Her Faux Fiancé

by Alexia Adams

  He slowed as he approached Analise’s floor. If only he’d gone straight back to Gunnar’s farm after Melissa MacEwan had left. He should have braved the shotgun to explain to her. Instead, he thought he’d give her the night to calm down and had presented himself at dawn. He hadn’t believed her grandfather’s word that she’d already left. Only after searching the house and finding all her stuff gone had the reality of his situation hit him. Then panic had set in. As a world traveler, Analise could have gone anywhere. And Gunnar had been no help. He said his first allegiance was to his granddaughter, and until she gave him permission to divulge her whereabouts, he wasn’t going to say a thing.

  Yesterday, he’d seen an advertisement for her photographic exhibition at the Hôtel de Ville but she hadn’t been there. What he had found, though, was some of the most moving photographs he’d ever seen. Analise had a gift for finding the humanity in even the most inhumane situations. He hoped she’d be able to find enough compassion in herself to listen to him. Because he couldn’t go on for much longer without her.

  His heart was racing by the time he got to the seventh floor. It wasn’t from the exertion of flying up the stairs, however, but from the possibility of seeing his wife face to face. He banged on her door for several minutes to no avail. Unwilling to be defeated yet again, he sat on the floor, his back to the door, waiting for her return. He kept his eyes on the stairwell in case she saw him first. He wasn’t going to risk her fleeing before they could talk.

  Half an hour passed before he heard light, weary footsteps on the wooden staircase. He tensed and stood, rehearsing yet again what he wanted to say, although he was pretty sure that despite his preparation, all that was going to come out of his mouth at seeing her was a string of begging pleas.

  A dark head appeared around the corner, and his heart leapt, only to fall flat on the floor as he realized it wasn’t Analise. The woman was at first startled to see a man at the end of the corridor. She extricated her phone from her bag and pressed a couple of numbers before she advanced on him.

  A torrent of French followed, and she gestured wildly. Unable to keep up with the rapid-fire tirade, he put his hands up in front of him in the international sign for surrender. Surprised, she stopped for a moment.

  “Parlez-vous anglais?” He used one of the few phrases he remembered from school, asking if she spoke English.

  “Yes, I speak English. Who are you? What do you want?” She had one hand on her hip and waved her phone at him with the other.

  “Do you know Analise Thordarson?”

  “I ask the questions, or I call the police and let them question you.”

  “My name is Erik Sigurdson. I’m Analise’s husband—”

  “She is not married.”

  “She is. We were married in Canada six weeks ago. I have our marriage certificate with me if you want to see it.”

  Wordlessly, the Frenchwoman held out her hand. Erik pulled the document out of his pocket and handed it over to her. She examined the paper carefully, then passed it back to him.

  “Analise did not tell me she got married. Although, that would account for her sadness. I thought you were another one of those government men come to interrogate her.”

  “Government men have been interrogating her?” Erik’s protective hackles rose. He should have been here to defend her. She’d asked for his help, and he hadn’t even done that. So far, he was proving to be the worst husband. Ever.

  “They stopped now. Probably something to do with that other man she used to see. I always told her he was too slippery. You must be the same or she would be with you.” She shook her head as if to say that some women never learn.

  “I’m not slippery. However, I am an idiot. I did something very stupid, and she ran away before I could explain and tell her that I fixed it. Please, do you know where she is? I need to see her.” The desperation in his voice must have got through to the woman because her face softened.

  “It is good for you that I am a romantic woman. I will call her and see if she is still in Paris. She sold her apartment and moved out yesterday. I offered for her to stay with me, but she said she had other friends,” the woman explained as she dialed.

  Erik couldn’t follow the phone conversation that ensued in rapid French. That was going to be his first priority when he got back to Manitoba. Learn French so he could understand Analise when she was upset with him. The woman snapped her phone shut and raked him with her gaze.

  “She says you are stupid yet not dangerous. She is at the Eiffel Tower, third level, saying good-bye to Paris. If you want to see her, you are to go there.”

  Saying good-bye to Paris? If she moved on, he’d have no way to find her. His heart raced. He had to get there before she left.

  “Right. Thanks. I appreciate it.” He sprinted for the stairs; the woman’s laughter followed him down the first two flights.

  • • •

  Analise hugged herself, although she wasn’t cold. This was her favorite view of Paris. To see the grandeur of the city from a height where you felt you were part of it. She’d hoped that coming here would give her some peace. Of all the places she’d lived, Paris had been home the longest. Except the noise, the pollution, the social unrest, the threat of terrorist attacks disturbed her more than soothed. She longed to be back in Manitoba—where you could see for miles and not have another single person in your view if you chose.

  A warm breeze blew her hair against her face and flattened her dress against her belly, which now had a tiny bump. She ran her hand over the evidence that her baby was growing. If it weren’t for her pregnancy and knowing that she was solely responsible for the little life, she would have crawled into bed and stayed there for the next six months. Losing Jean-Claude had been bad. But the inevitability of what she’d long expected could happen had helped her deal with that blow. It was the sudden revelation of Erik’s duplicity, especially so soon after she realized she loved him, that hurt the most.

