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“I know.” I smiled bitterly and ended the call. I went back to packing frantically. I didn’t care what Michael or Jenna thought. I had to get out of France as quickly as I could.
Michael and I were on the road to the airstrip thirty minutes after Giorgio’s visit. Fortunately, the pilot could get clearance for immediate takeoff. He had to lie about a medical emergency to get flight control to clear a path for the jet. The cab driver seemed to understand the urgency of the situation and tore through the streets of Paris like a crazy person.
Michael remained quiet during the ride, speaking only when necessary. I loved how efficient he was without asking questions. He sprang into action the moment I asked that we leave immediately, and I couldn’t imagine how he got us in the air on such short notice. I could tell Michael had questions. Thankfully, he swallowed it all, choosing to keep the peace.
The cab entered the strip and parked beside Michael's jet on the runway. Two hostesses helped us load our luggage and then secured the cabin doors. It was only after the plane was airborne and cruising that I allowed myself to relax.
“Thank you so much,” I said to Michael, squeezing his arm. “I know this is happening too fast for you to process. Thank you for handling it as well as you have.”
He turned to look at me, wearing a strained smile. “It’s fine. I just want you to be okay.” He slumped into his seat. “I guess we have to expect some drama from Enzo soon?”
“Most likely,” I said honestly. “God, I wish we had left earlier.”
“Come on,” Michael said. “This is not your fault.” He sighed and turned to me. “I wish we had told him earlier, though. Crazy as everything is right now, I wish we had told him and your father on our terms.” He squeezed my hand gently. “It makes no difference. Whatever happens, we’ll go through it together. Deal?”
“Deal.” It felt good to have him in my corner. Michael put me first every step of the way, regardless of how he felt about the situation.
The weather in Paris was questionable, and the flight was bumpy from the start. The turbulence was like a lullaby, and I slept fitfully the entire flight. Michael shook me awake gently, his gray eyes watching me with a worried expression.
“Hey, are you okay?” He asked.
“Yeah, just tired,” I said.
“We are descending now. Welcome home.” Michael’s smile was lazy, a thousand questions dancing around behind his caring face.
I fastened my seat belt and looked out the window. My anxiety was building up again as the land drew closer. All I wanted to do was run - to a quiet island somewhere in Asia, where I knew no one and no one knew me.
The ride to Michael’s Upper East Side apartment happened in a silence that had become characteristic over the last few hours. I kept my eyes on the busy streets, thinking about what was to come. I walked into the bedroom immediately, seeking the seclusion and the quiet the empty room offered.
A few hours later, Michael knocked on my door, peeking through the crack. “Hey, you up?” Michael asked softly.
“Yeah,” I said, stirring in bed. “I haven’t been able to sleep at all.”
He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. He sat on the bed gingerly and put an arm around me. “Would you like me to make some dinner for you? You have had nothing to eat in hours. I’m worried.”
I turned to face him. "Sure,” I said, with no life in my voice.
Michael remained silent, the heater humming silently in the background. I could not see his face in the darkness and wondered what was going through his mind. Surely, he had questions to ask, but the last thing I wanted to do was talk. I just wanted to stay in my room for the rest of the year.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like?” Michael asked. I could hear the concern in his voice, and I wished I could be better for him. I kept thinking about my brother and his men kicking him like a sack of animal feed. I knew the chances of that happening were slim, but nothing I did could dispel the image from my mind.
“No,” I replied, breaking the silence. I was only eating for the baby, anyway. “Anything is fine, Michael. Thanks for looking out for me. I’m just a bit tired. It’s been a very rough day.”
“Alright then,” Michael said. He returned shortly with some food. I gulped, not tasting anything, and when I was done, I buried myself in the covers. I fell asleep in minutes, my dreams filled with a faceless man getting kicked in the gut by a group of evil men.
After a few days, Michael began encouraging me to leave the room and move around the house. I had yet to leave the bedroom since our return from Paris. I knew my behavior was taking a toll on Michael, straining his nerves and patience. I could not help myself, however.
On the fourth day after our return, I finally left the bedroom wearing one of Michael’s collared shirts. I felt shrunken in the shirt as if I had just recovered from a terminal illness. The world outside the room felt strange, and my vision swam with every step I took. My legs felt like strings, and I teetered from side to side like an infant learning to walk for the first time.
I saw Michael sitting in his usual position on the couch, his computer on his lap. As I approached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and beamed a wide smile. He set down the laptop and stood with his arms wide open.
“Well, look who decided to join us,” he said excitedly, his voice booming in my head. “Welcome back.”
I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my face into his chest. “Thanks for giving me time. I really needed that more than anything.”
“Stop; you don’t have to thank me for that.” He lifted my chin with his index finger. “I just want you to know that I am here, and you don’t need to go through this alone.”
Michael kissed me tenderly, putting his arm around me. It was the first time he had touched me since we had returned, and I had missed it. I missed the passion with which he kissed me and touched me. Michael made me feel whole. Complete.
