Behind The Mask

by Marianne Petit

  His brows shot up. “Who said I was married?”

  “I gathered from your response about childr--”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” André leaned away, putting a noticeable distance between them. “She died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why do people feel the need to say that?” He scowled. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “No, but--”

  “Right,” he snapped. “If anyone should be sorry it’s me.”

  What did that mean? “André, I’m sor--”

  “Sorry for what?” His face took on that nondescript look she was becoming very familiar with, one that swallowed up all emotions he tried to hide.

  “Sorry I asked.” Yvette snatched up her cup and gulped down the warm liquid. What in God’s name is wrong with him?

  “Me too.” Life seemed to drain from his eyes as though the conversation was too much to bear. Grim determination tightened his jaw and she knew the conversation was over. Pushing him to explain his angry outburst would only add more stress to an already tense situation. Besides, she’d seen too much arguing between her parents. Quarreling led to nowhere.

  Lost in their thoughts the silence stretched between them. Neither one wanting to look at the other, their gazes bounced around the room.

  André cleared his throat. “How’s the little girl?” He gestured toward Tanya.

  “Well, considering Tanya and all the children--” Yvette’s hand swept the room, “have been ripped from the arms of those who love them, I guess they are holding up well enough.” She didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but the anger she felt for the children’s sake, the anger reminding her that he shut her out when she thought they were making progress, spilled out.

  “War isn’t fair.”

  She barely caught his whispered words and said, “It’s not their war.”

  He expelled a long breath. “I know.”

  “What will…” her gaze settled on little Tanya and her heart wrenched, “become of them?”

  “I wish I could tell you.”

  “Tanya needs more time. I fear if we leav--”

  “We’ll stay if need be. Let me know how she is in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow is Christmas eve.”

  André nodded. “Yes, I guess it is.”

  “We don’t have a Christmas tree, no gifts for the children.” She breathed a pained sigh. “I know they’re not all Christians, but it’s all I know and I… I just want to bring them a little joy.”

  “Well,” he stood, “we will have to remedy that.” He put on a heavy brown coat, then plopped a worn blue hat on his head. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him before she could protest.

  Yvette’s mind spun. What if he’s the one? What if the war ended tomorrow? Would he still be a part of my life? Did she really want that? She began to pace. What if he insists she stay in France? Why? Why would he even ask her? Between snoring children, a soft whimper that paused her steps and walking past the crackle of burning logs, Yvette wore grooves in the floor. What happened to his wife? Why won’t he talk about her?

  When one of the older children sat up and she caught him looking at her, she forced a smile and walked into the kitchen.

  Tension pounded her temples. Her bottom lip felt raw from over biting. She sank into a chair and stared outside past the crumbled wall that sadly depicted her disintegrating future.

  An hour passed, but it felt like an eternity. The thought, André might be in danger, brought her to her feet and she stood by the window looking outside. What if he doesn’t return? She threw a desperate glance around the room. I can’t do this alone.

  The door opened. A blast of cold air pulled her from her reverie. Her gaze darted to the doorway. André dragged a small pine tree into the room. Relieved, he had returned, she wanted to run up to him, throw her arms around him and welcome him back. But she vowed no more hugging initiated by her, no matter what, so she took her time and ambled over to him.

  “Oh, how wonderful.”

  He propped the tree against the wall. “Wait.” He turned and went back out, only to return a minute later holding two dead rabbits in his hand. “We may not have presents for them, but we have dinner.” He smiled.

  “Thank you.” She placed her hand on her heart. “You are quite a man, Monsieur Rinaldo.”

  “Ah.” He waved dismissively. “The children are still sleeping? Bon.”

  A wonderful man, her heart whispered. She pushed the thought to the corner of her mind. “I think I saw some turnips in a drawer and I found a jar of preserved tomatoes and fruit.”

  A child stirred and she kept her voice low. “Tomorrow we’ll have a feast.”

  André put the rabbits on the kitchen table and returned to her side a few minutes later. “Here. Merry Christmas. I didn’t know we’d be spending the holiday like this, but--”

  “But…” she sighed. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “Your presence here with me is all the gift I need.”

  Me? His gift? What did that mean? She studied his face, searching for some hint of emotion. Did his feelings run deeper than mere attraction? Hidden behind his stoic façade, she saw a dewy-eyed flicker and hope burst in her heart.

  Yvette unwrapped the cloth-bound package to find artist paints in a variety of colors and a small sketchbook.

  “I couldn’t find any brushes,” he said, his tone apologetic.

  “It’s… it’s perfect. Thank you. How did you manage… where did you--”

  “A picnic basket, like a canary cage, is a perfect place to hide something.” He grinned.

  “Oh dear.” She controlled the impulse to laugh. “I am so glad you were on that train. I shudder to think what might have happened to me.”

  He toyed with a few loose tendrils of hair against her neck. Her pulse leapt. “I’m sorry I was so abrupt with you before.”

  “Don’t concern yourself,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “I just didn’t want to talk about Amelia.”

  “You do not need to explain.” Well, at least she got a name. That was a good start. “It was not my place to ask.”