  And now he was coming to say good-bye. She shouldn’t have run away, but she’d needed time to think about what she wanted, what she needed, before she saw him again. He was probably delivering divorce papers or wanting to discuss some sort of settlement. Well, he could go through her lawyer, keep it all professional. She could survive on her own. As if to reassure herself that all was going to be okay, she rubbed her baby bump again and stared out at the view of Paris in the evening.

  The Tower wasn’t too busy. As it was dinner time, most tourists were busy stuffing their faces with escargot or coq-au-vin, or trying to decide which was the best prix fixé meal deal. The distant sound of horns blaring from the streets below would always remind her of Paris. Not that she’d be gone forever. Her baby was French; she’d have to make sure they came to Paris often. And she was kind of looking forward to telling her father he was a granddad, especially as his new wife was only in her early 30s.

  She saw Erik before he saw her, and her traitorous body wanted to run into his arms. She’d forgotten how tall and handsome he was. No, she’d not forgotten. She could still remember the security she’d felt when he took her in his arms. The way his heart beat under her cheek and his breath ruffled the top of her hair. He stepped off the elevator and stopped, hugging the steel frame.

  Zut, she’d forgotten he was afraid of heights. Well, it sucked to be him, because if he wanted to talk to her, he’d have to come over to the edge—she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. When his eyes met hers, she had to lace her fingers into the iron mesh railing. Every cell in her body was straining to throw herself at him. Her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss. Damn body, it was supposed to be on her side.

  He took four hesitant steps toward her then stopped. She wasn’t sure if it was his acrophobia or that he was unsure of her reaction. At least he wasn’t holding out an envelope of papers for her to sign, ending their marriage.

  “Bon soir, Erik. Welcome to Paris.”

  “Analise.” Her name seemed wrung from him.


  He took two steps closer, and she could see the pain in his expression. She should relent and move from the edge. Searching his face, however, she saw his focus wasn’t on the view or the long way down, but on her. He seemed oblivious to his position so far above the ground.

  “This is convenient,” Analise said. “I can say good-bye to both Paris and you on the same evening. Twice the closure.”

  His eyes closed when she mentioned good-bye, opening only when she’d finished.

  “I won’t ever say good-bye, my love.”

  Confused, she took a step toward him so she could read his eyes. “Why are you here, then?”

  “To beg you to give me another chance.”

  He sank to his knees. Several people stopped their sightseeing to watch the drama playing out before them.

  “Erik, I—”

  “Please, Analise. I was a complete ass. I was living in the past, thinking I could fix it. I thought if I avenged Karen’s death, I would prove myself a worthy brother. The second I saw you again, all the feelings I had for you came flooding back. Only this time they weren’t the emotions of a college boy, but the raging desires of a man. I tried to reason with myself that once I had you, it would be enough. When I found out you were pregnant the one thing I wanted was to protect you and care for you and the baby for the rest of your life. So I rushed you into marriage, hoping that in time you’d come to love me as I love you.”

  “Erik—” Her chest was so full she thought it might burst.

  “Wait, before you say anything. Please, give us another chance. I still want to be a father to your child. I want to be your husband, to hold you every night and wake next to you every morning, to rejoice over the good and comfort you over life’s disappointments. We are so good together, Analise. We could have so much happiness. Please … ”

  She reached out and touched his face before motioning for him to rise. His hands lifted from his side then fell back.

  “What Brenda said—”

  “Was mostly the ranting of a scorned woman … The reason I didn’t like going back to Manitoba was because it reminded me of all I had lost—Karen and you. And despite what Brenda said and you may think, I never wanted you because Ian did. I’ve always wanted you, from the first time Karen introduced us. I will always want you. You’re my woman, Analise. Time will never change that.”

  “And the past?”

  “Losing you again, I realized it’s the now and the future that matters. I can’t fix the past, but I can learn from it. And the biggest lesson I’ve learned is that I can’t let you go again. I won’t say good-bye, my love. I will follow you to the ends of the earth, live in a tent in the dessert or the top of a Nepalese mountain if that’s where you are.”

  “That sounds a bit obsessive.”

  “I am obsessive. I can’t live without you, Analise. The past six weeks have been my own personal hell, not knowing where you were, not knowing if you’re safe. If you don’t want me … ” His voice trailed off as if finishing the sentence were impossible.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking, as well, the past few weeks.” She saw him take a deep breath in and then hold it as though bracing himself. “And I’ve discovered that I want to be where everything reminds me of you. If I can’t have you, I was going to have the next best thing—memories of you. I’m done running. I’m booked on a flight back to Winnipeg in three days’ time. I want my little Sigurdson,” she rubbed her belly, “to know his or her family. I’ve had an exciting career and adventurous life; now I want stability and permanence. Do you think you can give me that?”

