Chapter 8

From a Caterpillar to a Butterfly

The helicopter landed and I silently exited, Christophe holding me close. I kept quiet until we made it back to our room where I excused myself and dashed through the master bedroom and into the bathroom.

The second the door closed, I locked it, spun around, and pressed my back to it. Covering my mouth, a sob burst through my fingers. I let my body slide against the door until my butt hit the floor while I cried into my knees, crunched up into a little ball of despair.

For a solid thirty minutes I allowed myself the time to spiral. Thoughts invaded my mind at a rapid-fire pace, each making me feel worse than the next.

Why is he being so nice?

What’s in it for him?

A man like that couldn’t possibly want the real me.

He says he wants my heart and my love.

Why? Why? Why?

Once he sees my scars, he’ll know I’m damaged goods.

If he finds out that I was a sex worker, he’ll never want to touch me again.

When he realizes that I’m nothing but an abandoned whore with no family, no home, and nothing to call my own, he’ll change.

The monster will come out… It always does.

The slight knock on the door at my back broke me out of my dark, twisted thoughts.

“Alana, are you okay? Is there something I did wrong? If so, I’d like to discuss it.” Christophe spoke smoothly, his words and tone sounding concerned.

I wiped away the tears sliding down my cheeks with my fingers and the snot pouring from my nose with the back of my hand.

“Um, I’m okay. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” I cleared my throat, trying to sweep aside the clogged emotions.

“Okay, take your time, cheri . I’m ordering dinner in. We can attempt to call Darren and Celine. They haven’t returned the message I left but I’m happy to try again for you.”

I’d been excited to call her after breakfast, but when Christophe rang his associate, he’d had to leave a message. It had only been half a day. I couldn’t expect a businessman who was technically on his honeymoon with my best friend to return a call so quickly. But I greatly appreciated my husband’s willingness to reach out a second time. Again, his consideration seemed to know no bounds. That would change when he knew the truth about his new wife.

“Thank you. I’ll be out soon.” I spoke with resignation as I stood and approached the sink.

I methodically washed my face, brushed my teeth, and got myself back together. My skin was still blotchy and the tip of my nose reddened, but I couldn’t change those things. He’d have to accept me as I was or send me back to Angus.

Lord, please don’t let him send me back.

With a deep breath, I opened the door to find the room empty. I heard the lilting sound of music coming from the living space. I followed the pretty melody of classical music until I was in the dining room, watching Christophe sketching something on a large piece of paper about two feet by two feet in size.

His hand moved at a speed far quicker than I imagined was possible for most individuals. It was as if his mind was turning so fast, he had to draw the image out in a hurry so as to not miss the ideas as they came.

I approached him from behind, silent on my bare feet, and peered at the sketch.

It was the Grand Canyon.

He’d already formed the skyline and the deep crevice in the landscape, making the image look so real, I believed if I touched it, my hand would go through the picture and into the canyon itself. His sketch had so much depth and he’d only started it upon our return.

“You’re a genius,” I breathed. “A savant.”

He turned around, a beautiful smile spreading across his full lips when he laid eyes on me. “You are not the first to say such a thing, but you are certainly the most important.”

I clasped my hand over my chest. “Why would you say that? I know nothing of the art world, just that I see true talent before me. You’re very gifted.”

He reached out and took my hand, pressing his face to my palm as though seeking comfort. “ Oui , but when such kind words come from my wife’s lips, they mean more.”

I shook my head, the ugliness creeping back in, boiling straight over his thoughtfulness and obliterating it into nothing. “You know not what you say. My opinion shouldn’t mean anything at all. You don’t know me, Christophe.”

“Then tell me, mon coeur . What do I need to know in order to meet the real you?” His expression was so compassionate, I crumbled where I stood, covering my face with my hands. Misery slid along my skin, making me shake.

Immediately the tears were back. I didn’t want him to know the dark side of my history. I wanted him to keep looking at me the way he had at the canyon today. As though I carried the very sun within me, enough to warm us both through the coldest of days. But that wasn’t reality. Not mine, anyway.

I slumped into a seat and pulled my legs toward my chest, wrapping my arms around them and resting my chin on my knees. I kept my face forward, staring at a blank spot on the wall across the room.

“I was born in South Korea to a sex worker. It was the height of the war and she’d fallen for a German-Irish solider. I don’t even know his name. Mother never talked about him. When I asked about him, she’d tell me the bare minimum. It seemed painful for her to speak of such things, so I left it alone. Then when times got too hard for her, she told me we were going on a walk. That walk ended with me being left at a girls’ orphanage. There I had to eat whatever scraps were tossed our way and sleep in a bed infested with bugs. I had swollen, itchy bumps all over my skin for months.”

My mouth watered as a sour taste hit my tongue, the memory of that place trying to take over.

A glass of water appeared before me, Christophe nodding at it. I drank until I felt the need to vomit subside.

“Thank you.” I set the cup on the table.

“Continue,” he prodded.

