His To Shatter (22 page)

I tried to answer that I was totally fine,
perfectly OK. Instead, a mangled wail escaped my throat.

“Maddie,” said Dara’s voice, “We’re coming
in.”

“No—” I said, but there they were. They
ripped back the shower curtain and turned off the water, pulling me
into a fluffy white towel and, of course, their waiting arms. I
collapsed into them as a fresh wave of sobs broke over me. We sank
as one to the bathroom floor, and stayed there until the sun rose.
Not for one moment did they leave my side. Instead, with Dara’s
fingers running through my hair and Ashlee’s cooing reassurances in
my ear, they sat with me until the worst had passed.

* * * * *

Chapter Nineteen

* * * * *

Finally, my weeping began to subside, and I
felt myself reemerging on the other side of my pain. I looked up at
my friends’ patient faces. I could tell that they were swallowing
ire and outrage, keeping their rage at Girard at bay as best they
could. Dara smiled as I met her eyes.

“I believe that this calls for all kinds of
breakfast,” she said.

“I second that motion,” Ashlee agreed.

I sighed and nodded my head. It was as good a
plan as any. With a great deal of help, I was able to get myself
dry and together enough to venture out into the city. It was hardly
7am when Dara and Ashlee led me out into the New York City morning.
The late summer smell of the air nearly sent me back into tears. I
hadn’t realized how homesick I’d been for this city. I longed to
stretch my legs, to tear off running through the river park and
forget about everything that had happened to me. But for now, I
needed to spill to Dara and Ashlee. And there was no better way to
do that than over a stack of pancakes.

We made our way up to the East Village and
walked into our favorite Ukrainian diner. It was practically
deserted this early in the morning, and we chose a table by the
window. The waitress promptly brought us three steaming mugs of
coffee, and I decided not to waste any time. I produced my phone,
quickly dismissed the texts and calls that had accrued in the
meantime, and pulled up Girard’s email. I placed the phone before
Ashlee and Dara and watched as their jaws dropped in unison.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Dara
said.

“That piece of shit. That lying cocksucker
frog,” Ashlee spat. I couldn’t help but smile a little at their
explosive indignation. Two more loyal friends there never were.

“How did this get to you?” Dara asked.

“He sent it to the wrong address,” I laughed
wryly. “Typical, huh?”

“That seems like a pretty major mistake to
have gone unnoticed,” Ashlee said. “You’d think he’d have more
experience lying, being a businessman and all.”

“Did you tell him what you saw?” Dara
asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “He told me it wasn’t him who
sent it.”

The waitress reappeared with three plates,
heaped with breakfast food. My stomach rumbled mightily, and I
realized that it had been days since I’d eaten. I tucked into my
spread with vigor.

“Did he say who sent it?” Ashlee asked as I
put away my short stack.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I stopped responding
to his messages.”

“Huh...” Dara said, picking at her waffle
pensively.

“What?” I demanded, spreading a dollop of
butter across my pancakes.

“It’s just...odd, is all,” Dara went on. “For
some strange reason, I want to give him the benefit of the
doubt.”

“You what?” I said, shocked out of my
appetite.

“I know, it’s not like me,” Dara said, “It
just doesn’t make any sense. If he was looking for a visa wife,
don’t you think he would have found one by now? No offense, but the
man isn’t exactly lacking in options. Why would he use you like
that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “Maybe it had just
occurred to him.”

“Dara has a point,” Ashlee said, “A guy like
Girard wouldn’t need you to get citizenship. Something’s fishy
about this whole thing.”

“Why would he say something like that if it
wasn’t true?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” Ashlee said, “But I think
that maybe you should let him explain himself.”

“I have no interest in hearing his excuses
and lies anymore,” I said. The sentiment was far more resolute than
I actually felt. In truth, a little ember of hope was beginning to
kindle in my heart. Dara and Ashlee were not the types to let guys
off the hook. And if they thought that Girard was telling the
truth, was it possible that he really was? It was too appealing of
an out to take right then and there, and I insisted that we talk
about other things. I apologized for acting so haughtily after they
hadn’t taken the news of my engagement very well. They graciously
accepted, and we enjoyed the rest of our breakfast on a relatively
lighthearted note. But as they went on talking about the trip home
and what to do with the last days of summer, my thoughts were only
of Girard.

