Beautifully Broken (The Broken Series Book 2)

by Ruff, K. S.

  Michael shook his head and tsk’d me under his breath. “There won’t be any price tags on these dresses, and you aren’t allowed to ask how much they cost. Just have them order the dress one size too big. The seamstress can always take the dress in the week before the wedding if it’s still too big.”

  I sighed as I resigned myself to the task. “Have you already picked out a tux?”

  “I’m going to see the tailor tomorrow morning.” Michael tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Please, mon coeur, indulge me in this.”

  I captured his hand in mine. “I’m excited to see the dresses, Michael. Thank you for arranging the appointment. Will Rafael be joining you tomorrow?”

  Michael smiled. “Oui. Rafael has agreed to stand as my best man.”

  I leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. “Très bien. I knew he would.”

  Michael stood and pulled me to my feet. “I’ll be out this afternoon. I don’t want to see the dress you pick. I want to be surprised. Have fun, mon amour. This should be fun for you.”

  I wove my fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I will, mon chérie. I promise.”

  Michael kissed me softly on the forehead. “Je t'aime, Kristine.”

  “I love you too, Michael. More than you could possibly know.” I rolled up onto my tiptoes and kissed him long enough for him to growl his frustration at having to part. I laughed. “Serves you right. We should both be tortured while we are apart.”

  * * * * * *

  An hour later, I was buried under an avalanche of satin, silk, lace, and beads in a small array of muted colors. It wasn’t until I waved away all of the beaded and lace dresses that I discovered a simple ivory satin dress that I couldn’t bear to part with. The thick satin wrapped like a shawl straight across my chest and arms, so that it fell just off my shoulders. It fit snugly through the chest and waist. Then miles of satin cascaded gently from the waist into a long, wide train. A thin bow was cinched to one side of the waist. The lack of embellishments made the dress all the more beautiful, because the true elegance lie in its simplicity and in how the fabric was draped. The dress couldn’t have been more perfect.

  Michael returned shortly before dinner. He found me curled up on the couch watching the fire crackle and dance in our room. He pulled his tie loose and kicked his shoes off. “Bonsoir, mon amour. Did you find a dress?”

  I smiled softly as my eyes met his. “I found the perfect dress.”

  Michael lifted me from the couch so he could cradle my head in his lap. “Très bien. I’m glad that’s settled. Now we have the flowers, the dress, the priest, your rings, the Palais Garnier, and a string quartet. The cook has insisted on baking the cake and has agreed to oversee the reception here at the house. I just finished scheduling a civil ceremony, which will be held the day before the wedding.”

  I rolled over on my back so I could look at Michael. His face was glowing softly in the firelight. I traced the shadow along his jaw. “You’ve been busy, mon chérie.”

  Michael nodded as his hand strayed to my stomach. He’d grown completely enamored with my tummy and was constantly caressing it. “I’d like to take you shopping on Friday, so you can pick out my ring. Have you thought about where you might like to honeymoon?”

  My eyebrows knit together. “You know, Michael, every day with you feels like a honeymoon. Why don’t we go back to Saint-Tropez? I really enjoyed our time there.”

  “We could also visit the Greek Islands,” Michael mused absently.

  I smiled at the cook and her granddaughter as they set the dinner tray and drinks on the coffee table. “Whatever you prefer, Michael. Honestly, I am happy as long as I’m with you.”

  “And me with you,” Michael whispered huskily as he watched his staff slip silently from the room. Slowly, his hands drifted from my stomach to my breasts, which had swollen considerably over the past few days. “Would you like an appetizer before dinner?” Michael asked as his hand burrowed under my shirt.

  I sat up and teasingly straddled his lap. “Mon amour, I thought you would never ask.”

  Michael pulled the crushed silk shirt over my head. He lowered each strap of my bra before capturing my mouth in a ravenous kiss. His lips made their way down my neck and shoulders. His tongue worked its way under the lace edge of my demi-bra, lapping and teasing my swollen breasts until each nipple formed a hard peak. My head fell back as a soft moan escaped my lips.

