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The scent envelops me as he enters the room, triggering a fresh wave of grief. I swallow hard to keep myself from crying.
Martin mistakes my silence for reproach. He takes a few tentative steps. “Tatiana?”
I glance up at him, giving him a small smile.
“About yesterday…I was…I am truly sorry for what I said.” He looks around the room as though he’s grasping for words. “The way I acted was reproachful. I sincerely apologize, and I hope you will accept these.” He holds out the bouquet to me.
We are both quiet for a moment. We are testing the waters.
Then I point to the armoire. There is a vase with flowers that needs to be changed. “Thank you,” I say softly.
“Right.” Martin seems to hesitate, not sure if this means peace or just a ceasefire. He walks over and gently places the bouquet on the armoire, then takes a seat in the chair at the window.
He sees the breakfast tray, half empty, and nods. “Good, that’s good.”
Then, trying to get a read on my state of mind, he clears his throat before speaking.
“Tatiana, please understand that I am only trying to help you. Everything I said, everything I do, ever did, was with your best interest at heart.” He looks so sincere.
“What you said yesterday hurt me, Martin.” I close my eyes against the pain in my chest, but I push through, “but I understand that my actions have an impact on your career, too.”
He runs a hand through his hair. My admission seems to give him courage as he sits up straighter. “I’m afraid of you wasting away in here. Please, let me help you,” he pleads with his eyes.
I smile, like one would when indulging a child, and look at the breakfast tray. Martin follows my gaze and a flush creeps up his neck.
“I can see you’re doing better after each visit. Still, that man,” he points to the door with his chin, “isn’t good for you. He stands in your way to getting better. He’s a distraction to your career.” He has lowered his voice and is now leaning toward me as if he’s scared of being overheard.
At that moment, I see the truth: he’s blaming Philippe for everything. The realization startles me, and I don't know what to make of it. I feel the heat of anger rising in my cheeks.
"Philippe has nothing to do with this," I argue back.
"He has everything to do with this. Ever since that man has come into your life, trouble has followed. You got shot, for god's sake, Tatiana, your parents were murdered!"
I feel dizzy with the speed at which thoughts reel through my mind. I think my jaw has fallen slack as I stare at Martin in disbelief.
Anger and hurt war within me, but beneath the tumult of emotions, a spark of defiance ignites. I will not let Martin slander Philippe like this.
Steeling myself, I swallow down my nerves, and with every ounce of control I can muster, I say my piece. “Martin, controlling my career decisions is one thing, but by badmouthing a man who has been nothing but gracious and patient towards me, you have overstepped your boundaries.
I meet his gaze with quiet resolve. "I think it's time for you to leave."
His eyes widen. "Seriously? Fuck, Tatiana. Can’t you see what’s going on? You have to leave this place, leave him. Otherwise, you’ll never recover, and you’ll never sing again!” By now, he is standing, shouting his words so the whole house can hear.
Those words are the final straw that breaks the camel’s proverbial back, and I jump up like I’ve been stung.
At my sudden movement, Martin takes a step back. I march over to the armoire, grab the flowers, and push them at him, and with each word, I poke my finger into his chest, moving him to the door.
“Philippe Accardo is giving me everything I need to heal right here. And how long it takes me to grieve my parents, is up to me alone. You don’t get to decide that for me. And whether I sing again or not is my choice, not yours!”
Opening the door, I hold it for him. I don’t acknowledge Martin as he steps past me into the hallway. Before he gets a chance to turn and say something, I close the door with a firm thud.
Sinking to the floor, with my back against the wall, I let the tears flow freely.
Chapter 29
Philippe
The muffled sounds of shouting seep under Tatiana's door as I stride down the hallway. My steps quicken, worry knotting my stomach. I was dropping by to check on her, as I do every day. I completely forgot this is the time Martin usually drops by.