We paid the bill and made our way back to the
apartment. The sun was just beginning to warm the streets of
Manhattan, and the city was coming to life before our eyes. In the
bustle of human activity, it was easy to lose myself in reeling
thoughts. What if Girard was really innocent of the betrayal I’d
accused him of? But then who could have possibly sent that email,
and what motive did they have? And if he really hadn’t said that
horrible thing, belittled me that way, then could he ever forgive
me for thinking so poorly of him?

I wondered what I would do in his shoes, if
he had accused me of such base behavior out of hand. I’d probably
be just as furious with him for that, as I was now. Whatever the
outcome, my future with Girard had suddenly turned grim. I felt
myself preparing to mourn what we’d had yet again. Whether he was
lying or telling the truth, our relationship would be forever
marred by this disaster. How could we ever trust one another again
after this episode? And without that trust that had so united us,
allowed me to give myself up to him, what did we have?

“Holy shit,” Dara breathed, as we rounded the
corner onto Clinton Street.

“What?” I said, still gazing at the
sidewalk.

“Madison...
look
.”

I lifted my gaze, following Dara’s pointing
finger to our front stoop. The bustling chaos of the city seemed to
freeze around me as I took in the sight before me. Girard was
standing outside of my building, leaning against the railing with a
rolling suitcase at his side. He was wearing slacks and a
short-sleeved polo shirt, and for the first time since I’d met him,
he didn’t look entirely put together. There were deep creases in
his clothing, and actual stubble on that amazing jaw of his. But
the most strikingly unfamiliar thing about him was the expression
on his face. He looked unsure, concerned. Girard, who had always
seemed to have the entire world cupped in his palm, looked
lost.

That is, until he spotted me starting at him
from the sidewalk. I watched his eyes flood with recognition and
longing, repentance, desperation, and need. As I stood rooted
before the man I’d fallen so irrevocably in love with, he flew down
the steps to meet me. Dara and Ashlee stepped aside, and I felt
Girard’s arms close around me. The feel of his body against mine
was too bittersweet, too achingly perfect to stand. Despite my
rage, my disillusionment, my confusion, I let the press of his firm
chest, his strong arms, swallow me up. For a long moment, I
luxuriated in the ecstasy of being close to him.

“Madison,” he breathed. I was surprised to
hear his voice catch in his throat. “Madison, I’m so sorry. I’m
so—”

“What are you doing here?” I said, pushing
away from him with great effort.

“I had to come find you,” he said, as if it
were the most logical thing in the world.

Ashlee and Dara padded past us into the
apartment. “You two take a minute,” Dara said, “We’ll be inside if
you need us.”

“Try anything funny and you’re done for,
Mister,” Ashlee said. They scurried up the steps and slammed the
front door behind them.

“Madison, I’m so sorry for all of this,”
Girard said, taking my hands and pulling me down to sit beside him
on the stoop. “Will you let me explain myself?”

“What is there to explain?” I asked hollowly,
“That email said it all, didn’t it?”

“Listen to me,” Girard said, his accent thick
in his agitation, “I did not write that email, Madison.”

“It was sent from your account,” I reminded
him.

“That it was,” he said, “But I didn’t send
it.”

“OK,” I drawled, “Then who sent it? The elves
that come to clean your office every night?”

“Not an elf,” Girard said, “Some kind of
witch, perhaps.”

“What?” I asked, “What are you—?”

“Think about it, Madison,” Girard said,
staring at me intently, “Who has access to my home, my office, and
therefore all my email accounts and contacts?”

Realization washed over me like a cold bath.
“Monica,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“Monica,” Girard confirmed, squeezing my
hands, “She’s the one who sent that message to you, knowing that it
would make you furious with me and cut me out of your life.”

“But why...why would she do that?” I asked.
Almost immediately, I regretted my question. Surely Girard would
take this opportunity to tell me that he and Monica had been lovers
for years, that she was the only woman he could have in his life.
Had he come here to set the record straight and break things off on
his terms?

