A Breath of Jasmine (The Merriams Book 6)

by Ava Miles

  “Oh, Father,” she cried out.

  He lifted a weak hand. “I thought I was invincible after the war, but the damn virus got me.”

  His voice was whisper-soft, and she turned up the volume of her phone only to realize it was at the loudest setting. “Where are you, Father?”

  “A private hospital in Beirut.” He expelled a dry cough, and it sounded like he was choking. “Listen to me. I have few words left.”

  She nodded, fighting the tears pressing hard at the backs of her eyes.

  “The doctors say there’s nothing left to do but put me on a ventilator. My chances of recovery go down significantly. I’m going to spare myself that indignity.”

  She was chilled by his answer. “What if I send you something that might help?”

  He gave a harsh shake of his head. “It’s my time. Do you think I learned nothing in the war? I know when death is at the door.”

  The desire to argue with him surged within her. Why don’t you let them put you on a ventilator? Why not try? Live, dammit! We have so much to reconcile. But she knew it was futile. He’d made up his mind, and listening had never been his strong suit. She didn’t want their last words to be angry ones.

  “I’ve left you everything as planned, the company included. You are now CEO of Maroun Industries. I know you didn’t want it, but perhaps you will be happier taking the reins without me in your way.”

  She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Don’t talk like this.”

  “Don’t argue. Listen. Your mother is calling me, and I’m going to take her hand when I see her next. I want to go to her. Do you understand, daughter?”

  Thoughts of her mother calling him home brought tears to her eyes. “I understand.”

  She couldn’t think about the company right now. This was her last chance to speak to him. She lowered her hand from her mouth and pressed it again to her heart.

  “There’s so much I want to say to you,” she whispered.

  His violet eyes, so like her own, welled with tears. “And I, you, Francesca.” He broke into another coughing fit, and this one went on for so long a masked nurse appeared and extended a plastic cup with a straw to his mouth. He drank and sputtered and drank again.

  He pushed the cup aside and pinned her with his gaze. “I love you. I hope you will remember some of our good times, especially when your mother was alive. Losing her changed me, although I always had rough edges.” More coughing came from deep within his chest, and his body seemed to spasm with the fight for oxygen.

  “You suffered because of them,” he rasped after the fit subsided, “and I’m sorry for that.”

  “We both suffered, Papa.”

  He bowed his head, and the tears he’d been fighting so valiantly streamed down his gray face. “Now you say it. Thank you. I should go. You remember what I taught you and what you know. I don’t have to ask you to honor the Maroun family. You always have. I love you, daughter.”

  The energy on the line went still, almost peaceful, and she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Could it be her mother? Then she smelled a waft of sweet, spicy jasmine, and she knew for sure.

  “I love you too, Papa.”

  The assertive hand that cut toward the phone held the strength of the Georges Maroun she knew, and then the screen went blank.

  Her tears couldn’t be contained. She knew she would never see her father again, and it hurt. She lay on the bed, tucked her feet under her, and cried—for herself, for her father, for the man she loved and his family, and for the world. J.T. was right. There were hundreds of thousands of people going through this right now. Some were already living with the virus’ devastation and still more would experience it soon enough.

  It felt like the end of the world.

  Quinn found her like that, and he wrapped himself around her. “Hey…”

  “My papa called from the hospital. He’s dying from the virus.” She made herself say the rest. “There’s no hope.”

  “Oh, babe.” He rose to look at her face. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He left me the company, Quinn.”

  Shock rolled over his face, but he remained silent.

  Fresh tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

  His face darkened. “You’ll figure it out. Here, let me hold you.”

  “Any news on Connor?” she asked as his arms went around her again.

  “Louisa called back and said his fever reached one hundred and five degrees. We could hear him calling Corey’s name. It scared the shit out of me. She just called an ambulance.”

  “Oh, Quinn. It’s all so terrible.”

  He pressed his face into her neck, and she felt his tears.

  All they could do was hold each other. She said a prayer for her papa, and for Connor too. While it didn’t make her feel better, at least it was something. Afterward, they rejoined the Merriam vigil and waited for news.

  Two days later, Connor recovered. Miraculously, the doctors said. Clara praised the flower along with Michaela and Boyd for having led them to it. Assumpta broke down and left the room with Shawn, only to return some time later. Francesca was so happy for them, but her heart ached at the thought of her father dying alone in his hospital bed. It felt wrong not to be there, and yet there was nothing she could do. Even if she flew out to see him, she wouldn’t be allowed into his hospital room. The call came only a few hours later, confirming the news she’d expected—he was gone—and Quinn and his whole family comforted her.

  The announcement of her father’s death sent shock waves through the industry, just as she’d known it would. His perfectly timed press release, published the same day, named her as the new CEO, something that shocked her even though she’d known it was coming. Quinn read it aloud when they returned to their room.

  My daughter, Francesca Maroun, will assume the full duties of Maroun Industries as its CEO. Her market brilliance and leadership abilities are well known, and I could not be a prouder father. I only wish I could see where she will lead the company, but I know it will be to brilliant shores. I expect every friend of Maroun Industries to welcome her and extend her every courtesy they ever gave me.