“Then one day, government people came to the orphanage along with others wearing white with religious insignias imprinted on their clothes. All of us were taken on several fights and then carted through American customs. I didn’t speak a word. Simply followed the line of girls where they went. I was frightened beyond comprehension. They didn’t share much with us. Absolutely nothing to make us feel safe and protected.”

I could hear Christophe suck in a harsh breath. “That’s terrible. I’m sorry you went through that.”

I nodded. “It only got worse after that. We were placed in pairs in foster care and group homes. Places where the guardians treated us like wild animals. Then the abuse started. We were beaten, molested, even starved in order to stay in line. And when the social workers came, we stayed silent because we knew it would be worse if we complained.”

Christophe grumbled under his breath in French. He spoke so fast and so angrily, I couldn’t catch any of it.

“Do you want me to stop?” I didn’t recognize my own voice because it sounded monotone, lacking any warmth at all. I’d focused on my spot across the room as the numbness took over like it usually did when I discussed my past.

“Not if you’d like to go further. I will hear anything you wish to share so that I may understand you better.” His voice was ravaged and when I glanced at him, his eyes were red and glassy. A tear slid down the side of his cheek.

I was baffled and taken aback. This big, strong, larger-than-life man was risking his very masculinity in order to show me his true feelings. Sharing openly through his physical response how very much my story affected him emotionally. I couldn’t believe it. I’d learned over time that showing your emotions opened people up to seeing your weaknesses and vulnerabilities. This man cared not about what his tears and obvious discomfort said about him but instead let them show as he wiped the wetness away.

“Eventually, we were forced to go to school. This I loved. School was the one location I felt safe. We were fed regularly, given language lessons, and allowed to read as many books as we wanted. I’d already learned English from my mother as she spoke it to her gentleman callers, so the language tutors allowed me to sit quietly and read. It gave me the chance to disappear into pretend worlds and live a new life. One where I wasn’t being mistreated.”

“ Putain! ” Fuck! Christophe cursed and wiped his hand over his brow.

A knock on the door made him jerk unnaturally as though he’d been frightened, his mind in another place. Likely on what I’d shared.

“Our food. Please, hold that thought. I will take care of it,” he said gruffly, emotion still clinging to his voice.

I simply took that time to breathe. In for five beats. Out for five. Over and over until a sense of calm spread through my veins.

He was taking my history remarkably well, but I hadn’t gotten to the worst of it yet. The parts I didn’t think he’d be able to look past.

Christophe rolled in a metal cart with a few domed plates sitting atop it.

“Do you want to talk and eat or finish our conversation?” he asked, offering me the option to choose.

“Whatever you prefer,” I answered automatically.

He tightened his jaw and then rolled the cart to the side of the table and sat down in his seat once more.

“I want to hear what my wife wants to share with me more than I could ever want to eat. Please, cheri. ” He gestured with a hand to continue.

“It’s not pretty.”

“I am used to seeing both beautiful and hideous things and am able to see through to the heart of them. Sometimes the most terrifying image can bring out such miraculous beauty you wouldn’t believe it. Like a caterpillar. It’s not inherently pleasant to look at, all those spindly moving legs and contorted shape. Then it morphs into something congealed and rather disgusting, attaching itself to a tree like a leech, while it does the hard work on itself behind the walls of the cocoon. Then when it’s completed the healing and reshaping process, it breaks through the hard shell and is born anew. A butterfly—each unique and special in its own way. That is how I see you.”

“As a butterfly?” I whispered, my heart clenching, my very soul trembling at how much I wanted to be that for him.

He nodded. “The most mystical and stunning creature who makes everyone smile when it happens to fly near them. That sense of wonder left with them each and every time. That is you , Alana. A perfectly unique butterfly.”

“You’re very good at wooing a woman,” I responded curtly, not yet capable of believing his analogy fit me in the slightest or that he had a reason to believe such things.

He didn’t know…

“On second thought, I think our chat has been heavy enough for this night. We can talk more in the coming days. How about we eat our dinner in front of the television? We’ll gorge on cheeseburgers, fries, and the chocolate cake I ordered from the menu.”

“You ordered cheeseburgers and fries?” I couldn’t help but snicker.

“We are in America, cheri . I will enjoy all the stereotypical foods until my gullet is so stuffed, you’ll have to roll me onto the plane when we head home.”

The image he presented made me chuckle. “I do love cheeseburgers.”

“Me too, cheri .” His eyes lit up with renewed happiness. “American food.” He kissed his fingertips with a flourish. “So good!”

He moved to the cart and started placing the many covered plates onto the dining table. That was when the hotel phone rang. He lifted a finger toward me and moved to the closest phone.

“Hello?” he answered and then promptly smiled. “Darren, thank you for returning my call. It seems our wives are friends.” He nodded as my fingers positively ached to snatch the phone away so I could talk to Celine. “ Oui, it is great. My wife, Alana, would adore a chat with your Celine if possible. Oui ? Excellent. I’ll get her on the line.”

My heart beat a frantic rhythm as I stood shakily and took the phone. “Thank you, Christophe. Thank you,” I whispered and then put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Alana! Our husbands know each other!” Celine gushed instantly. “What have you been doing?”