  Heat pooled deep and low as Michael consumed first one, then the other nipple in his mouth. Dinner was forgotten entirely as he lifted me from the couch and lowered me onto the bed. He peeled my remaining clothes off before getting undressed.

  He approached from the end of the bed. He licked and kissed each toe, the arch of my foot, and up both legs. I begged him to take me then, but he continued teasing me with his tongue. He settled between my legs and lapped at me until I was trembling with need.

  He kissed my hands, my arms, stomach, chest, and neck before reclaiming my mouth. “Le mienne,” he murmured against my lips. “Tu m’appartiens… you belong to me.” Michael pushed just inside of me, then stopped. “Say it, mon coeur.”

  My words were caught between a whisper and a moan. “I’m yours, Michael. I belong to you. I want only you. I need only you... seulement toi.” When he didn’t move, I pleaded, “Please, Michael, I need to feel you inside of me.”

  Michael eased inside of me at a painstakingly slow pace. As he lowered his body to mine, he pressed forcefully against my womb. “Is this what you need?”

  My back arched as I savored the feel of him so deeply buried inside. “Oui, mon chérie. This is where you belong.”

  Michael anchored his arms under my back. He pulled back and drove into me. Then he stilled, locking us both in place.

  I studied his face. “Michael, it’s okay. The baby’s perfectly safe.” I raked my fingernails down his back, trying to encourage him to move. “Again,” I pleaded hoarsely.

  Michael thrust inside of me as he held my shoulders in place. He buried his body inside of mine in long, forceful strokes. “Tu es à moi, Kristine. Tu m’appartiens… seulement moi.”

  “Oui,” I cried. I arched against him as he consumed my mouth… my neck… my breasts. “Seulement toi, Michael. Je n'aime que toi.”

  I surrendered completely as Michael claimed every tangible and intangible piece of me. His golden skin shimmered through my tears as we shattered in shards of silver and gold. Michael collapsed on top of me, and we both stilled, trying to catch our breath.

  After a few minutes, he began rocking gently inside of me. The rhythm was deep and slow. Michael’s eyes locked on mine. We made love, tenderly this time, and each of us watched as the other fell apart.

  * * * * * *

  I was standing, staring at the fountain in the garden, with nothing to do. Like some untapped well, I had woken for the first time in months with an abundance of energy, but there was nothing I could do with it. Since everything else was already being done for me, for the nursery, and the wedding; I thought I would rake leaves. I tried to find the gardener, but Theron was nowhere to be found. So I tried convincing Jean to find me a rake. He looked at me like I was on crack.

  Raking leaves made sense in my mind, because it was the only thing I could see that really needed to be done. Jean insisted it was the gardener’s job to rake the leaves. Michael and Rafael were off trying on tuxes, and it was still too early to call the states. So I had no one to talk to and nothing to do… nothing but stare at the fountain.

  The sound of scuffing shoes pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, thinking it might be the gardener. My eyes widened when I saw them.

  A man with long, greasy hair stood holding Jean’s neck in the crook of his arm. He was wearing a crumpled gray suit.

  “Jean!” I gasped. My heart pounded in deafening blows.

  Jean’s eyes were bulging. He was clawing at the man’s arm, and his feet were trying to get a stronghold on the tile. “Run,” he rasped,
only to have the man tighten his hold.

  I wanted to run. My heart was racing so fast, it nearly demanded it, but I could see Jean was on the edge of death. I lunged for the man. I tried prying his arms away, then beat angrily at his arms and face. “Stop!” I screamed. “You’re killing him!”

  The man shoved Jean forward. Hard. His body crashed into mine. Jean’s head made a sickening sound as it hit the side of the fountain. I fell back over the edge and into the sculpture, which toppled and shattered all around me. Broken chunks of marble sprayed across my face, slashing my hands and knees as I scrambled to get out of the water.

  Jean’s attacker wrenched me back. He flipped me over and locked his hands around my neck. His face was twisted in rage.

  “Get off!” I screamed. I clawed at his hands.

  He forced my head under the water. I kicked and bucked beneath him, but still he held me down. Just as I opened my mouth to breathe, he ripped me out of the water.

