“What do you mean ‘get tested’?” Philippe’s left eyebrow rose as if he wasn’t sure he had had heard correctly.
Rebekka swallowed hard and forced a nonchalance she didn’t feel. Staying calm was always the best way to deal with her father. “I’m going to give him one of my kidneys.”
Danielle paled and Philippe reddened. “You’re going to what?” her father boomed.
“Give him one of my kidneys.” She was beginning to feel hot under her bathrobe despite the wet tendrils of hair that had escaped her clip and were sending droplets of water onto her neck.
“That can be dangerous,” Philippe said.
“I know, but Marc doesn’t have much time to live without one. He needs a kidney now. And Louis-Géralde is on a mission.”
Philippe’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Is his religion more important than his brother’s life?”
Rebekka stifled an angry retort. One simply didn’t address her father that way. She never had and never would; the result might be too dangerous. Her mother had told her how harsh his own father had been with him as a child, and while Philippe had never allowed his anger to manifest itself physically on his family, Rebekka had caught too many glimpses of his inner raging inferno. By unspoken agreement, the family was always careful about angering him.
“Why should he come back when I’m willing?” she said, keeping her voice level, reasonable. “And when his two brothers-in-law are willing as well? Besides, Marc will likely need another kidney in his lifetime, so whether I give it to him now or later makes no difference. What does matter is that he needs a transplant. His medical history has proven that dialysis isn’t going to work for him. He will die if something isn’t done.”
“You could become ill yourself,” Danielle said, her pale hands gripping together in front of her stomach. “You have your future children to think of.”
“I love him,” Rebekka stated simply. She wasn’t worried about her mother’s fear—Danielle would come around—but her father could make her life miserable. She lifted her eyes to his, “Wouldn’t you do it if it was Mother? Marc needs what he needs now because he risked his life to save Mother’s. Isn’t it fitting that our family should repay the debt?”
She waited for his anger, the barely hidden fury held in check only by iron bands of will, to finally burst forth. But the fury died as Philippe looked at Danielle. When he spoke his voice was soft and controlled. “You do what you must, Rebekka.”
In that instant, he seemed a bitter, broken man, and Rebekka felt guilty. He had certainly experienced his share of setbacks recently: Raoul had eloped and would likely stay away until their father was calmer; Philippe would not be walking down the aisle to give Rebekka away, nor would he be attending her wedding in the temple at all; and now she was using his love for his wife to demand his support.
For a good cause. For Marc! She knew she was right, but felt a deep pity for her father. If only he had become a member. If only he could see beyond today. The Savior could have taken his fury and the helpless childhood pain he’d experienced and changed it into something worthy of a son of God.
It was the first time in her entire life that she had thought of her father as a child of God. But he was, just like every other person in the world. Maybe it wasn’t too late for him. Was there something she could do to help him find the truth? She hadn’t thought about doing that for a long time, but it was something she would have to think and pray about.
“Thank you for your support,” she said graciously. Holding her head high, she slipped past them to the hall and down to her room.
* * *
Days passed as they waited for the results from the tests. Since Marc’s release from the hospital Rebekka spent most of her time at the Perraults’ fifth floor apartment in the outskirts of Paris, leaving only to sleep and to run a few errands. Despite the seriousness of the situation, both she and Marc were enjoying their time together.
Because of Marc’s illness, Rebekka had decided against returning to her old job at the American Embassy in Paris. She wanted to spend every moment with Marc. Besides, Damon Wolfe and Jesse Hergarter, the owners of the software company she had worked for in Utah, were pursuing the idea of having her work for them from France. Her job as a translator would have entailed her returning to France periodically anyway, so it was possible that she could work on this side of the Atlantic, perhaps even choose her own working hours. With her family’s affluence, Marc’s company, and her own savings, money wasn’t a concern.
Of course, returning to work for Hospital’s Choice Inc. would mean she would have to occasionally speak with Samuel Bjornenburg, CEO of Corban International. Damon and Jesse had contracted with the Cincinnati-based company to manage their overseas programs and sales, but she felt this aspect of the job wouldn’t be a problem. Her former romantic involvement with Samuel was no longer an issue since Marc had asked her to marry him. She hoped Marc would see it that way as well.
Early Thursday morning Rebekka received her results, four days after Marc’s collapse. Glowing with triumph, she raced to tell him the good news. “Where’s Marc?” she asked when Ariana opened the door to the Perrault apartment, smiling when she saw her future daughter-in-law.
Ariana sighed and shook her head, but the smile didn’t leave her face. “He went to work. I tried but I couldn’t stop him.”
“To work?” Rebekka was amazed. He’d been so tired since leaving the hospital. “Well he must be feeling better. When I left last night, he could barely see me to the door.”
“He slept well.” Ariana frowned briefly. “But I’m sure he’ll be back soon. So, did you hear from the clinic?”
“Yes.” Rebekka felt tears well up in her eyes. “I’m a match! Not a perfect match, of course, not even as good as Louis-Géralde, but almost. Zack’s not compatible at all, and Mattieu’s blood’s compatible but none of the antigens match. But none of that matters because I’m a match!”