  “That’s one hell of a statement,” Quinn said after he’d finished, his jaw clenched.

  She could only nod in agreement. Her father had done everything he could to pave the way. The emails and calls started to come in. Over and over again she was reminded of how dire the global financial picture was and how many people depended on her. Some of them even reached out to thank her for continuing to take care of them and the other employees, saying times in Lebanon and beyond were tough enough without the further complications of the virus. They trusted her. Her ascension to CEO was like an answer to their prayers.

  It wasn’t an answer to hers.

  Chapter 31

  Quinn was finding it hard not to resent a dead man.

  He didn’t know if it was a new low or simply a matter of honest feeling. Georges Maroun had fucked with them yet again. It had been his last act, and Quinn feared that he’d managed to separate him and Francesca for good.

  Unable to listen to Francesca handle Maroun business in their room, he’d detoured to the kitchen to ask Becca if he could use her office to work on the list of employees they’d be offering severance. He could add more names. His family had collectively decided last night to donate a portion of their personal wealth to help their employees. It made him feel better to know they’d be providing for people, but it didn’t feel like a silver lining just now.

  Except Becca was crying with Trevor’s arms around her. Alice and Aileen were wiping their eyes too, and Clifton sat in a chair by the butcher’s table, his face in his hands.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Trevor’s face was green. “Annie just learned her former mother-in-law—the girls’ grandmother, June—died of heart complications a day after having the sniffles. It was virus-related.”

  Shit.

  “Flynn and Annie took the girl
s to the rabbit shed to tell them. Uncle Arthur had to take Aunt Clara to their room because she was crying. God! She didn’t even know she had the virus. Now she’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” he found himself saying and excused himself.

  He passed his mom and dad on the way to Becca’s office. His mom’s lashes were wet, but she gave him a tight hug and he returned it. When his dad did the same, his throat clogged. That could have happened to Connor or anyone in their family. It still could.

  He strode to Becca’s office, prepared to focus on work. There was nothing he could do to help anyone. He hadn’t known June, but he hated that his family was hurting. Those girls…

  Jesus, he couldn’t handle it. He buried himself in the severance list, focusing on the lives he could help.

  When Francesca found him in Becca’s office a few hours later, he could see the final decision on her face. Dammit, it shouldn’t have come to this.

  “I have to go to Beirut,” she told him, approaching the desk. “I don’t see how I can’t. I’ve looked at it from every angle, Quinn. I can’t abandon the company and the people it employs. You know how it is. You’re working on helping yours this very minute.”

  He set his pencil aside and tried to stay calm. “I do know. But taking the leadership of Merriam Enterprises was my choice. Your father didn’t give you one.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. She didn’t like that either, although she hadn’t said so. It was clear she didn’t want to resent his final manipulation. “No, he didn’t. But that’s not our employees’ fault. They shouldn’t be punished. If I don’t take the reins as announced, it would be catastrophic. I’m not sure Maroun Industries could survive it.”

  “And what about us?” He stood up.

  She took a deep breath before saying, “I figure I can usher the company through the global waters for six months to a year and then turn the reins over to someone I’ve trained.”

  He walked over to the window and opened it, letting in the fresh sea air, his calm unraveling. “Traveling is unsafe—”

  “I’ll be extra careful,” she interrupted.

  His control snapped. “I don’t want to lose you, dammit!”

  She flinched. “You won’t. I have a strong immune system, and I have the flower.”

  His scoff burned his throat. “I’m not willing to test it. Francesca! Dammit, Annie’s former mother-in-law died of it last night.”

  “My God,” she said, her hand flying to her mouth. “They must be devastated.”

  He’d heard the girls crying when they’d come back from their walk with Flynn and Annie, and he’d had to shut the window, hoping to drown out the sound of their grief. But he couldn’t. It carried on in his head. “Yeah! She was supposed to visit Dare Valley this summer. Not now. Her life was snuffed out like that.” He snapped his fingers. “That could have been Connor too!”

  Her lips trembled before she clenched her mouth. “It took my father too.”

  “But you’re still thinking about going off to Beirut for six months. Hell, it could be a year with the way the virus is going. Maybe even longer. I understand you wanting to go to the funeral, but people are watching the service remotely because of the virus.”

  “I’m going, Quinn.”

  Yes, she was. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She shook her head. “No. As you said, travel is unsafe. I also have to stay for the business.”

  He could already feel the wall rising between them. “I understand attending the funeral, but Francie, you’re putting something else before us and our future. Dammit, we did that before and we lost fifteen years. I’m not doing it again.”

  Her face went to that cool, controlled mask he hadn’t seen in months. “What do you propose? That I not take over?”

