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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.”