Ariana hugged her. “That’s wonderful!”
“I know.” Rebekka wiped a tear from her eyes. “I have to tell him.”
“Of course.”
Rebekka moved toward the door, but Ariana’s voice stopped her.
“I’m glad you’re back, Rebekka. And not just because of the kidney. Marc was so crazy when you left for Utah. I don’t know what he would have done if you’d been lost to him.” Ariana gave a little laugh. “Of course, I know sometimes it takes a while to get things right. But when you finally get married, it’ll be worth the wait.”
“Thank you,” Rebekka said to Ariana. “I’m glad too.”
After a rapid drive through the busy streets of Paris, Rebekka arrived at Perrault and Massoni’s narrow, five-story apartment building. She found Marc in his office, poring over a set of blueprints and talking enthusiastically with André. “This is great! Wow. You say Herbert did these? We have to give that guy a raise. That’s going to cut a huge chunk out of our bid while keeping our standards. We’re sure to win the bid and revolutionize the industry.”
“That good, huh?” she said with a straight face. She had tapped lightly at the partially open door, but neither man had heard her until she spoke.
Marc grinned. “Better than good.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I forgot how much fun it was to work here.”
Rebekka walked across to the room to the teak desk where Marc sat. As she bent for a kiss, he met her face halfway. “Don’t get up,” she said dryly. “I don’t want you to strain yourself or anything.”
She’d meant it as a joke, but André nodded seriously, his hands spread on either end of the blueprints that threatened to roll shut. “I keep telling him to go home.”
“I feel fine,” Marc protested.
Rebekka smiled and drew out a compact blood pressure kit she had purchased the day before. “Let’s see about that.” Marc held out his arm, his eyes straying to the blueprints on the desk.
“Hmm, slightly elevated, but not too bad.” Rebekka had learne
d a lot about blood pressure in the past few days, and she wasn’t about to let the knowledge go to waste.
She returned the blood pressure kit to her large handbag. “I’m thinking we’ll finish all the preparations this week, get your transplant next week, and then get married.”
Suddenly she had the attention of both men. Marc grabbed her hand. “You got the results.”
“I’m a match. Almost as good as Louis-Géralde. The others aren’t, but that hardly matters since you only need one kidney.”
“Congratulations!” André let go of the blueprints that promptly rolled together and slid from the desk to the floor. He pounded Marc’s back. “This is great news! Isn’t it, Marc?”
Marc’s grin had faded but returned with less force. “Yeah, it is.” He stood and took Rebekka’s elbow. “And I think I should take my lovely fiancée out for lunch to celebrate.”
Rebekka gazed at him sharply. More likely he’s taking me to talk me out of giving him a kidney. Why was he so opposed to letting her donate? She had researched the donor statistics, and the complication ratios were very small. His fears seemed irrational at best, and paranoid at worst. Somehow she would have to make him understand that she was going to do this whether he liked it or not.
“Take your time, would you?” André called after them. “I won’t be here anyway. I’m taking a long lunch to be with Claire.”
“How’s she feeling?” Rebekka asked, pausing at the door.
“Completely better, thank heaven. It was just a passing thing.”
The love in his voice was tangible, and Rebekka felt a rush of emotion as she recalled the years he had stood by Claire. She knew from her experience with Marc these past few days that watching a loved one suffer wasn’t easy. That was why she wanted to at least give Marc her kidney; if she could change places with him, she would.
“See you later,” she said to André. “Please give Claire my best.”
“Come and see her. She’s been asking about you.”
“I will.” Rebekka glanced at Marc, who held her hand. “Just as soon as I get this rogue of mine settled.”
Marc’s eyebrow rose. “Rogue? I’ll show you rogue.” He took a menacing step toward her.
With another wave at André, Rebekka escaped Marc’s grasp and sprinted from the room. He caught up to her and, seeing they were alone in the hall, kissed her soundly. This time, Rebekka didn’t try to break free.
* * *
The lunch crowd hadn’t yet begun, so Marc and Rebekka were almost immediately shown to an intimate table on a large shaded patio overlooking the Seine. They shared an appetizer of escargo scampi followed by a delicious meal of veal piccata, baked potatoes with cheese, steamed carrots, warm bread, and the house salad. Afterwards, they ordered two fruit-filled pastries with melted chocolate drizzled on top.
Marc thoroughly enjoyed Rebekka’s presence; he would be happy to sit and watch her for hours. With her auburn hair, high cheekbones, and unblemished skin, Rebekka was a beautiful woman who consistently turned heads. Her large gray eyes reminded him of dark clouds on a misty day, and her satin voice called up emotions in his heart that he had never felt before. It was almost too much to believe that the extraordinary woman she had become loved him enough to marry him.
He grimaced mentally. Not only did she love him, but she was willing to risk her life for him. Her determination to do so was steadfast and uncompromising.
Marc had assumed that his premonition about their time being short meant that he would leave Rebekka, yet in the days since she had decided to donate her kidney, the thought struck him that she might be leaving him instead. The idea was unfathomable.
