Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel

by Kery, Beth

  “And I suppose no one sitting here will admit to being in contact with Ian?” she asked, her voice sounding stronger than she’d expected saying Ian’s name. She examined each face at the table in turn. “Because that would be the simplest solution: to merely ascertain from Ian what he’d like us to do.”

  “Francesca—” Anne Noble began, a wretched expression on her lined, but still lovely face.

  “We’re telling the truth when we say we have no idea where Ian is,” James finished for her. He covered his wife’s hand with his own in a comforting gesture. “We haven’t heard a word from him. Gerard and Lucien are as much in the dark as us. We’re all—each and every once of us—both ignorant of his location and well-being, and sick about it.”

  She sensed the truth of what they’d said, intuiting the couple’s misery. With a sharp pain, she realized this was the second time in the couple’s lives that a loved one had vanished. Helen, Ian’s mother, had gone missing for over a decade before they finally discovered her, weak and psychotic, being cared for by a boy with the manner of an adult, a child forced to grow up far before his time.

  “I’m sorry,” Francesca said, recognizing she’d lashed out on the undeserving in her anguish. Perhaps she’d even been hopeful someone would confess to speaking with Ian. She looked away from Anne’s eyes because the pain she saw there was too much of a reflection of her own. “What do you two think of the purchase proposal?” she asked, valuing not only James’s long lifetime of experience managing his own extensive holdings, but also Anne’s acute business understanding that came from wisely managing some of the richest charity funds in the world.

  “I know how much Ian coveted Tyake, and I agree time is of the essence,” James said.

  “As do I,” Anne seconded.

  “Even you would have to agree that quick action is necessary, isn’t that right, Lucien?” James asked.

  “Yes, but prudence is always just as crucial,” Lucien replied quietly.

  “We’ve used this acquisition loan fund before when we needed to make a quick purchase in our own ventures,” Anne told Francesca. “They have always been dependable. Gerard has been working nonstop for the past four days to hammer out this deal.”

  “Thank you for all the hard work,” Francesca told Gerard.

  “It was nothing. I was more than glad to do it for Ian.”

  James gave a half smile and glanced at his nephew. “Gerard has always been willing to sacrifice his valuable time for Ian. Remember that motorcycle the three of us put together when Ian first came to us as a boy? You were right about that. It really did help us to bond with Ian . . . make him a little more comfortable in a strange land with strange people,” James mused, his expression faraway and a little sad.

  Gerard smiled. “If only we could do something as simple now to connect with him. He needs his family now more than ever,” he said, nodding in Lucien’s direction as if to include him. It confirmed Francesca’s suspicion that Gerard knew Lucien and Ian were half brothers. How much else he knew about their father, Trevor Gaines, and Gaines’s unsavory history, she didn’t know. Anne and James knew the entire truth, but she wasn’t sure where they would stand as far as telling Gerard.

  Lucien shifted in his chair at Gerard’s words. Was he as uncomfortable with all this talk of Ian’s family as Francesca was? She was the biggest outsider here, but perhaps Lucien was a close second. True, the Nobles had accepted the painful fate that linked Lucien and Ian as blood relatives, but neither Lucien nor she could claim the intimate bonds of family history that only years of experience and love provided.

  “So you’re uncomfortable with all this, Lucien?” Francesca prodded gently.

  “I’d like to examine our options. As I said, these contracts with acquisition loan companies can be extremely delicate and convoluted. Ian didn’t tend to use acquisition loan companies, unless it was in the most extreme circumstances.”

  “Ian has used them in the past when he wanted to jump on a deal,” Gerard said. “I asked Lin earlier, and she assured me it was true on two other occasions when Ian recognized timing was crucial.”

  “He chose not to use them on dozens of other occasions, and always did what he could to avoid it,” Lucien said.

  “And there are other options, aren’t there?” Francesca asked. “We could liquidate some assets for the purchase?”

  “No,” Lucien corrected, moving his stare from Gerard to Francesca. “You could, Francesca. Ian left the power of attorney for such large liquidations and acquisitions only with you.”

  Francesca nodded, hoping she adequately disguised how overwhelmed she felt as she studied the four other faces at the table. She tried to imagine what Ian would want. A voice in her head urged caution.

  She didn’t like that the voice was Ian’s in the slightest.