I opened my mouth and shut it before I giggled and leaned against the back of the couch. “We have been doing so much! We went to a wonderful Italian place for dinner last night where the chef made us a special dinner in honor of our wedding. Then today he took me on a helicopter and boat tour of the Grand Canyon. Oh, Celine, it was the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

“Wow, that sounds like fun. Did you get a rock?”

I grinned wide. My friend knew me well. “I did.” Which reminded me that I had to give one to Christophe.

“I’m so happy for you, Alana. Everything is working out exactly how I imagined. For the most part.” Her tone wavered as though there was more to say, but she wouldn’t do so in mixed company. “It sounds like you were well matched.”

“Oh, yes. Christophe…” I looked at my husband who quickly glanced away, pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping. “He’s been a perfect gentleman. We are…getting to know one another,” I finally said, not wanting to share private details over the phone. “What have you been doing?”

“Having sex mostly,” she chuckled, not at all one to keep things private. “Let’s just say he’s rather insatiable.”

“Oh my…I see.” My cheeks heated. “Are you faring well with that?”

“Of course. It’s not like I don’t have a lot of experience in that department,” she said dryly. “Gotta keep my new husband happy, right?”

I frowned, not sure how I felt about what she’d said. “I wish I could see you.” Translated in girl code: I want to make sure you’re okay.

“You can see your friend,” Christophe announced, inserting himself into my conversation. “You are not imprisoned here, cheri . When you are done with your call, let me chat with Darren and we’ll set something up. I’m sure you want to see your friend before we fly to Paris.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Definitely. Hurry though, our food is getting cold. If you take too long, I will start without you. Which also means I get to pick the movie.”

“Damn, sounds like someone hit the big time with her bidder,” Celine teased, having heard him through the phone. “He sounds so into you,” she continued to taunt.

My reddened cheeks became a full-body flush when I realized marrying Christophe was like catching a unicorn. Men like him simply didn’t exist.

“I will admit to feeling much of the same,” I whispered and turned to face the other direction.

“I’m glad, Alana. I was worried about you. Your gentle nature is so easily taken advantage of. I’m happy to hear your husband is a good man.”

“He is,” I said with a conviction I was starting to trust. “I do have to go. Can you put your husband back on the phone? Christophe says he will make a date for us to see one another. I miss you terribly.”

“I miss you too. Love you more than anybody,” she whispered.

“I feel the same,” I returned. “I’ll see you soon. Bye. Christophe?” I held the receiver aloft.

He came over and took the phone. “Hello, Darren. When will be best to get our wives together?” He listened for a bit and then pressed his lips together. “Alana? Do you need clothing and essentials? Darren says his wife has very little with her.”

I crossed my arms over one another and focused on my feet. “I had planned to ask about my account, but we’ve been busy. I was hoping to shop when I have my own funds from the auction, and you were working.”

“We’ll meet you for lunch and shopping,” Christophe said to Darren. “ Magnifique . See you tomorrow at noon. Au revoir .” He hung up the phone. “We’re meeting them for lunch at their hotel and then shopping. You won’t need your own funds as I will provide for your needs.”

“Um, but, that isn’t required of you. And you paid so much…”

He held up a hand in a sharp manner as though he were cutting the very air with a knife. “It would bring me joy to spoil you. Now…” He grinned, the heaviness in the air dissipating as he smiled. “Let’s eat!”

Together we removed the domes to find gigantic burgers and a metal cup loaded past the brim with wedge-shaped fries. All the fixings were already on the burgers. I salivated seeing the melted cheese, the juicy tomatoes, and dark-green leafy lettuce layered meticulously.

“Wow! It’s huge!” I exclaimed.

Christophe grabbed his plate and assessed its girth. “I love Americans and their extravagance with portions. You always finish a meal here full as can be.”

“This is true. There is quite a bit of excess,” I retorted while following him around the dining table and deeper into the living space.

He set his plate on the low glass table. “Get comfortable. I’m going to get drinks from the bar. Would you like, beer, soda, wine, or champagne?”

I shrugged. “Technically I’m not old enough to drink.”

He jolted to a stop. “ Non ?”

“The drinking age in America is apparently 21.”

“ This is stupid,” he murmured, heading to the bar in the corner. “They can fight wars at eighteen but not drink alcohol? Who made up this rule?” he called out as if I knew the answer.

“No clue.” I bit into a warm French fry. “Probably the government,” I surmised.

He made a blustering sound as he approached with two beers poured into pint glasses and set two more unopened bottles between us, which I figured were for refills.

I munched on fries while he got settled and turned on the TV. “Oh, do you want to watch romance or dinosaurs?”

“Dinosaurs?” I practically choked on a fry, not at all expecting that suggestion.

“This movie claims to be one of the bestselling of the year. It’s called Jurassic Park . There is also something called Sleepless in Seattle that has a high ranking.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m intrigued to see what kind of movie people can make using dinosaurs,” I confided, even though I felt a little silly admitting it.

“ Jurassic Park it is!” he said with glee and pressed play.