  “Every single second of my life. But more importantly, I can give you so much love, you’ll wonder how you lived without it.”

  Love radiated through her body. “Then let’s go home, Prairie Boy.”

  Epilogue

  Analise took three quick photos of the child atop the chestnut quarter horse. The rapture on the little girl’s face as Afi led the animal around the corral was the focus of her lens. The child’s mother was taking a video. But her camera was intent on catching all the action, and she missed the intense emotion of the moment. Analise clicked away until she became aware of a presence behind her. She turned her head to see her husband and baby standing a few feet off. Lowering her camera, she beckoned them forward.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Erik apologized with a kiss to her upturned face.

  “I got what I wanted. I think the mother will be very happy. And how’s our little Lara doing?” Analise slung her camera on her back and lifted her six-month-old baby girl from the carrier strapped to Erik’s chest. She gave one rosy cheek a loud kiss and was rewarded with a delighted squeal from her daughter.

  “She’s doing well. We tried a little rice cereal at lunch.”

  “So I see from your shirt. I hope you didn’t have any client videoconference calls.”

  “Only with my most important client. And while Lara napped, I completed the registration of the Karen Sigurdson Memorial Foundation Promoting Mental Health.”

  “That’s such a wonderful way to honor her memory.”

  “I only wish I’d done it years ago.” Erik kissed his daughter and then nuzzled Analise’s neck. “I thought Ian was working the stables today, not your grandfather.”

  “Ian is meeting with some marketing people to start an advertising campaign. Afi hates those business meetings. He just wants to be with the horses and the children, so he gladly switched places with Ian.”

  “As long as everyone’s happy,” Erik said.

  Afi waved good-bye to the mother and child, who was animatedly telling her mother how tall the horse was and how far away the ground had been when she was on its back. Analise smiled. Her grandfather was as robust as he’d been in his prime, his thunderous laughter a common sound around the farm. When Lara saw him approach, she held out her little pudgy arms to her great-grandparent, who took her willingly.

  “I swear she looks more and more like my Lara every day,” Afi said. He held the baby up in the air above his head, much to her delight. “I’m going to tell you all about your great-amma when you’re old enough to remember,” he promised the little girl.

  Analise laughed. Afi claimed the baby looked like her grandmother, but with her raven hair and green eyes she was almost the opposite of her blond, blue-eyed great-grandmother. Fortunately, she looked enough like Analise that no one had wondered why she wasn’t fair like Erik. One day, she’d have to tell her baby who her real father had been. For now, Erik was filling in that role with so much love and enthusiasm, no one had even questioned whether he was the biological parent or not.

  Afi carried Lara over to the horse, keeping her far enough away that she could see it without touching. He spoke to the little girl in Icelandic, and she babbled back, mimicking his tone.

  “Thought you might be interested in this article in the paper.” Erik pulled a folded page from his back pocket and handed it to her.

  Anonymous Donor Gifts US$10 Million to Save the Children.

  She glanced at Erik. They’d never discussed the Cayman Islands bank account Jean-Claude had left for her. She’d tried to talk to him about it, but he said he wanted none of it. He was happy providing for his family with what he earned as a lawyer. It was her money, she could do with it as she wanted. She’d never been comfortable with it, though, knowing that somewhere, someone had been hurt or killed in its acquisition. So she’d done the best thing she could—she’d given it away.

  “You’re okay with this, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve got everything I could ever want or need right here.” He pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her as they listened to the laughter of their child.

  “So do I, Prairie Boy. So do I.”

  Author’s Note

  Thank you, reader. I hope you enjoyed reading Erik and Analise’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, please help other readers find it by leaving a review at your favorite retailer. It doesn�
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  About the Author

  Alexia Adams was born in British Columbia, Canada, and traveled throughout North America as a child. After high school, she spent three months in Panama before moving to Dunedin, New Zealand, for a year, where she studied French and Russian at Otago University.

  Back in Canada, she worked building fire engines until she’d saved enough for a round-the-world ticket. She traveled throughout Australasia before settling in London—the perfect place to indulge her love of history and travel. For four years, she lived and traveled throughout Europe before returning to her homeland. On the way back to Canada she stopped in Egypt, Jordan, Israel, India, Nepal, and of course, Australia and New Zealand. She lived again in Canada for one year before the lure of Europe and easy travel was too great, and she returned to the UK.

  Marriage and the birth of two babies later, she moved back to Canada to raise her children with her British husband. Two more children were born in Canada, and her travel wings were well and truly clipped. Firmly rooted in the life of a stay-at-home mom, or trophy wife, as she prefers to be called, she turned to writing to exercise her mind, traveling vicariously through her romance novels.

  Her stories reflect her love of travel and feature locations as diverse as the windswept prairies of Canada to hot and humid cities in Asia. To discover other books written by Alexia or read her blog on inspirational destinations, Journey to Love, visit her at http://Alexia-Adams.com or follow her on Twitter @AlexiaAdamsAuth