  “No. I understand your curiosity. I just…” he sighed. “Not now, ok? You’re all I can think about right now.” He leaned in and her breath held. “I want to kiss you Mademoiselle Matikunas. I want to kiss you so badly.” His expression taut with desire, the realization that she’d seen that look in his eyes before, warmed her cheeks. His breath against her ear sent delightful shivers throughout her body.

  “Give me permission to kiss you or I will go mad.” He kissed her neck and she felt her legs go weak. Wanting him was bad on so many levels… so many.

  ***

  Overwhelming desire surged through André as his arms enveloped Yvette’s waist.

  For over an hour, he had struggled with the demons of his past. How could he tell Yvette he blamed himself for Amelia’s death? How could he tell her he’d been too busy hanging out with his buddies to be with his wife. Any respect she had for him would be gone. Hell, for the longest time he couldn’t stand himself, couldn’t stand the face staring back at him in the mirror. He should have been there. Maybe he could have saved her.

  He understood why Yvette wanted to know. He felt the pull between them. She wondered where this would lead. Hell, he wondered. Damn. He didn’t want to think. Not about his past. Not about his future. This moment… this was all he needed right now. His brain was on overload and his body…

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head up, offering her lips to him. He gathered her closer and knew she felt his need straining. She didn’t move, didn’t draw back. Anticipation boiled his blood, pumped his adrenaline.

  It was wrong wanting to taste her sweetness. Wrong, knowing he had no intention of making her his gal. He’d never marry again. He’d never make that same mistake. Kissing Yvette would give her hope. He knew that, God help him. Giving in to the fact that he
was completely insane, he pressed his hand into her back and drew her deeper against his chest. Her heart thrummed through him spiking every nerve ending.

  “Yvette,” he groaned as he sank his fingers into her hair, something he had dreamed of doing for so long. Her cheek felt soft against his rough jaw. Her eyes brimmed with shimmering light.

  “Kiss me,” he heard her say.

  The soft, husky, demand added to his growing need; a need he hadn’t felt in years, a need satisfied with her, or by a long cold walk. His lips breezed across her neck, then found their way over her mouth. Their breaths mingled.

  “I give you permission to kiss me,” she whispered.

  Ah hell. His lips hovered over hers as apprehension and desperate desire churned through him giving him cause to hesitate. What am I doing? Fool. He closed his eyes. Did he really want to go down this path again? He’d given his heart away once before. The results had been crushing. He would not allow himself to feel that kind of vulnerability again.

  Her tempting lips pressed lightly and he was about to give into Yvette’s request, when a soft whimper stopped him. A little girl stumbled toward them.

  Yvette drew back. “I should--”

  “Go.” Damn. He took a step away from her, disappointed, relieved. Fate, in the form of a child, saved him from himself, he thought as he watched her hurry to the little girl’s side. André glanced to the bedroom across the way. Fate saved them both from making a mistake.

  After a few soothing words and a tuck under a blanket, Yvette looked back at him.

  He rattled loose coins in his pocket. “Maybe you could draw a few decorations for the tree?”

  “Yes,” she said hastily. “Good idea. I’ll use a twig.”

  Needing to cool down, André hurried outside. He took his time, found some berries and pinecones and when he couldn’t stand the cold anymore he went back inside. Yvette was cutting out dreidels, stars, and a few candles she’d drawn when he reappeared. She gave out an excited cry when he showed her his stash. Together they draped the swag of berries on top of the branches and tied the pine cones to the tree with ribbon she had found.

  She stepped back to admire their work. “I spent last Christmas in my Paris apartment and thought my tree perfect. I was wrong…” Her chin quivered. “This one is.”

  “Yvette…” He ran a gentle finger against her cheek. “What’s the matter?”

  “I never thought about those people who couldn’t afford Christmas, who didn’t have a tree. I had so much and there were so many…”

  “Shh.” He kissed her forehead.

  Amelia came from money. She never thought of others and he doubted, even under these circumstances, that she’d feel any compassion.

  “My marriage was bad.” Amelia’s lack of warmth or empathy had blindsided him. Her thoughtful disposition had been a phony act meant to drag him to the altar and disappeared after they were married; then the claws came out. “I knew after two months that I’d made a mistake.” They shared no common goals, another thing he should have realized before he married her.

  Yvette looked up at him. “André you don’t have to--”

  “I want to.” He wanted to talk, even more so by the fact that Yvette wasn’t needling him like his wife had done for the better part of their marriage.

  André took her hand and they walked to the fire and sat. “Amelia’s family was wealthy. Nothing I could give her was good enough. She only cared about keeping up her comfortable lifestyle and how others saw her. I know she looked down on my family.”

  Yvette’s stance tightened defensively and he realized she was thinking about her own financial status. He was not making a comparison. By the disturbed look on her face, she thought he was. “You are nothing like her.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “She was always pushing me to do better, make more money, to get better employment. I joined the navy, I guess, in spite.” He never planned on being in the military. He wanted to be a language professor much to Amelia’s displeasure. The navy had been an escape, peace and quiet from her constant complaining. “I needed to get away. That just made things worse.”

