Reunited with the Rebel Billionaire

by Catherine Mann

  * * *

  With every step, Fiona drew in sharp breaths. The movement pounded in her chest, causing pain to spiderweb through her shoulder.

  Of all the ways she’d envisioned Henri finding out about the biopsy, this hadn’t been one of them. With slow, determined steps, she made it to the first-floor landing and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the hallway mirror.

  The mirror was expansive—and Victorian. Cherubs with lutes and lyres danced down the frame, twisting and turning in endless patterns. She’d found it at a flea market years ago and fallen in love with the distressed glass.

  As she examined her reflection, depression edged her vision. She was a mess. Tempest tossed. Those were her initial assessments.

  Her brown hair was swept up in a high ponytail but was completely disrupted from troubled sleep. All her tossing and turning had loosened it. Her pallid complexion and tired eyes did nothing to improve matters. Pulling on the corner of her clean oversize shirt, she felt like a shadow.

  Clutching her favorite Wedgwood bowl full of ice cream, she charged into the kitchen. When she rounded the corner, a wave of nausea overcame her. A by-product of the pain medicine. Taking a moment to regain her balance and calm her stomach, she eyed Henri nervously.

  He was leaning against the kitchen island with his back to her. He fumbled with the ice pack, but his head was cocked to the side, examining the news story on television.

  It was entertainment news, overhyped coverage of celebrity outings and gossip.

  Spinning into focus was a photograph of Henri with another woman. Her body was pressed against his.

  Old news. That had already popped up on Fiona’s radar. She knew such a photograph didn’t mean a damn thing. Fans were sometimes aggressive and pushy. Henri might be a lot of things, but a cheater? Not in his wheelhouse.

  Still, sadness swept over her as her toes curled against the cool tile floor.

  This photograph might not be real...but after their divorce was finalized? Well, then these types of photographs might actually be evidence of a new relationship for Henri. Her heart fell ten stories in her chest as she stared at him.

  Bad enough to end a marriage and know that your ex would probably move on and find someone new. That dynamic would be much more intense for her. Henri, rising star quarterback, would be front and center in the news. She’d be forced to watch him fall in love with someone else.

  The thought hit her like a ton of bricks.

  He must’ve felt her eyes on him. He whirled around, face flushed, pointing at the screen. “That’s not what—”

  “I know it isn’t.” She steadied herself on the coffee bar.

  “You do? You trust me even now?”

  “I trust that you wouldn’t sleep with another woman while you’re still married to me.” Knowing that made it all the tougher to walk away from this man. He was a good person. He deserved better from life than he’d gotten in their marriage. She knew she wasn’t easy to live with and her ability to deal with stress—well, here they were.

  “Thank you for trusting me.” Some of the stiff tension in his shoulders eased, although she didn’t think for a moment he’d forgiven her for holding back.

  “I believe in your honor, your sense of fair play.” That had never been a question.

  “I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you, always.”

  Her hands wrapped her body in a protective cocoon. Tears pushed at the edge of her vision. “But I’m not the woman you married.”

  He stepped toward her and wrapped his hands around her waist. Pulling her into him, he whispered into her hair, breath hot on her ear, “You’re every bit as beautiful. No matter what else happens between us, the attraction hasn’t stopped.”

  “Even with the surgeries?” The words squeaked out, finding vulnerable life in the small space between them.

  “I still see you.” He lowered his face to hers.

  Fiona wanted to believe him. Wanted things to just stop spinning out of control. But...but there was physical evidence that she could never be the same.

  “But there are scars. Even with the best plastic surgeon money could buy. And there’s always going to be the specter of another lump and biopsy.”

  “I married you for what’s inside. And I’d like to think that’s what you wanted me for, too.” He stroked her back with warm, strong hands. “Even if there had been no reconstruction at all, I would want you. You know that.”

  “I do. And it makes it all the tougher to resist you.”

  “Then don’t resist me.” Tipping up her chin, he gently pressed his lips to hers.

  For the briefest moment, she indulged herself in the kiss. Let herself melt into his lips and the beautiful familiarity of being in his arms, of letting the musky scent of him fill her senses. After the fear and stress of the past day, she took comfort from his strong arms and the hard wall of his chest. The steady beat of his heart was echoed by hers; they were in sync. They’d been that way once, so in tune with each other. God, she hadn’t imagined all of it, had she?

  She deepened the kiss, loving the taste of him and the hint of toothpaste. She gripped his T-shirt in tight fists as she nipped his bottom lip. Henri’s hands fell gently to her shoulders.

  “Careful, Fiona,” he whispered, brushing his lips along her mouth, then her cheek.

  It was a tender, lovely moment...and yet there was something off. In the way he held her, maybe? His touch was far too light.

  She angled back to study his brown eyes awash with molten emotions. “Henri? What’s going on? This feels suspiciously like you’re treating me as if I’m some fragile glass figurine. Like spun glass. Like when I got the operations six months ago.”

  His eyes went so dark the ache was downright tangible. “Damn straight I’m being careful with you. You’re bleeding, on pain meds, and I wasn’t there with you. How the hell else am I supposed to treat you?”

