Chapter 14

She Didn’t Come Back

Three months after the auction…

In the months I’d lived as Alana Toussaint, I’d changed. I hated to think that a man had changed me, but Christophe was the exception. Being his wife had taught me that having the love and support of a person with means who only wanted the best for you could drastically change anyone. Even a woman like me—who’d once believed I was tainted goods, used up and spit out by the world at large. I didn’t feel that way under Christophe’s constant praise and contributions to the work I was doing on myself.

I looked across the desk I kept in Christophe’s massive studio and watched him work. He was a master at so many creative mediums it would make anyone’s head spin. His talents with paint, clay, wood, marble, and even metal were impressive. He brought everything he created to life with his skills. Each piece seemingly more moving than the last. And he switched the pieces he worked on often, his mind bouncing from one thing to the next. Still, the process was fascinating, and he said he worked best when I was close, so we’d added a desk in the studio for me to use. While he created, I completed my university assignments and studied French.

“It’s finished, mon coeur ,” he announced suddenly.

I put a placeholder in the business administration book I was reading and stared at the canvas he’d been working on. For the most part, I spent my days getting to know Paris, learning how to drive, taking French courses with a private tutor, as well as taking weekly business classes. I had an idea of what I ultimately wanted to do for a job, but I hadn’t confided in anyone yet. Not even Christophe or Celine. I’d kept it for me, preferring to take my time evaluating such a large undertaking before I made my intentions known to others.

I eased my chair back and walked over to where he stood in front of the windows, the natural light highlighting his canvas perfectly.

I gasped when I saw the image of the Grand Canyon. It looked exactly as I’d remembered it when we were at the sky rim overlooking the vast landscape.

“It’s uncanny.” I moved forward to get a closer look. His attention to detail was so meticulous I swore I could feel the very grooves in the red earth where millions of years had aged the mountains, creating those recognizable horizontal lines that cut across them. “The shadows…the small plant life, the river… Christo, my God. It’s exceptional,” I breathed.

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin to my neck. “You like it?”

“Like is too simple a word for this, cheri ,” I cooed, having picked up the French endearment.

“Where shall we hang it?” he hummed.

“You mean you’re not selling it?” I gawked at the piece, unable to believe that something of this quality and skill would reside in our home and not on a wall in a museum for all to enjoy.

“I told you months ago I would paint it for you upon our return.” We stared at the image for a long time, neither of us saying anything, both enjoying the incredible painting before us until suddenly he sighed dreamily. “I think above our bed would be lovely. Then every time I take you from behind, your hands to the headboard, you can stare into this image. A memory of our honeymoon, of a time where we shared something special, just the two of us.”

I smiled wide, turned around, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I would love nothing more.”

“You know what I would love more?” He grinned devilishly.

I pressed my lips together and pretended to think about it. “Hmm, I can’t think of a single thing.”

“You. Naked. Riding my face and then my cock.” His voice was a sultry growl as he palmed my hips with intent.

Instantly arousal pooled between my thighs as my heart pounded. I licked my lips and quirked a brow. I kissed him lightly and then pulled away, slowly backing up while undoing the buttons of my blouse. When I finished, I let it fall to the floor. I wore only the palest pink lace bra, the brown tips of my nipples visible through the mostly sheer lace.

He stalked after me, one step at a time, keeping pace. I got to the door of the studio, unzipped my skirt, and let it puddle down at my feet. His eyes practically set fire to my lingerie as he caressed me with his gaze.

I’d taken to wearing business attire, feeling powerful in the clothing in a way that felt more like me. The confident, put-together version of me that I’d become under the love of a good and supportive husband.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” I tutted, then turned around and bolted down the hallway. Christophe’s laughter filled the air at my back as he chased after me, flinging his clothes off along the way.

I’d made it all the way to the kitchen before he caught me, planted me on the counter, and devoured me whole. Then I rode him hard and wild while he sat in one of our dining chairs and worshipped my breasts, my neck, and my lips.

In the months since we’d first made love, our passion hadn’t even come close to dimming and I didn’t think it ever would.