  Yvette remained silent and he continued. “She insisted we go to the theater with her parents. I didn’t want to go, but agreed to meet her there. I was told the car came out of nowhere.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.” Yvette placed her hand over his.

  He stood, needing distance from the pity on her face. “Maybe I could have saved her… maybe if I hadn’t stayed that extra hour with my buddies,” he raked his hand through his hair, “I don’t know.”

  Guilt ate at him for months—guilt and anger. His family had said the same thing Yvette said. He couldn’t tell them, as he couldn’t tell her, the guilt he felt, after the initial shock, was more than not being able to save her.

  André sat. “Anyway…” He stared into the fire unable to meet her gaze.

  “Accidents happen, things out of our control. André, I know you think you can protect everyone. But that responsibility is too heavy a burden.”

  “Perhaps…” Though he’d bared his soul, she didn’t know the whole truth; the truth that shamed him. Did she think less of him now that he had given her a glimpse into his past? Lord, he couldn’t stand to see the horror in her eyes once she knew the rest of his secret.

  André lost himself in the flickering yellow flames devouring the logs.

  ***

  As Yvette prepared lunch the next day, she thought about how difficult it had been for André to open up to her about his wife. She knew what it was like living in a house full of tension. Lucky for him, Amelia and he had no children. The scars left by bickering parents lasted a lifetime. Sharing that part of his life with her cost him dearly. She had seen the vulnerability in his eyes when he spoke about his past and knowing him the way she did, he probably regretted opening up to her. She cut a few potatoes she’d found in the cellar and tossed the slices into a pot of water.

  So, yes, she chided, she had feelings for him and she hoped he’d share his feelings with her more often. She liked the intimacy, liked the connection, liked getting to understand the man behind the wall. She couldn’t help being attracted to him. They spent so much time together, it was hard not to notice his solid chest and strong arms… or the way he ran his fingers through his hair when frustrated or how his dreamy blue eyes darkened with passion. Who wouldn’t dream of kissing a gorgeous, incredibly handsome man?

  Lost in her thoughts, she stood silent, watching the water boil.

  And that voice…

  Steam rose and she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

  Who wouldn’t turn to mush listening to that smooth, sexy tone whispering through you like a warm gentle wind?

  Yvette glanced across the room. Hanna sat on André’s lap. She listened as he assured the little girl everything was going to be fine.

  Would it? Yvette gnawed her lip. She kept her spirits light for the children’s sake, but worrying about them knotted her stomach. Would they make it safely to their destination?

  Hanna shot André a hesitant smile and in an effort to ease her fears he asked her if she was ticklish. She shook her head and then giggles erupted as he proved her wrong.

  There, you see, Yvette thought. Who wouldn’t go ahhh seeing that? Normal feelings… she decided—normal feelings.

  As she stirred the cooking vegetables, her thoughts drifted to Amelia and their marriage. It sounded miserable and she felt sorry for him. Living in a broken household took a grave toll on everyone. The tension alone was enough to keep you from getting up in the morning. And, she knew what it was like to blame yourself for someone’s death.

  “Mangez,” she called, “time to eat.”

  They sat on the floor near the fire to keep warm.

  She glanced over to André, noticing how his and Hanna’s fingers laced together and her heart lifted.

  Prayers were said in different languages. Pleasant conversatio
n pushed away sad thoughts of the lack of family. An occasional laugh brightened spirits. One of the older boys explained the meaning of Hanukkah. A pretty German girl told them how she and her mother made a ring out of fir branches called an Advent Kranz and placed four candles on it. She explained how, in their tradition, together they lit one candle at the beginning at each week of Advent. The sadness in her voice made it difficult for Yvette to hold onto her smile until the oldest boy in the group grinned and said he liked his Polish tradition the best because he got to kiss a girl under the mistletoe. Eews and ughs and a few snickers erupted.

  It was a Christmas Eve Yvette would never forget. A Christmas that would shape all Christmas’ to come; one not focused on what someone had purchased, but on friendships, family and a thankfulness that life itself was a treasured gift. It was moments like this that she wouldn’t take for granted. A room full of pocketbooks and silk stockings could never make her as content as she felt right now.

  Had she been any different from Amelia back then? Money ruled her life as it had for Amelia. She never thought of those less fortunate than herself. If she’d met André earlier would he have felt the same way about her as he had his wife? Dear Lord, she hoped not. Still…Yvette studied the food on her plate. It was hard not to compare herself to his wife.

  Dear Lord. Forgive me for the shallow person of my past. I swear, when this war is over I will spend my money helping others.

  Her silent prayer finished, Yvette stood, walked into the kitchen and picked up her surprise gift. Since it was one of the oldest children’s birthday, she had wanted to bake a cake. Finding no flour she decorated a tin box with pink fabric and stuck a thin branch in the center as a candle.

  They were all singing happy birthday when an excited voice broke their song.

  Silence cut the air.

  Forks clanked against china and all eyes focused on the door.

  “Dépêchez vous, dépêchez,” a deep male voice ordered. “Hurry.”

  Everyone jumped from their seats and scrambled in different directions.

  André pulled out a gun she didn’t know he possessed and met the heavyset man head-on as he entered the room.