  His pain reached out to her until she could barely breathe from the weight of it. Images filled her mind of her father, frozen in his reading chair, newspaper upside down in his tight-fisted grip as tears streaked down his face. Her grandmother and aunt shushing her, guiding her from the room. Later helping her pack for boarding school. Then college. Then they were gone, too. The women’s husbands had all stood like hollow shells at their funerals.

  Oh, God, it was too much. She needed space. Air. More space. She couldn’t think clearly. She was about to shatter like the glass he seemed to think she was made of. And of course he would pick up the pieces no matter how those shards stabbed at him.

  Breaking contact, she laid a hand on his chest. “I think you should stay at your family’s place tonight.”

  Lips thinning into a stoic mask, he took a deep breath. His jaw grew taut. But his emotions stayed hidden. She’d seen him do that often in the past, protect her from anything unpleasant—or anything real.

  Stepping away from her, he folded his arms over his chest. “We’re not divorced. And I’m not leaving you here alone when you’re recovering.”

  She also knew that look well. An entire line from an opposing team wouldn’t stand a chance of sacking the immovable force he’d become.

  * * *

  Fiona filled her morning with forced movement. She needed to stay busy, to bounce back from the biopsy and from the impending fracturing of her heart.

  Henri had left for the gym early in the morning. She’d been awake when she heard him make his way down the stairs. Part of her wanted to crawl out of bed to talk to him. Fiona knew better, though. She had to guard her heart. He’d only briefly come to the doorway and told her he wasn’t comfortable with her being alone on pain meds, so he’d arranged cleaning help for the day and a car to drive her if she wished to go anywhere.

  The stony look on his face didn’t leave room for argume
nt. And he was right. She needed help and should be grateful. In her need to protect him from hurt she was still causing him pain, and she couldn’t seem to work her way out of the messy maze she’d made of her life.

  So she’d stayed in bed waiting until she heard his car drive away before she got up and dressed herself.

  Pulling her thoughts back to the present, she tried to focus on the sensation of sun on skin. She and the other Reynaud women were lounging by the oversize pool at the main family complex on Lake Pontchartrain. Giggles surged through the air—the family was at peace. Several team wives were there as well, getting to know Erika better, which was part of the reason Fiona had felt she needed to be here. Hell, she wanted to be here.

  But it was tougher than she expected, watching them joke with each other, all so happy and healthy.

  All of them except for her.

  Though fall was settling in, the heated pool provided sanctuary from the light, chilly breeze. Fiona watched the sunlight dance in the pool as Erika dipped a toe, testing the water.

  Fiona sighed, listening to the chatter of bugs and birds as she tried to appear normal. Such a difficult ruse, especially since she’d had no choice but to make use of the chauffeur if she’d wanted to join in the outing. And she had wanted to, so very much. Still sore from the biopsy, she’d forced herself here. Determined to embrace the world.

  A loose but elegant navy dress clung to her body, positioned just right to hide the scars.

  Adelaide tossed her head, easing herself onto the first step of the pool. A wicked grin warmed her eyes. “We should go lingerie shopping.”

  “What?” The suggestion snapped Fiona back into the moment. Lingerie shopping would be pretty damn difficult in her state.

  Swirling her foot in the water, Adelaide continued, “The new bride will need new lacies. We can call it an impromptu lingerie shower.” She whipped out a gold credit card. “Lunch is on me.”

  Erika’s rich peal of laughter resonated on the patio. “I am getting very big very fast. I will not be able to wear the underthings long.”

  Adelaide winked, emerging from the pool to sit next to Erika. “If you’re doing it right, he’ll tear them off your body and you’ll only be able to wear them once.”

  A faint blush colored Erika’s snow-pale skin.

  One of the linebackers’ wives spoke in a low rasp. Macie’s gray-streaked auburn hair framed her angular face, her crow’s-feet crinkling as she sipped on a bottle of water. “I wore bikini panties under my belly for the whole pregnancy.”

  “I wore thigh-high stockings and a cute little thong. Drove my man wild.”

  Adelaide nudged Erika with her shoulder. “I’ve got one! This isn’t pregnancy related, but Dempsey goes nuts when I wear these black strappy heels. Does it every time. I’m half inclined to think they are magic.”

  Erika’s moonlight-blond hair rippled as she laughed, and then put her hand to her stomach. “Fiona? So spill. What does that sexy man of yours like you to wear?”

  Adelaide turned to face Fiona, brows raised in anticipation.

  How to answer that? Sitting up, she choked on the words. Nothing came to her lips.

  The stress of the past few months had taken an additional toll on Fiona. She’d unintentionally lost weight. What she hadn’t realized was how much weight.

  As she shrugged, attempting to brush the question off, the shoulder of her dress slipped down her arm.

  Revealing the bandage from the biopsy. And the very edge of the scar just under her breast line from the mastectomy and reconstruction.

  The laughter from the other wives stopped. All attention and eyes rested on her.

  There was no use in pretending anymore. The charade had finally bested her. In vague horror, she watched their gazes trail from her torso to her face. Watched the transformation of pity in their eyes.

