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“No,” I said tentatively. “I’d like to, but Sebastian…” My voice faded away as I struggled to put my feelings into coherent order. In the meantime, she finished her pelvic exam and peeled off the rubber gloves.
“Give him time. He was quite distraught. I wanted to prescribe him something to help him sleep, but he refused to take anything.”
That old friend guilt reared its ugly head.
“Yes. He’s incredibly stubborn…the pills––he wouldn’t take them because he used to have an addiction to oxycodone. He was keeping a promise he’d made to me.”
“Everything looks good. You can get dressed.”
After the physical exam, she instructed me to meet her in her office. Sitting behind her desk, Dr. Rossetti watched me fidget with the hem of my skirt, speculation in her hazel gaze.
“Physically, you’re completely healed. You can try for another baby as soon as you want. ” My gaze snapped up to meet hers. The pain and panic must have been shining openly in my eyes because she didn’t pursue that topic any further. “I have an idea––do you have any plans until your interviews for residency?”
“No,” I answered, shaking my head. It felt like I was staring into an abyss of boredom. For the first time in my life I had no direction, nothing to work towards. I was rudderless and adrift.
Scribbling on a notepad, she said, “I have a dear friend who runs a free clinic. He’s often understaffed, and is in desperate need of volunteers.” Her lips curved up faintly and mischief lurked in the tip-tilted eyes that met mine. “I’m warning you. The reason he’s often understaffed is because he…runs them off. He’s brilliant––his instincts as a physician are bar none––but what he lacks severely are people skills. And I mean severely. I have a knack for these things, and I think you can handle it.”
An electric awareness ran through me. This was exactly what I needed, a plan, a job, a way to channel all these muddy feelings into something good and worthwhile.
A purpose.
Dr. Rossetti smiled at the excitement on my face. Walking me to the door, she handed me the paper with the information on it and said, “Don’t let the arrogant bastard intimidate you.”
I turned and smiled. “I have plenty of experience handling arrogant bastards.”
On the way home, Bear in the driver’s seat, the Mercedes sandwiched between a convoy of SUVs, I sat in the back of the car and Googled, Dr. Yannick Kama.
Dr. Kama, it seemed was something of a celebrity. And younger than I had expected––late thirties, I estimated. The only son of a Danish supermodel and a famous Senegalese professional soccer player. He attended Oxford and received his medical degree from the Sorbonne. Arrogance stared back at me from the picture accompanying his bio. Though with his pedigree and accomplishments, who could blame him.
As soon as I left the doctor’s office I checked my phone.
On my way home early. Tough day. I’ll see you soon. Love you, always.
Love you, always…
He ended every text with those three words. Words that turned me inside out every time I read them. Because he meant it with all his heart. He may not have been Lord Byron, but that’s not what I wanted. I wanted honesty and straightforwardness. I wanted white or black––not grey…not empty, disposable words and broken promises.
We pulled around the side of the manor twenty minutes later. François opened the car door for me looking like he had finally gathered the courage to say something. When his lips parted, I cut him off, “I’m sorry. I’m in a rush.” I ran past him like my hair was on fire. In a mad rush to find the man that owned my heart, I stormed into the kitchen and almost crashed right into Olivier.
“Marianne…Olivier,” I said in greeting, a huge smile stretching across my face. “Have you seen––”
“The gym.” Olivier spoke before I could finish.
My stride didn’t falter. Turning immediately in the direction of the stairs, I hurried up the steps, taking two at a time. From down the hall I could hear two voices coming from the gym. The raspy one spoke forcefully.
“Get your hands off me…I know what you’re doing.” That bored, languid voice was laced with contempt. “Yeah, I do––drop the pretense…we’re done. I won’t be needing your services anymore…you’re fired, Yvette. Do I need to say it in French?”
It was moments like these, when he didn’t know I was watching and listening, when he was most under duress, that my love for him felt like an unstoppable force of nature, gathering strength and growing larger and larger. His moral compass was never in question––it never wavered. I had learned the hard way that he could be counted on to do the right thing without thought, or hesitation.
I stepped into the gym to find Yvette gathering her things and putting them in her gym bag. She wore a cowed look on her face, and shorts so small and tight they were practically nonexistent, barely covering her butt cheeks. Her dark eyes darted from me to Sebastian.
