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She leaned her head against Alexi’s shoulder and shut her eyes. She could no longer work up any real anger against him. In her pain, she’d finally found forgiveness. He was the only person in her life with nothing to gain by loving her.
That night she couldn’t sleep. She found an old bottle of Belinda’s sleeping pills, swallowed two capsules, and slumped down on the edge of her bed. The worst part was losing her self-respect. She’d let Belinda lead her around by the nose. She’d panted like a puppy dog as she followed her mother’s every wish. Love me, Mommy. Don’t leave me, Mommy. And then there was Jake. She’d built stupid fantasies around him and tried to make herself believe he loved her back. She concentrated on her pain, picking at it like a scab.
“Are you ill, chérie?”
Alexi stood knotting the sash of his robe in the doorway. She’d never seen him mussed. His thin steel-gray hair was as neat as if he’d just come from his barber. “No, not ill.”
“You look like a young boy with your awful mangled hair. Pauvre enfant. Get in bed, now.”
He tucked her in as if she were a child. “Je t’aime, Papa,” she said softly, squeezing his hand where it lay on top of the covers.
He brushed his lips over hers. They were dry and unexpectedly rough. “Turn over. I will rub your back and help you fall asleep.”
She did as she was told. It felt good. His hands slid under her shirt, and as he massaged her skin, her tension eased. The sleeping pill did its work, and she drifted into a dream of Jake. Jake making love to her. Jake kissing her neck and touching her through the silky fabric of her underpants.
After the first few days in Paris, Fleur’s life began to settle into a semblance of routine. She got up late, then listened to music or thumbed through a magazine. In the afternoon she napped until one of the maids awakened her in time to shower and dress before Alexi came home. Sometimes they walked the grounds together, but walking made her tired, and they didn’t go far. It was hard for her to sleep at night, so Alexi rubbed her back.
She knew she had to stop moping, and she tried to make plans, but she couldn’t go back to the States right away. Looking the way she did, it was doubtful anyone would recognize her, but if that happened, she’d have to face reporters, which was impossible.
August turned into September. Belinda kept calling, and Alexi kept putting her off. He told her Fleur must have changed her mind about Greece and said the detectives he’d hired thought she might be in the Bahamas. He lectured Belinda on her failure as a mother and made her cry.
Fleur started thinking of Greece. She’d always loved the islands. She could buy a house there, and a horse, too. The islands would heal her heartbreak. She told Alexi she wanted to tap into some of the money he’d been handling for her, but he said it was tied up in long-term investments. She told him to untie it. He said she should understand it wasn’t so simple and that she shouldn’t worry about money. He’d buy her anything she wanted. She told him she wanted a house on the Aegean and a horse. He said they’d talk about it when she felt better.
The conversation made her uneasy. It had been so simple to let Alexi take care of everything. The bills were always paid, and she and Belinda had as much money as they needed.
She tried to force herself to exercise. One day, she made it through the gates and out onto the Rue de la Bienfaisance. A runner with a bright orange headband whipped by. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to have so much energy, and she returned to the house.
That night, she woke up with her nightgown soaked with perspiration. She’d dreamed about Jake again. She was back at the gates of the Couvent de l’Annonciation watching him drive away. She went into her bathroom to get a sleeping pill, but the container was empty. She’d taken the last one two nights ago. She headed for Belinda’s room to see if she could find more. On her way, she saw a dim light at the end of the corridor. It came from the steps leading to the attic. Curious, she climbed to the top and entered the strangest room she’d ever seen.
The ceiling had been painted blue with fluffy white clouds racing across it. A bedraggled parachute, collapsed on one side, hung over the narrow iron bed. Alexi sat in a straight-backed wooden chair, his shoulders slumped, staring into an empty glass. Belinda had told her Michel used to stay in the attic. This had been his room.
“Alexi?”
“Leave me alone. Get out of here.”
She’d been so wrapped up in her own pain that she hadn’t thought about her father’s. She knelt beside his chair. She’d never known him to drink too much, but now he smelled of liquor. “You miss him, don’t you?” she asked softly.
“You know nothing about it.”
“I know about missing people. I know what it’s like to miss someone you love.”
He lifted his head, and his cold, empty eyes frightened her. “Your sentiment is touching, but unnecessary. Michel is a weakling, and I have cut him out of my life.”
Like me, she thought. Like you once cut me out. “Then what are you doing in his room?”
“I’ve had too much to drink, and I’m indulging myself. You of all people should understand that.”
She was hurt. “You think I indulge myself?”
“Of course you do. The way you put Belinda on a pedestal. The way you’ve made me over in your mind into the father you always wanted.”
She felt a chill. She stood and rubbed her arms. “I haven’t had to make you over. These last few years, you’ve been wonderful to me.”
“I’ve been exactly what I knew you wanted me to be.”
She suddenly yearned to be back to her room. “I’m…going to bed now.”
“Wait.” He set the empty glass on the table. “Pay no attention. I am having my own fantasy, so I shouldn’t mock yours. I’ve been daydreaming about what would have happened if Michel had been a son worthy of me instead of a perverted weakling who should never have been born.”