  “When? How did no one know?” Erika breathed, rising to her feet. With slow, waddling movements, she made her way to Fiona’s side. Sitting down with royal poise, Erika searched Fiona’s face while the other team wives stayed diplomatically silent.

  “We didn’t want anyone to know. We just...took one of our trips and had the surgery done.”

  Adelaide plopped on her other side, putting a hand on Fiona’s back. She ran her hand in small circles up and down her back. “But you have this whole big family here that would have wanted to be there for you. I know they would. The team family, too.”

  Flashes of her childhood drama and trauma scrolled through her mind. Somehow containing the pain and emotion had seemed easier this time. Had she been wrong? She didn’t know. She only knew she and Henri had made the best decision they could at the time. “I’m not certain how to explain it other than to say so much of our lives was in the spotlight, we just wanted to crawl off and be alone.”

  “Did that help?” Leave it to Erika to be direct. But Fiona preferred that to being treated like a glass mannequin. Looking back and forth from Adelaide to Erika, Fiona noticed that they didn’t seem to feel pity. Just concern.

  “I thought so at the time. But now I think it could have helped Henri to talk to his brothers. Even if their advice stunk, just to lean on them. Maybe I was being selfish.”

  Adelaide’s voice came out like a wind-tossed whisper. “How so?”

  “Wanting him all to myself. I had no one else.” She rubbed her temple. “I never really thought of it that way until now.” Her eyes stung with tears and regret.

  Giving her hands a quick squeeze and a gentle smile, Erika asked, “So you made the decision all on your own to keep it quiet?”

  A dark laugh escaped Fiona’s lips. “Sounds like you already know the answer to that one. Henri was emphatic about not wanting the press involved. He wanted things quietly handled.”

  “Even kept from family?” Adelaide asked in a quiet voice. “That was your decision to make. I’m just sorry we didn’t provide the support we all would have wanted to give you both.”

  Fiona had been so concerned with handling this discreetly, she had never stopped to consider what Henri might have needed. So focused on her own needs, on her own wounds, she had been blinded.

  In this small moment, as the afternoon sun streamed onto the pool patio, she began to understand that she had deeply hurt Henri. Which was the one thing she had been desperately trying to avoid doing.

  The world started spinning. She felt distant from her surroundings. Had she really made the wrong choices?

  Ten

  “I owe you an apology,” Fiona said softly as she stepped into Henri’s room in his childhood home at the Reynaud family compound. Not the home they shared on the lake. For whatever reason, Henri had chosen to stay at Gervais’s house. It had been tough to find him, but she’d tracked him down.

  Now she wondered if that was wise, but there was no leaving.

  She felt as if he’d put as much distance between them as he could by coming here, staying under his brother’s roof instead of at their second home just up the lane. Could it have something to do with the fact they’d once lived there together? Or maybe it was the nursery they’d decorated for the child they’d lost—a room they’d never changed back. Her throat grew tight, so she blocked that thought. Maybe here was best after all.

  Heart pounding, she stepped across the threshold, eyes still adjusting from the bright sun of the fall day.

  Blinking slowly, she scanned the room.

  The small suite, filled with trophies and photographs of her husband’s high school and college careers, felt like a shrine to Henri’s past. She hadn’t set foot in here for a long time, but she’d always been fond of the large, gold-framed photograph of the Reynaud brothers and Grandpa Leon. The brothers had all still been in high school at the time of the photograph, and Grandpa Leon had had plenty of energy then.

  The ph
otograph pulled at her already raw heart. Refusing to become sidetracked by Grandpa Leon’s state, she pressed on into the room, leaning on one of the oak poles of the four-poster bed. Henri’s eyes stayed fixed on the bed where his suitcase lay open. With a sigh, he yanked another shirt from the suitcase and slung it into an open dresser drawer. Without looking at her, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

  Apparently he wasn’t in the mood for an apology. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she felt awkward, as if she was forcing her way into this space.

  But she had to try. “A little sore but otherwise okay. I didn’t even have to take a pain pill today.”

  “Glad to hear that. I hope you’re resting enough,” he said in a quiet voice, almost a monotone. Noncommittal.

  “It was a biopsy. I’ll be fine.”

  “Just be careful.” For the first time since she’d walked into the room, he looked at her. His dark eyes were full of concern.

  “In case I need to be prepared for something worse?”

  He shrugged, leaning against the dresser. The subtle pressure caused one of his childhood baseball trophies to shift. “You’re the one who said that. Not me.”

  He picked up an old football off the dresser. It was signed by all of his college teammates. Tossing it lightly from one hand to another, he grimaced.

  Putting her fingertips to her lips, she took a moment to compose her thoughts, noting the hurt in Henri’s expression.

  “And that’s why I’m here to say I’m sorry for not telling you about the lump and the procedure. Even though we’re separated, we’re still married. We share an intense history.”

  “Thank you for acknowledging that.” As he folded his arms across his chest with the football still clutched in one hand, she noted the tension in his clenched jaw.

  “You’ve been kind. You’ve been understanding. You deserve better than the way I treated you.”

  “You’ve been through a lot. I understand that.” He set the ball down carefully on the dresser again.