* * * *

Six months after the auction…

I pressed the phone closer to my ear and I heard a strange beeping sound as Celine hissed, sounding pained.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. The last several calls with my best friend had been strange. For some reason she could never talk for long, and when she did, it was always her asking about me and Christophe. What was he painting? What had we seen of France? How were my French lessons going? Was I enjoying my business classes? Then, when I’d ask about her and Darren, she’d say everything was fine and change the subject.

“Excuse me, Ms. Holt. The doctor is ready to see you now,” a strange voice stated through the line.

“Doctor? Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m using this new phone Darren bought for me. It’s sooooo cool!” she tried to deflect.

“I didn’t ask how you called me, Celine, and you know it. I asked why you are seeing a doctor.”

“Um, I accidentally broke my arm and leg,” she confided.

“What!” I screeched. Christophe dropped whatever tool he was using on his art and raced over to my desk where I sat clutching the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me? Do you need help?”

“Darren has assigned me a nurse. She comes in every day to check on me. It’s no big deal. I fell down the stairs. It was stupid. My heels were sky high and the dress train too long, and whoops! Down goes Celine. It hurt like a bitch too,” she claimed.

“My God. Do you need me to come and be with you?” I glanced at Christophe who nodded instantly. He too adored Celine and often talked with her by phone after I did. The two of them had found common ground in food, of all things. They talked incessantly about what new dish they’d tried or wanted to learn to cook. It was cute, and since I got to eat the food Christophe made, I counted it as a win.

“Jeez Louise, no! You’re such a mother hen. I’m fine. I’ll be good as new in six more weeks. But I have to go. The doctor wants to go over my X-rays. Love you. Call soon. Byeeeeeee.” She let the word draw out before hanging up.

I groaned under my breath. “She claims to have fallen down the stairs wearing high heels and a long dress. Last month she missed a photo shoot because of a fat lip and bruised chin and cheek.” Celine had taken up modeling to pass the time as a rich man’s wife and had found she loved the drama of it all. I figured she was beautiful and it suited her well, so why not?

“And…?” he pushed, knowing there was more.

“She claimed this was yet another accident. Same as the time she said she slipped in the shower and crashed into the tile face first.”

Christophe slumped against my desk, resting his bum to the wooden surface. “Do you believe her?”

I shook my head. “Not in a million years. I’ve spent endless hours watching her walk a mile in the tallest heels possible. She never hurt herself a single time when we were together. I was always considered the clumsy one between us. Now, every time we chat, she’s got a new wound she’s healing from. This time a broken arm and leg.”

“ Putain !” he cursed. “What do you think is happening?”

I pressed my lips together and firmed my jaw before looking Christophe straight in the eyes. “I think her husband is abusing her, and she’s lying to protect him.”

He nodded. “Do you want to go there and check on her?”

“Yes, but I don’t want her to be angry with me for it. Let me talk to her about a visit, and we’ll make a plan.”

Christophe cupped the back of my neck warmly, leaned down, and kissed the crown of my head. “Whatever you wish to do I will support. You know that, Alana.”

“I do know that. Merci .”

* * * *

Eight months after the auction…

The phone ringing in the middle of the night woke me from a dead sleep. Christophe shot up to a seated position as though an alarm had gone off.

“What is this? It’s three in the morning,” he said after looking at the clock on his side of the bed.

I reached for the phone that was on my side. “ Bonjour ?” I said.

“ Alana, ” Celine slurred my name as though it was hard for her to speak. “It hurts…so bad.”

“Celine? Celine, what’s happening? What hurts?”

“I’m bleeding…everywhere…” she croaked.

I popped out of bed and pushed my hand through my hair, trying to think. “Where’s Darren?”

“He’s passed out.” Her voice became a tad bit clearer as if the cobwebs had been cleared out of her throat. “Maybe he OD’d. I don’t know. He drugged me too. They…they all used me, Alana. All of them.” Her voice was but a whisper. “Over and over. Then hurt me. The blood…it won’t stop. It’s pouring down my legs. Alana, it hurts so bad,” Celine sobbed.

“Honey, I know. I know. Can you call an ambulance?” Tears tracked down my face, but I kept my voice calm. Celine needed me to be strong for her.

“W-what if he w-wakes up?” The sound of her teeth starting to chatter sounded overly loud through the connection. “He’ll k-kill m-me. He’ll r-r-really k-kill me th-this time,” she whispered.

