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I need to see her and make sure she’s fine.
“Can you send me the address?”
“I’ll do better than that.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I’ll send a driver and my private jet.”
“Thanks so much, Lucien.”
“Any time. How about you spend the weekend with us, yes?”
“Okay.”
After I hang up, I release a breath and realise Papa has been standing there the whole time. From the tightening of his features, he seems to have heard the entire conversation.
“See? She’s been with her lover while you were worrying about her. Cynthia will always be Cynthia. She’s only using your guilt against you.”
“Papa, how can you say that?”
“Do you mean to tell me she doesn’t?”
“Well, sometimes, but she really does suffer in silence.”
“Clearly. In France. During a romantic getaway.” He briefly shakes his head. “You don’t have to go.”
“I want to. I need to make sure she’s fine.”
He kisses my temple. “Call me when you get there.”
After Papa returns to his office, I quickly pack a bag. Lucien’s driver pulls in at our house’s entrance half an hour later.
Just when I’m about to climb in, Cole’s Jeep comes to a slow halt in front of the mansion. My heart flutters and I have to remind myself to breathe as he walks up to me, wearing black jeans that hang low on his hips and a grey T-shirt that stretches over his shoulders.
I was planning to text him once I was in the car, but I guess this is better.
“Where are you going?” He watches the Mercedes and the driver with a critical eye.
“To see Mum in France.”
He raises a brow. “Now you’re running away to France? You think I can’t follow?”
“She went with Lucien and I want to make sure she’s fine.” And not mad at me.
He watches me for a few unnerving seconds. The way he observes with that blank look on his face makes me feel as if he’s dug inside me and figured everything out.
Like he can see the baby and will now confront me about it.
“I’ll go with you,” he finally says.
“You’re coming with me?”
“If you’re not running away, you wouldn’t mind, right?”
“But…”
He pushes past me to the car and slides into the back seat. “Are you getting in?”
I join him, closing the door. “Shouldn’t you tell Helen?”
“She’s writing and won’t come out until tomorrow. I’ll call her then.”
