Page 10

Léonie

“What have you done?”

Étienne turned toward me, his fingers tightening over the bars on the examination table until his knuckles were pure white against the deep tan of his skin.

I felt my husband’s anger and disbelief like a physical blow, like something had cratered inside me.

“No no no. . .it’s not possible,” I whispered, my throat feeling scratchy. “There must be some mistake. Please, you have to believe me.”

“Why would you do this?” Étienne demanded, the only sound in the room besides my ragged breathing the steady thrum of our baby’s heartbeat on the screen.

“There is no other man!” I cried. “Have you ever seen me even look at another man? They don’t exist to me!”

It seemed inconceivable that my husband could be unaware of my embarrassing obsession with him, the humiliation of knowing I loved him more than he loved me.

But I loved him anyway. I couldn’t help it. He had a whole world out there in the mountains, but I had no world other than him.

Everyone knew I’d follow Étienne Bastide off a cliff if he told me to. That all he had to do was raise an eyebrow or a long, strong finger and I’d do as he asked.

He bent closer, and I whimpered, that distinctive scent of cologne mixed with rough Appalachian herbs. My husband always smelled like the mountains, different with each season, because he knew his range so well, knew every herb and flower of his territory up to where it met Boudreaux territory to the South.

“That’s not what I’ve heard. I’m gone a lot. I would have thought you were smart enough to keep your legs closed.”

The harsh rebuke stung, and my cheeks flushed to hear him say such things to me with his family and Faustine right there.

“But you, Étienne, have you ever seen me look at another man?” I asked, my hands clenched in tight fists.

I never spoke to my husband like this. It wasn’t done in our families. It was not the way of things. But as I struggled to sit up on the table I felt desperate for him to understand.

He didn’t answer, his dark eyes boring into mine.

How could he not read the truth of what I was saying on my face?

“Whatever you’ve been told is a lie. I promise.”

But Étienne pointed at the doctor. “You think I’m a fool? The paternity test doesn’t lie.”

And the words seemed to slide back down my throat, because how could I argue against it? How could I convince him? Somewhere there had been a mistake. I didn’t know how or why. But it was the only explanation. Someone wanted to break us up.

Étienne stalked across the room and cocked his head as he looked up at the monitor, our baby still pumping his little fists and kicking his tiny little toes.

Placidie was shaking her head. Like she didn’t even want Étienne to get closer to his son.

“Whose bastard child is this?” he rasped, pointing at the screen. “It’s not goddamn mine. So whose is it?”

“Please,” I wept. “Please. When would I have had a chance to cheat on you? I spend all day at our home and you know who comes in and out of there.”

“Perhaps you did not want to marry me,” he countered. “Perhaps you had another lover and your parents forced you to marry me.”

“No, never!” I said, shocked. “There is no one else, Étienne. No one but you.”

He scoffed, and turned away from the monitor as my heart crumbled into ruin.

How could he look at the ultrasound and deny the evidence in front of his eyes? To me I could see nothing but a resemblance to him in our child’s vitality and strong, pulsing heart.

“Perhaps—the more detailed imaging?” a nurse ventured in a timid voice. “This is only the 2D imaging. There is—more detailed imaging we can do. It costs a little more, but surely. . .”

The doctor shot a glare at her. “I will take it from here, Nurse. Your opinion is unnecessary.”