Beautifully Broken (The Broken Series Book 2) (30 page)

The
vomiting wouldn’t stop. I begged and pleaded with Michael to let me ride it out
at home. That bought me one additional day before he hauled me off to the hospital
for IV fluids. The doctors administered a new anti-nausea medication by IV and kept
me overnight for observation.

Rafael
met us at the hospital on his way back from the airport. So, Michael, Rafael,
and Jean all ended up staying in the hospital with me, sprawled out in chairs that
had been crammed into the tiny room. I wondered what the nurses thought about
so many men being crammed into one pregnant woman’s room, although it was
rather comical the level of attention I received from the nursing staff. I
suspected they were fawning over me to impress the men, more so than me. Eventually,
Jean and Rafael began competing over who could collect the most phone numbers
from the nursing staff.

The
physicians were pleased with my response to the medication, so they sent me
home with that same prescription, only in pill form, the very next day. Two men
and a rather petite woman were standing on the front stairs of the house when
we arrived.

Rafael
and Jean stalked toward the guests. I was still pretty weak, so Michael and I
trailed behind as he helped me climb the stairs. I watched nervously as Rafael
and Jean began arguing with the three strangers in French.

“
Puis-je
vous
aider
?”
Michael interrupted. He was clearly annoyed by the unexpected guests.

The
woman’s eyes widened just as we reached the top step. “Madame Stone? Are you
okay?”

Michael
switched to English. “She was just released from the hospital. She needs to lie
down, so if you don’t mind…”

The
butler opened the door and looked from one person to the next. He glanced at
Michael uncertainly.

The
woman reached for my arm, but Rafael stepped between us. “Don’t touch her,” he warned
in a low, menacing tone.

I
leaned against Michael and sighed. “I really need to sit down.”

The
woman reached inside her jacket and withdrew three business cards from a small
leather case. She handed the cards to Rafael, then turned her attention back to
me. “Madame Stone, I’m Vonnie Powell. This is Steven Rice and Adam Knox.” Both
men nodded briefly as the woman continued. “We are with the American Citizen
Services Unit, from the U.S. Embassy in Paris. We have been concerned about your
well being, especially since you didn’t show for your appointment two days ago.
I can see you aren’t feeling well. Do you mind if we come in and talk for a few
minutes?” She glanced nervously at Michael. “We won’t keep her long.”

Michael’s
lips thinned as he clamped his mouth shut. He was obviously biting back the
retort he’d been planning. It was admirable restraint, especially from Michael.
He nodded to the butler, who then fully opened the door so everyone could file
inside. Michael led me to a small couch in a formal sitting room adjacent to his
office.

The
woman hesitated just inside the doorway. “I do apologize, Monsieur Garcia, but
I need to speak with Madame Stone alone. Mr. Rice will stay to witness the
conversation. Mr. Knox will speak separately with you.”

Michael
folded his arms across his chest. “Rafael is her bodyguard. He stays.”

Ms.
Powell’s voice grew firm as she stood her ground. “There can be no one else
present. There can be no one in the room who might influence her willingness to
speak freely or coerce her in any way… either intentionally or unintentionally.
If this is not acceptable to you, we will be forced to take her to the embassy
to ensure an environment where she can speak freely.”

“Fine,”
Michael gritted out. “You have fifteen minutes. If she is upset or harmed in
any way…”

“I
assure you she will not be harmed. We will keep this short. It is clear Madame
Stone is not feeling well. We just need to confirm a few things. Then we’ll be
on our way,” Mr. Rice promised.

Michael
nodded. Jean and Mr. Knox followed him out of the sitting room and into the
adjoining office. Rafael glared at Mr. Rice on his way out the door. “You are
not to touch her, do you understand?”

Mr.
Rice didn’t bother responding. He simply stood and stared at Rafael.

Annoyed
and exhausted by the sudden influx of testosterone, I finally forced myself to
speak up. “Rafael, no one is going to hurt me. I’ll be fine.”