“Madison,” Girard said, “Monica and I have
a...complicated history.”

Oh Jesus
, I thought.

“We’ve known each other for a very long time.
Since we were children, actually,” he went on, “Her older brother
Geoff was my closest friend, when I was a boy. We were inseparable.
We even enlisted together in the Foreign Legion—” his voice cracked
as he went on, “I lost him in Bosnia. Stray bullet. Friendly fire.
When I returned to France, Monica was just getting out of school.
She was lost without Geoff, and so furious with the world for
taking him away. I took her under my wing, the way a big brother
would...but I’m afraid that she’s come to misunderstand our
relationship, some. I’ve known for a long time that she thinks of
me more romantically than I’m comfortable with...but you have to
believe me, Madison, that it is not reciprocated. She’s used to
seeing me with other women, but she’s never seen me in love with
someone. She lost her head when she found out I had proposed to
you, and in her anger she sent you that message to try and break us
apart.”

I struggled to comprehend everything he was
telling me. “Did she...admit it?”

“Yes,” Girard said, “I suspected it
immediately after you sent me the email. She can’t lie to me, after
all these years. She acted monstrously, but she did it out of
love.”

“So...you won’t let her go?” I asked
quietly.

“No,” Girard said, dropping his eyes from
mine, “No, I can’t do that. Out of respect for Geoff’s memory, and
the friendship that we shared. But rest assured knowing that I have
never in my life had a romantic or sexual thought towards Monica.
I’ve always considered her the little sister I’ve never had. She’s
like family to me, Madison. You can’t erase family.”

“I know,” I said. I was keenly aware of how
fraught the ties of family could be. I knew what it was like to be
let down by the people who were supposed to love and support you
the most. But amidst my bitterness toward Monica, and my utter
confusion, a shining ray of happiness began to spread within me. It
had all been fake. Girard wasn’t after anything from our marriage
but a life spent with me. New, hot tears sprung to my eyes and
began to course down my flushed cheeks.

“Madison,” Girard said softly, pulling my
body against his, “All I want is to be with you, to be your husband
and your friend. Please don’t let this silly act of spite derail
us. You’re far too important to me.”

“Girard,” I said, wiping away the tears lest
they spill onto his already-rumpled clothing, “I can’t begin to
tell you...The past few days have been...”

“Horrible,” Girard finished, “Unimaginably
horrible.”

“Yes,” I said, looking up into his gorgeous
face. His features were twisted with concern, but even so he was
the most stunning man on the face of the earth. At least, in my
eyes.

“Listen, I have a room at The Trump waiting,”
Girard said, “Come uptown with me so we can talk properly. I don’t
want there to be anything left between us.”

“The Trump?” I said, “You don’t rough it, do
you?”

“Why would I?” he smiled, “I figured if there
was an off chance you might join me, I should make sure the
accommodations were good enough for you. Will you come with
me?”

“Of course,” I said, my body thrilling at the
second implication of his question. “Let’s go.”

Girard helped me to my feet, ever the
gentleman. As I grabbed his hand, treasuring the weight of his
grasp, a voice called out from across the street.

“Hey!” I looked and saw Kyle standing
opposite us, his face stormy.

“Kyle?” I said, “Hey! This is—”

“The scumbag, I presume,” Kyle growled,
crossing the street and, to my alarm, stepping up to Girard
confrontational. “You have some nerve, coming here.”

“I’d advise you to back up, young man,”
Girard said, perfectly calm.

My mind flashed to the extensive hand-to-hand
combat training Girard had gone through. I lay a hand on Kyle’s
shoulder and said, “There was a misunderstanding, Kyle. I got upset
over a miscommunication. A false communication. This is Girard, my
fiancé. Girard, this is my friend Kyle. I’m so glad you two are
getting a chance to—”

“Madison,” Kyle said angrily, “You’ve
practically been comatose since you got home. This is the asshole
who did that to you. Where are you headed off to with him? Can’t
you see that he’s bad news?”