  His eyes were black and unseeing. His fingers dug painfully into my neck. “He cost me everything,” he spit out. “Everything!” he screamed.

  I shook at the madness beneath the scream.

  “My career…” he shrieked through gritted teeth. He forced my head back under the water.

  This time I had air in my lungs, and I tried desperately to hold onto my breath. His thumbs pressed painfully into my neck, forcing the air out as he shook me by the neck. Suddenly, he pulled me back up.

  I gulped greedily for air.

  “My firm…” he spit, forcing my head back down. His face became distorted under the water.

  I clawed for air as he lifted my head again.

  “My wife…” he rasped, and suddenly I was immersed again. I clawed at his hands, trying desperately to break his grasp. He held me under much longer than before. The water stung my eyes as I comprehended his final intentions. A broken sob robbed me of all remaining breath.

  Instinct forced me to breathe, only it was water and not air that burned through my lungs. Fear shredded me. Another breath. Excruciating pain. My body seized, then refused to move. Shades of gray swirled into black as he released my neck. I floated in the darkness.

  In the darkness there was pain. Someone beat at my back and chest. Blow after blow after blow, until water rushed through my lips. My back arched as air cut through my lungs. Pain ripped through me as my body demanded more air. Rafael and Michael’s faces swam before me, then merged into one. Then, there was nothing.

  * * * * * *

  My eyebrows furrowed. Something wasn’t right. I slowly opened my eyes. Why was I in the hospital? Had I been vomiting again? My back was killing me, and I couldn’t move my legs. I looked down at my legs. Michael’s arms and head were sprawled across my lap.

  A chair scraped, drawing my attention to the side of the bed. Rafael was standing by my side. Concern etched his handsome face. His brown eyes softened as he reached for my hand. “Kristine,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Kristine?” Michael asked as he lifted his head. He looked foggy from sleep.

  “Michael,” I rasped. Tears clogged my throat, but I didn’t know why.

  Michael helped Rafael prop me up against the pillows. He gently caressed my cheek. Rafael poured some ice water from a small stainless steel pitcher and handed me the Styrofoam cup. My throat was raw, and the water burned, bringing more tears to my eyes.

  I studied Michael. His eyes were filled with pain. His hair was wildly tangled, and he had a thin scruffy looking beard. I longed to tease him, to tell him how much he looked like a pirate in that moment, but there was a pain thrumming in my chest that made it impossible to speak lightly. I tried to clear my head, to focus on the cause of the pain in my chest and in Michael and Rafael’s eyes. Finally, I had to ask, “What happened?”

  Michael opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He sank back into his chair and pressed his face to my hand. Warm tears dampened my hand. I looked at Rafael. “Please tell me what happened,” I pleaded with growing alarm.

  Rafael shook his head as if trying to dislodge the images that swam before his eyes. He stared at his brother, who sat broken in the chair. He didn’t look at me when he finally spoke; he was still staring at Michael. “We came home after we were measured for the tuxes. We were looking for you. Jean didn’t respond to the text, and we couldn’t find you in the house. We came out to the garden and saw Emerico Alentisca in the fountain. We couldn’t see what he was doing. Then Michael spotted Jean, and we knew… we knew it was you.”

  My eyes widened with understanding. I looked at Michael. His head remained bowed, his wet face still pressed to my hand. I reached for Rafael with my other hand. “Jean. I remember… that man… he was trying to kill him. Please, Rafael, please tell me Jean survived.”

  Rafael nodded. “Jean is here, in the hospital. He has a head injury, but he is stable. He said you saved his life.”

  I sank into the pillows, shaken but relieved. “Thank God,” I whispered as I closed my eyes. An image of the man’s face twisted in hate flashed before me. I opened my eyes hoping the image would disappear, but it didn’t. “He said he lost his firm and his wife. Was it…”

  “Yes,” Michael groaned.

  “He was one of the missing partners,” Rafael confirmed.

  My head fell back again. “Where is he now?” I whispered. I was nearly too scared to ask.

  “He’s dead,” Rafael bit out bitterly.

  Michael lifted his head from my hand. “Rafael broke his neck when he pulled him off of you.”