“Honey, you have to call the cops. Get help. Then call me back. I’ll be on the next flight out. I swear.”

“I la…la…l-love y-you, al-ways. I’m s-so s-o sorry,” Celine stuttered, her voice getting softer and her words more spaced out.

“I love you too!” I said as the line went dead.

I immediately called the authorities in her area to report her assault and her potential inability to call for help. They assured me they were on the way.

“Christophe, we need to get to Los Angeles as soon as possible,” I informed my husband who was already in the closet getting dressed and pulling out our suitcases.

* * * *

“As Mrs. Holt’s emergency contact and next of kin on record along with her husband, I can have the doctor explain everything to you,” a nurse informed us. Her gaze as she assessed us was filled with compassion and concern—two things that didn’t bode well for what we were about to hear.

We’d gone straight from the Los Angeles airport to the ICU and had shown our identification cards to the reception desk. We were then directed to the ICU nursing station.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Turner,” an older gentleman with white hair and glasses stated as he approached.

“Doctor, how is she?” I asked, emotion clogging my voice and making it sound deeper.

The doctor’s appearance was gentle, his eyes sad. I knew right then he was about to give me the worst news possible.

“Your friend suffered an enormous amount of damage to her vaginal and rectal regions. We had to perform emergency exploratory surgery to help control the bleed and repair the trauma.She also sustained multiple injuries to her head. The damage to her skull has caused several bleeds and a large amount of swelling in her brain. We noted some old and new fractures all over her body as well. We’re doing our best to treat her, but the drugs in her system are wreaking havoc on her organs. Her kidneys are now failing, and her liver isn’t faring any better. We believe she has experienced irreversible brain damage. Given her grave condition, we don’t recommend any heroic measures, as they would not be helpful to her.I’m sorry, Mrs. Toussaint. I don’t believe your friend has long.”

I don’t believe your friend has long. The phrase spun around and around in my mind like a spinning top.

“What?” His explanation was taking a moment to sink in. “No! I just talked to her last night. She was alive and she was talking. She was!” I cried. “She was talking to me!” I pounded at my chest, needing the doctor to know she was fine not long ago.

“That must have been before the drugs in her system and her injuries had taken over. I’m really sorry. We’re doing everything we can to make her comfortable.”

Christophe lifted his hand to stop the doctor from speaking any further. “Can you bring us to her?”

He nodded. “Again, she’s comfortable and on pain medication.”

“And her husband? Darren Holt?” Christophe growled low in his throat, sounding more like a tiger ready to strike than my sweet, gentle husband.

“I’m not at liberty to share his condition, but he’s here and expected to make a full recovery,” the doctor answered.

“Yet Celine was brutally raped by multiple men, beaten, drugged, and is facing death. I want charges pressed immediately.”

“We have already notified the authorities of our findings. The detective assigned to her case left a card in her room. Let me take you to her.”

I held my breath, not capable of preventing the tears from falling unchecked. I followed the doctor silently as my entire body went numb. Christophe kept me close, both of his hands on my shoulders lest I fall to pieces before his eyes.

Celine was unrecognizable. Her face was black and blue, eyes swollen closed, and a tube was coming out of her mouth. The doctor explained it was breathing for her.

I went to her side and lifted her hand. It too had a series of bruises, all of her nails jagged and ripped.

My girl had fought, and she’d fought hard.

Still, I took her limp hand and set it within my own. “I’m here, Celine. I’m right here. Feel my hand. Squeeze my hand…please,” I begged, and waited.

Nothing happened.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry you suffered. I wish I’d known. I should have come sooner.” My tears dripped down my face and fell onto our hands. “We would have helped you, Celine. I’d have done anything to save you.” I cried harder.

Christophe cupped my shoulders, but he didn’t say a word, supporting me the only way he knew how.

“Please fight, Celine. Please fight for me,” I pleaded, my voice disappearing as the overwhelming weight of the emotions plowing through me had nowhere to go. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out as I silently screamed against her battered arm, my body convulsing with grief.

I pushed through the tears, catching sight of the edge of our matching tattoos. I shifted her arm and put my thumb over my print. “Feel me, Celine. Feel my love. Come back.”

She didn’t come back.

A few hours later, Celine’s heart stopped beating.