Rafael’s
eyes met mine. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.” He strode out
of the room.

Mr.
Rice closed the door behind him. He remained standing in front of the closed
door.

Ms.
Powell sat in the chair next to me.

“I’m
sorry. They’re a bit overprotective,” I explained.

Ms.
Powell’s face softened as she quietly assessed me. “Why were you in the
hospital, Ms. Stone?”

“I’m
pregnant. I couldn’t stop vomiting,” I admitted tiredly.

Ms.
Powell exchanged looks with Mr. Rice. “I assume Mr. Garcia is the father?”

I
looked down at my hands, uncomfortable with being interrogated. “Yes.”

“And
sex with him was consensual?” she inquired.

I
forced myself to meet her gaze. “Yes, it was consensual. I’m in love with
Michael, and we are planning to be married.”

She
glanced briefly at my hand. “When he first brought you to Paris, was it with
your consent?”

I
carefully considered the question. “Although Michael lied and manipulated me in
the beginning, I did come willingly.” I knew I was walking a fine line between
honesty and dishonesty, but I felt justified in my response. I had willingly gone
with Michael so that Kadyn and the other Pentagon employees wouldn’t be harmed.

Ms.
Powell leaned forward. She studied me intently. “How did he manipulate you?”

I
sighed heavily. As much as I wanted to protect Michael, I couldn’t bring myself
to lie, not even by omission. “He led me to believe he was connected to
terrorists and that he planted the car bombs at the Pentagon last June. He
threatened to kill my boyfriend who works at the Pentagon and thousands of
other people if I didn’t willingly leave with him.”

Surprise
flickered over the woman’s face. She quickly regained her composure. “He forced
you to come by threatening to kill other people?”

I
sank back onto the couch. My head hurt just thinking about it, so I closed my
eyes and wished it would all just go away. “Yes,” I whispered. “He promised not
to hurt them if I left willingly. He asked only that I give him six months to
prove his love for me. We dated briefly once before, and I broke things off
when he proposed on the fourth date. He wanted time to prove he loved me and to
prove he could make me happy. He has recently confessed that he is not involved
with terrorists and had nothing to do with the car bombs. He heard the story on
the news and saw an opportunity to manipulate me.”

“A
home grown group of anti-government extremists planted the bombs,” she
confirmed softly. “Has he manipulated or hurt you in any other way?”

My
eyes flew open. “No. Never.”

Ms.
Powell’s eyes locked on mine. “You are no longer being coerced to stay? You are
free to leave at any time?”

I
leaned forward and nodded. “Yes. He said he would let me go. I want to stay. I
want to marry Michael and raise our child here, in France.”

Ms.
Powell grew quiet as she continued studying me. It was some time before she
spoke. “Ms. Stone, have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”

I
slowly shook my head. “No.” The term sounded vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t
sure why.

“Stockholm
Syndrome is a form of traumatic bonding. It is not uncommon in kidnapping cases
for women and children to bond with their captors. It’s a psychological
response, a form of self-preservation really. Hostages will protect themselves
from harm by bonding with the person they fear.”

My
heart beat erratically. I forced myself to breathe. I couldn’t believe that was
what this woman thought of my relationship with Michael. I wasn’t a hostage. I
had never really been a hostage…
had I?
I clenched my hands as they
began shaking. Then I sat on them. I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince
when I responded, but my voice grew firm. “That’s not what this is. I don’t
fear Michael. He hasn’t hurt me. He would never hurt me.”

Ms.
Powell gave me a sympathetic look. “Not
physically
,” she prompted, “but
emotionally?”

I
continued shaking my head. “No,” I said more firmly. “He hasn’t hurt me physically
or emotionally.” I knew what abuse was. I’d endured it for nine long years.
This relationship with Michael was nothing like that.

“You’ve
been kidnapped before,” she noted.