  I cupped his wet cheek in my hand. “Then it’s over. He can’t hurt us anymore,” I whispered as our eyes met.

  Michael choked down a sob. “Mon coeur, I’m afraid there is more.”

  “More? More people?” I asked, thinking of the terrorists and the other missing partner.

  Michael kissed the inside of my hand. “We lost the baby,” he rasped. “Our baby is dead.”

  My breath caught.

  Michael bowed his head. His shoulders were hunched; his back wracked with deep gut-wrenching sobs.

  “No,” I whispered, refusing to believe it.

  I reached for my stomach and froze when I felt the pad between my legs. “No,” I moaned as it all sank in. Tears streamed down my face. My fingernails raked over my arms as a deep keening sound escaped my chest.

  Rafael sat next to me on the bed. He pulled my tear drenched face to his chest as Michael lie sobbing at my knees.

  * * * * * *

  We returned home the next day. A dark cloud had settled over the house in our absence. Downcast heads and sullen faces replaced the smiles and excitement I had grown accustomed to seeing among the staff. My legs were still pretty shaky, so Michael and Rafael helped me climb the stairs to the bedroom, where I insisted on taking a long hot bath. I was anxious to scrub the hospital smell from my skin.

  I assessed my injuries as I undressed for the bath. I had a nasty bruise along my back and side from where I had fallen against the sculpture. A few scrapes marred my hands and legs. There were small nicks across my face and dark thumb shaped bruises on my neck. I suspected these bruises were the reason Michael could barely stand to look at me.

  I climbed inside the tub and ran the lavender scented soap over my arms and legs. My back and neck were sore, but that was nothing compared to the dull, steady ache that had settled in my chest. I was only eleven weeks pregnant when we lost the baby. I barely had time to grasp the reality of the situation, but our plans and dreams for this child consumed Michael and me in a way that nothing else could.

  I sank into the warm water, squeezed shampoo into my hand, and methodically worked it through my hair. The day I miscarried, Michael asked the doctors to run a blood test. That’s how he discovered our child had been a girl. She was tiny at eleven weeks, but she had arms, legs, fingers and toes. Michael wanted her to have a name, and we agreed on Genevieve Siobhan Garcia. Losing her hurt more than any pain I had ever known. Nine years of abuse at the hands of
my ex-husband paled in comparison to the pain I felt at losing Genevieve.

  I sighed sadly. Michael seemed to be taking the loss of our baby even worse than me. I suspected he was blaming himself for my injuries and for Genevieve’s death. As much as I wanted to dispel that belief, I was too afraid to broach the subject with him. I sank into the water so I could rinse the shampoo out of my hair. I kept my face above the water, no longer comfortable with being fully submerged.

  I stepped out of the tub and quickly dried off. I cinched the bathrobe around my waist before walking back into the bedroom. Michael was standing by the windows overlooking the gardens. He was wearing the same crumpled clothes he’d been wearing at the hospital. I didn’t want to see the fountain or the broken sculpture, but I needed to feel Michael in my arms. I stepped behind him and wrapped my arms around his chest so I could rest my head on his back.

  Michael stiffened in my arms.

  “I can feel your pain, Michael,” I whispered across his back.

  “Oui, mon coeur. I’m sure you can.”

  I hugged him a little tighter. I needed to feel him relax in my arms. He didn’t.

  “It should never have happened,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “No,” I agreed. “I wish it never had.”

  “It’s all my fault,” he mused.

  I tugged at his shoulder, forcing him to face me. “This wasn’t your fault, Michael.”

  His eyes met mine briefly before he looked away. “If I hadn’t reported them… if I hadn’t tried to walk away,” he argued, cloaking himself in blame.

  I reached for his hands. “Then we’d still be in danger, maybe even more.”

  His haunted eyes met mine. “I would have never met you. At least then you’d be safe.”

  I shook my head. “I wasn’t safe before I met you, Michael. I was in even more danger then.”

  “I should have left you with the soldier,” he persisted.

  I sucked in my breath. “Don’t say that, Michael. I wasn’t any safer with him than I am with you. I love you, Michael. I still want to be with you.”