With determination he set his fork next to his plate. “Rebekka, I can’t let you do this.”
“Let me eat this pastry?” She glanced down at her slender figure. “Are you trying to tell me something? If you are, forget it, because I know you’ll love me even if I weighed two hundred kilos. Right?” Her voice was teasing.
“Like you’d ever let me get away with a statement like that even if you did have a problem. You know my feelings for you has nothing to do with your weight.”
She seemed to sense his seriousness. “Okay, out with it, Marc. Why don’t you want me to give you my kidney?”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“No it’s not.” She took his hand. “Oh, I know your first donor had some difficulties, but that was nineteen years ago. Methods have improved tremendously since then. In fact, both you and I will be up walking within a few hours of surgery. I’m not saying we won’t be in a pain, but other than that we should be okay. Marc, I want to do this for you. I know it’s the right thing, and I think you would too, if you’d just pray about it.”
Prayer. He hadn’t done that, hadn’t wanted to because of the risk.
“Well?” Her voice became teasing once again. “You do believe in prayer, don’t you?”
Yes, he believed. Without prayer, Rebekka would have likely been in Cincinnati married to another man.
Instead of facing risky surgery.
Her eyes were on him, waiting, her full lips slightly puckered. As though reading his thoughts she leaned sideways toward him, and he instinctively met her halfway, kissing those intriguing lips.
He caught the interested stare of the college-age kids at the next table and broke off the contact, feeling a wave of heat sweeping up his face. Kissing in a such a public place—when had he lost all reserve? Love was a wonderful, crazy, and miraculous thing.
Rebekka laughed, low and sweet. She stuck her fork into her pastry. “If we get the surgery done next week, we can still have our wedding as planned.”
“Okay,” he said.
She smiled, licking a bit of red fruit from her bottom lip. “You’ll let me?”
“I’ll pray about it.”
Her smile didn’t fade. “Then by the end of next week you’ll be feeling better than you’ve felt in a long time.”
She was wrong; no feeling could ever equal the euphoria he felt on the day she had promised to marry him.
As they left the restaurant he put his arm around her tightly, possessively. She leaned into him, breathing a sigh of contentment. For a moment, all was right with their world.
Fears still tumbled about in his mind, but Marc forced them to stay hidden. He had promised himself to enjoy every minute he and Rebekka had together. He planned to do just that.
Chapter Seven
André left his office and walked to the exclusive restaurant where he’d arranged to have lunch, arriving only a minute later than he intended. He was greeted by the maître d’, a thin, distinguished-looking man in his early fifties. “Ah, Monsieur Perrault, it’s good to see you again today. I take it you received word from our waiter that Madame Allure is awaiting you at a private table in the back?”
“Yes, indeed,” André said with a smile. “Thank you.” He tried to slip the man a tip, but the maître d’ shook his head.
“The madame already took care of it.” He raised his hand to signal a waiter. “Please show Monsieur Perrault to the table where his lady awaits. And see they are afforded all the privacy and service they desire.”
The young waiter grinned, almost stifling a laugh, then sobered under the disapproving eye of the maître d’. “Of course,” the waiter said, inclining his head. “Please, follow me.” The maître d’ gave a curt bow to André, which he returned with a smile.
André followed the waiter farther into the crowded restaurant and through a set of wide French doors to a large back room where the tables were sectioned off by portable linen screens—not completely private, but giving the illusion of such. The lights were dimmer and there was less noise. André could hear a faint strain of classical music. He searched for his date, eagerly anticipating their time together.
He found her sitting at the most private table near the back, wearing a gold outfit trimmed with faux fur. Her raven hair was piled on her head and a shimmering gold cloth partially cove
red the shiny mane. Ruby lips curved in a mysterious smile and her beautiful eyes were hidden behind cat-eye sunglasses.
“I will return shortly with the food madame ordered.” The waiter’s face was expressionless and his voice courteous, but André couldn’t miss the envious gleam in his eyes.
Madame Allure held out her hand as he approached, and he took it, bending over to kiss the soft skin.
“So glad you could make it,” she said, her husky voice heavily accented.
“So glad you invited me. It’s been a long time, uh . . . Madame Allure.”
Her smile widened and she pulled down her glasses so that her turquoise eyes peered out at him—shining with pleasure. “Hey,” she said, dropping the accent briefly, “it’s was the only name that came to me at the time. I mean, eets de only name dat come to me at de time.”
André dropped to his chair, still holding his wife’s hand. “Ah, Claire. I love you. Did I tell you that yet today?”
She pulled the cat-eye glasses off and set them near her plate. “Yes, this morning before you left for work.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘before you leefed to work’?”
She laughed. “Something like that. How long do you have for lunch anyway?”
“As long as we need. Raoul’s still gone and Rebekka came and dragged Marc away.”
“Kicking and screaming?”
“Almost. But there is good news. She’s a good match for the transplant.”
“Wonderful!”
“Yeah, only Marc isn’t happy about it. He told me today that he wished Rebekka would drop the whole thing.”
“He’s worried about her.”
“Exactly.” He caressed her hand. “But let’s not talk about them.”
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