  He stalked over to her and cupped her shoulders. “Do you want to do it? You told me you didn’t want to take over because you knew what it would be like. Because you barely knew your father growing up, and you don’t want that for your children. But you’re doing it anyway. During a fucking pandemic, no less, in a country that grows more unstable by the day. Since you don’t want me to go the funeral, I assume you don’t intend for me to come at all.”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “I considered it in a moment of weakness. But it’s not a good idea. I’ll be working all the time. What are you going to do? Hole up in a country you don’t know, whose languages you can’t speak, during a pandemic, and what… Wait for me to arrive home late each night? Hell, I wish I could hire you to help me, but we both know that wouldn’t be well received either.”

  She might as well have slapped his face. “Because I’m the CEO of a bankrupt company?” He curled his lip. “I know how it looks. Do you think I don’t? You could be my vice president, but I couldn’t be yours.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt your pride. Don’t take it that way. You’re an outsider. That’s why it isn’t a good idea. Times of transition require long-standing relationships based on trust. My people don’t know you. Quinn. Please don’t make this personal.”

  “Personal? Personal? Babe, this is about as personal as it gets. You’re already thinking of them as your people. They’re employees—your father’s.”

  “I can’t abandon them.”

  His jaw locked. “Your father finally got what he wanted.”

  She flinched, but that mask slid back into place. “I can’t focus on that. It is what it is.”

  He got in her face. “Bullshit!”

  “Have it your way!” She threw her hands in the air and her mask cracked. “Quinn, something always seems to pull us apart. Before it was the London bombs, and now it’s my father dying and the pandemic and all of the people who would be hurt if I failed to do my duty.”

  “Soulmates in times of crisis,” he said, swearing and stepping away from her and detouring to the window. “I hate that narrative. I want you to pick me this time. Stand up to your father. You’re a market wizard. Craft a press announcement noting for personal reasons you will be choosing another CEO and mentoring him or her. You can use the pandemic as an excuse. But if you go to Beirut and sit in that chair, I don’t know if you’ll be able to leave it. Don’t let your father entrench you in something you don’t want. Babe, I love you. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do it to us either.”

  She fisted her hands at her sides, gathering herself. “No one can do a better job than I can right now. We both know what the market is going through. You’re not being fair, Quinn. Maroun wouldn’t survive. Everyone expects me to take over. Wouldn’t you kill to have Merriam Enterprises survive?”

  He shook his head after thinking it over. “I’ve learned my lesson. I wouldn’t lose you over it. I’m past that. The world is falling apart. The people you love are the only things that matter. I finally get it.”

  She pressed her hand to her heart, tears in her eyes. “I’m glad you can see that. It shows how much you’ve grown. But other people matter too. You were just working on the severance list. Quinn, I have the opportunity to do something good—something positive in this long-suffering world. How could I stand down?”

  She was going to debate him until he bled out. “Then start something you want to run!” he raged. “Rehire the people Maroun employs. Only, don’t do it in an unstable country and on your father’s terms.”

  She shook her head. “Start something now? That’s a mad scheme if I ever heard it. We’re talking about a billion-dollar company here. Not some small venture.”

  He set business talk aside and played the only card he had left. “I love you, and I want to marry you.” He pointed at her. “You said yes. Dammit, my ring is on your finger.”

  “I don’t see another play,” she whispered.

  He watched as she took off his ring and extended it to him. Pain gripped his heart again, but he couldn’t reach for the ring.

  The hand holding the ring started to shake. “I guess we’ll have to call this now. Maybe the third time is the charm for
us? When the pandemic is over and everything is stable again…”

  God, he couldn’t stand to think about that. His eyes narrowed to slits. “You don’t believe that, and neither do I.”

  She set the ring on the desk. “I hate this too.”

  He couldn’t look at the symbol of the future they would never have. “Yet you’re still going.”

  She crossed to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t see another way.”

  When she left the room quietly, he sank onto the couch. He thought of the painting he’d given her of the family on the beach, the one he’d told her to fix her gaze upon whenever she needed help imagining what their future would look like. He should have brought it to Ireland.

  But in his heart of hearts he knew it wouldn’t have helped. She’d lost her vision of them, and there was nothing he could do to help her find it again.

  Chapter 32

  Nothing made sense to Clara.

  June’s sudden death had shocked everyone. Her new friend—the one who’d just taken steps to start living her best life like Clara had—was gone. The life she’d reclaimed was already over. Now Francesca was leaving for Beirut to support the people who relied on Maroun Industries for bread on their tables.

  “It’s so unfair, Arthur.” She eyed the martini Clifton had made for her, his heart in his eyes at the news of June’s death. “I want to change it all, and I can’t do anything except pat people on the backs and donate money.”

  “You do more than that.” He curled his fingers around hers. “We both do. But I know it doesn’t feel like enough right now. June’s loss… They say death comes like a thief. I want to rip his face off. Amelia and her sisters can’t stop sobbing. God! If I can’t make sense of it, how can they? The article I’ve been working on with Amelia more than stalled when Connor became ill. I’m not sure it would be wise to resume it after this. ”

  Clara nodded in agreement. “They lost their father, and now June. It’s too much. It’s simply too much. Doesn’t God or the Universe have some kind of overload understanding?” Then she stopped herself. Bad things happened every day to people who’d had enough of them.