My
breath caught. This woman had clearly done her homework. “Yes,” I admitted
hesitantly.

“And
that man hurt you?” she persisted.

Tears
pooled in my eyes. “Yes.”

“And
you don’t think there was an emotional impact when Mr. Garcia threatened to
kill your boyfriend and thousands of innocent people, then forced you to endure
yet another kidnapping?” she inquired softly.

My
heart stalled. I thought about my reaction to Rafael in the safe room. Still, I
couldn’t bring myself to admit she was right. “I’m here willingly,” I insisted.
I swiped angrily at my tears. “I want to stay.”

Ms.
Powell leaned back in the chair and brushed at some nonexistent piece of lint on
her dark blue skirt. “Why don’t you take some time to see your family in the
states? They’re worried about you. They need to know you’re okay. Give yourself
a few weeks, then come back if you still want to marry Mr. Garcia.”

My
eyes flitted toward the clock. I didn’t think I could take much more of this
woman pressuring me to leave Michael. “I’ll be calling my family within the
next few days. I just sent letters to let them know I’m safe. I plan to invite
them to the wedding, but I don’t want to go back to the states. Not just yet.
Besides, I am in no condition to travel right now. I’m too sick.”

Ms.
Powell’s gaze shifted to Mr. Rice, who was still leaning against the door. She
sighed heavily. “Steve, what do you think?”

He
pushed off from the door as he joined us. He knelt down just a few feet in
front of the couch and studied me. “I don’t know. She doesn’t fear him. He
hasn’t harmed her or threatened her beyond that initial threat. She obviously
has feelings for him, although who’s to say if that is the result of traumatic
bonding? She understands she was manipulated, at least initially. And she clearly
wants to stay. I agree that she isn’t in any shape to travel. Why don’t we plan
to check back with her in three weeks?” He addressed me then. “Would you be
willing to come in and see us in three weeks?”

I
nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Mr.
Rice stood. He shrugged his shoulders as he glanced at Ms. Powell.

She
slowly rose from the chair. “Ms. Stone, I must admit that I feel very
conflicted about this. You can stay, for now. But, I want you to report to the
embassy in three weeks.” She handed me her business card. “If anything comes up
that you would like to discuss before then, please don’t hesitate to call. We
are here to help.”

“Thank
you,” I whispered softly. “I appreciate your concern and your time. I’m sorry
for causing so much trouble.”

Her
head tilted with interest. “You aren’t the one who caused the trouble, Ms.
Stone. I do hope you realize that.”

“Yes,”
I responded meekly. I didn’t want to get into another debate. “If you don’t
mind, I would really like to go upstairs and get some rest now.”

She
nodded, then joined Mr. Rice at the door. “You remember what I said. Call if
you need anything. I expect to see you in three weeks.”

I
nodded, too tired to speak.

Michael
entered the room as soon as the door was open. “Are you okay,
mon amour
?
Do you need anything before I take you up to bed?”

I
stood shakily. “
Seulement toi
, Michael. You are the only thing I need.”

Michael
helped me up the stairs while the butler showed the embassy staff to the front
door. As soon as he reached the room, Michael stripped me down to my panties
and bra, shed his own clothes, then tucked us both under the sheets. He held me
firmly against his chest, whispering softly as my eyes closed. “
Je t'aime, Kristine. Tu es
mon
cœur… mon amour… ma vie.
”

*
* * * * *

The
new anti-nausea medicine quickly turned things around. I was able to tolerate
small meals, water, and tea the very next day. Sadly, I still had an aversion to
coffee. Bacon, chocolate, and Nutella quickly joined the list of foods I
couldn’t tolerate.

I
called my parents, Cenia, Kimme, and Lexie a few days after being discharged
from the hospital. Every single one of them begged me to reconsider the
engagement and come home. Each person eventually asked, “What about Kadyn?” It was
the one question I found impossible to answer.