in order here, Tibet.”

She sniffled and took the paper from him. The next paper she handed him reviewed burial arrangements. Fuck. He found himself lowering into a chair.

His fingers sorted through the stacks of papers. Medical bills, scripts, statements for physical therapy; it was all so overwhelming. He rubbed his head and frowned.

“It was very nice of you to stay here, Lucian,” she suddenly whispered. “Your father enjoys having you here.”

His mouth tightened. They'd barely spent time together and he was leaving as soon as the arrangements were made. “I appreciate the welcome.”

Tentatively, her hand settled over his. He stared at her small, dainty fingers, still beautiful for a woman of her age. It was the first time, to his recollection, that she'd ever touched him. “He loves you.”

His throat worked to swallow. “Well, he's never said so, but I'll take your word for it.”

She withdrew her hand. “Christos is not a man who says such words easily. I don't believe he understands what it truly is to love, but his heart knows it, and the funny thing about love is that your mind doesn't need to think in order to love someone. You just do it. Sometimes we even love someone when we know we shouldn't.”

He knew she was referring to loving his father. “I think this calculation is wrong. The copay was thirty euro, yet the doctor has you down for fifty. You may want to call them about that.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, tucking the paper into a folder after making a note at the top.

They sat in silence for the next several minutes as Lucian reviewed his dad's forms. As he reached the last one, Tibet seemed tired, but a bit more in control of her emotions. As he handed her the last of the papers, she asked, “Does she love you?”

He frowned. “Who?”

“The woman you are running from?”

He stilled. He was not running. “I'm not running.”

She waved her hand. “Of course you are. That's what you Patras men do; you run when your heart distracts you from business.”

“You're wrong—”

“Then why is she not here with you? Or why are you not there with her?”

“How do you even know there is a her?”

“A woman knows such things, Lucian. You are a man in the torturous claws of love.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. His eyes scrutinized her sincerity, and he found no reason to believe she was being anything but sincere. Still, he wasn't sure he could have this conversation with Tibet.

When he didn't reply, she said, “I still remember the first time I saw you as a boy. You were devilishly handsome, running through the lobby of the hotel. I watched from afar as your family checked in. Antoinette was not yet born. I remember thinking,
he's going to be even more handsome than his father
.”

He didn't want to think about moments like that. She shouldn't have been there.

“Your mother had come to Paris for that visit. After the three of you left, your father told me he could no longer continue our affair.”

“As always, he proves to be a man of his word,” Lucian said dryly.

“He kept his word . . . for a while. But eventually our paths crossed again and we were right back where we left off, in love. You see, Lucian, when you love someone, you do so without choice. It is a force of its own and no amount of time or distance can dissolve such feelings.

“Your father wanted to be a good husband, and I never wanted to be a mistress. I tried not to love him and he tried not to love me.” She laughed. “I do believe he was quite irritated with his inconvenient emotions. Over time, we realized there was no use fighting what we felt. Our lives became incredibly easier once we simply embraced it.”

“How altruistic of you both.”

“Yes, we were selfish, but our lives were far from perfect. He would never leave your mother. He loved her too, and that was something I was never able to compete with.”

“Lucky for you she died,” he said coldly. Did she think she was earning his compassion?

“I was very sad when your mother passed. So was your father.”

“I should hope. She was his wife and the mother of his children.”

She sighed. “She was a good woman and I regret very much what I did to her.”

“I'm sure you do.” His insincerity was clear.

“I just want you to know that I'm sorry. I know you all hate me, but I want you to know I love your father very much, enough to go behind his back and tell you he's sorry for the way he abandoned you children. Do you know what it's like, to hold your husband's hand, a hand you held for over thirty years, when you fear he will not make it through the night, and hear him confess his one regret is you? It is a horrible feeling.

“I love him more than I love myself. I gave up any hopes of a family to be with him. Unfortunately, he did the same. I do not think he realizes what he said when he was ill, but I will never forget. His one regret in this lifetime is choosing a woman over his children.”

Lucian's breathing was labored. What difference did any of this make? His father had made his choice years ago, and now he had to live with it. Was she telling him this in hopes that he would offer her some form of comfort?

“My mother also had regrets when she died. Suffice it to say, our family's fucked-up, Tibet, and you knowingly married into it.”

She nodded. “I did. I just thought you should know that he loves you.”

She stood, and he frowned as she gathered her papers and made to leave. “Why did you tell me all that?”

She turned, a sad look on her face. “Because your father is a difficult man to love. I imagine you are too. Our hearts choose for us, and mine chose Christos. Whoever you love, Lucian, love her well. Do not cause her pain because you are too afraid to face your emotions.”

She couldn't be more off. “I'm not afraid of love. I'm not my father.”

“No, you're not. Did you know my father was very much like yours? We never got along and he was a very cold man. We tend to do that, fall in love with people who are as emotionally broken as the ones who raised us. When it occurred to me that you were in love, I found myself wondering, is she like your mother or your father?”

His blood chilled.
Holy shit.
Evelyn like Christos? No. “She's not like either of them.”

She shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps. But perhaps she is a bit of both of them. Your mother loved your father to a fault while your father has always been terrified of love. If she's like either of them, you shouldn't be here. You should be with her, because I imagine your absence is killing her.”

“I'm leaving tonight,” he announced.

She nodded. “Good. As much as your father wants you here, I believe there is someone else who needs you more. Go to her, Lucian, and love her with all of your heart. Don't let life complicate it for you. Love is simple. It drives itself. But I'm afraid you have to be present for it to flourish.”

She left then. Lucian stared after her. Tibet was a mistress. Her moral compass was crap, yet she was obviously a romantic. He couldn't fathom his father's relationship. It had been complicated and tainted from the start. His regret was a result of his own actions, and Lucian couldn't be bothered to fix the many bridges Christos had burned in his long journey to the top.

What he did gain from Tibet's confusing story was that love was complicated enough between two people. He'd seen what happens when three were involved. He'd experienced it with Slade and Monique. Even when three hearts were accepting of the situation, it was awkward. His mother had not consented to Tibet being an addition to their marriage, yet she tolerated it and left this world miserable and alone.

There was no way he was going to repeat his parents' past. He didn't share. He loved Evelyn and she loved him, whether she'd admit it or not. If she fell in love with Parker as well, he was doomed.

His heart raced as he dialed his pilot, Ken. He couldn't get out of there fast enough. He told Ken there was an urgent situation and he needed to return home as soon as possible.

“Sir, we have the engine being looked at now. There was a short somewhere and we're doing our best to locate the problem.”

“How long?” Lucian asked.

“Should be worked out in a day or two.”

He ground his teeth. “Fine. I want someone working on it round the clock. Call me as soon as we're ready to go. I'll be waiting.”

He hung up and fixed his stare on the door. His father would have another day of his time. Lucian would try to be civil and perhaps they could make some headway. It wasn't going to be long, and as soon as he got the call, he would be gone.