  “I agree with Lucien,” she said at last. “At the very least, I’d like the opportunity to read over the deal in detail before I decide. Of course, I’ll need all of your advice. As you all know, I’m an artist, not a businesswoman.”

  “We’d be happy to give whatever clarification we can,” Gerard assured. He gave James a knowing sideways glance. “Besides, Ian once told James and I that he’d been regularly coaching you on business matters and that you had more innate understanding of financial intricacies than some of his top executives.”

  Perhaps Gerard had thought she’d be flattered by Ian’s compliment, because his smile faltered when he saw her expression. She stood abruptly.

  “May I take a copy of the proposal with me?”

  “Of course, Lin has one prepared for you,” Gerard said, standing as well. He was nearly as tall as Ian. “But we—that is, James, Anne and I—were going to suggest that you stay with us for the next few days. It’ll be easier than having you try to get us by phone every time you have a question. We can put in some late nights and plow through the deal together.”

  “Can you take off a few days from your painting?” Anne asked. Francesca hesitated as she looked into the elderly woman’s cobaltblue eyes. Ian had inherited his grandmother’s eyes. “We’d so like to spend some time with you. James and I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” Francesca said honestly before she could stop herself. She examined the polished grain of the wood table, waiting for her composure to return.

  “I can manage a few days, I think,” she said after a moment. “I just finished a piece that was meant as a Christmas gift for the buyer’s wife. I was planning on taking some time off until the New Year.”

  “You’ll have to tell me all about your work, and how your final project went for school. I look forward to hearing about everything in your life. We have so much to catch up on, aside from this business deal,” Anne said warmly, coming toward her and taking her hand. Impulsively, Francesca gave her a hug, smiling at the familiar scent of Anne’s perfume.

  “I’d like that,” Francesca said.

  “Good. Well, that’s all settled then. Why don’t we get everything we need from Lin and head over to the penthouse? We can have dinner together,” Gerard said.

  “The penthouse?” Francesca asked numbly.

  “That’s where we’re all staying while here in Chicago. I hope it’s all right,” James said in a conciliatory manner. “I know that Ian bequeathed the use of his properties to you, but we realized you weren’t in residence. And Anne said . . . that is . . . well, that she hadn’t been able to get ahold of you to tell you our plans,” James said awkwardly. Francesca felt her cheeks warm at his delicate handling of the fact that she’d been ignoring phone calls and deleting e-mails from Ian’s grandparents. “Eleanor begged us to stay there instead of a hotel,” James continued, referring to Ian’s housekeeper, Mrs. Hanson, a longtime Noble family retainer and loyal friend. “Poor lady. She’s been quite lonely rambling around that big old place by herself. She misses family. She misses you.”

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nbsp; Francesca’s throat swelled uncomfortably. How horrible she was, not to have visited Mrs. Hanson or even called. She knew how much the housekeeper doted on Ian. She must be so lonely.

  “I look forward to seeing her then,” Francesca said, her heart beating very fast. When she noticed Lucien’s gaze on her, she knew her anxiety hadn’t escaped him.

  “Will you be there, too, Lucien?” she asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid not. Elise is returning from Paris this evening after a visit to her parents.”

  “Please give her my love,” Francesca said regretfully, thinking of all the concerned e-mails and texts she’d trashed from Lucien’s vibrant, beautiful wife. Francesca’s friend. Pain rushed through her as if a floodgate had been opened. She’d even missed Elise and Lucien’s wedding.

  “I will do that,” Lucien said, his brow furrowing. He clearly saw her sudden distress. He quickly strode toward her and took her hand.

  “Lucien, I’m sorry—” she began, her voice cracking when he pulled her to the far side of the sprawling office.

  “Don’t be. I understand. We all do,” he interrupted quietly. He glanced at the others, who were chatting in subdued tones several feet away. She swallowed down her sudden swell of emotion with effort.

  “It just struck me all of the sudden that I’ve never asked you about your mother,” she said in a thick voice, searching his face. When Lucien had broken his life-altering news that he and Ian were half brothers, one result had been Ian’s plunge into darkness. The other, much happier one, was that Helen Noble, who had been Lucien’s mother’s employer for a period of time, had been able to tell Lucien his biological mother’s name and the location of the city where her family resided in Morocco. “Have you found her, Lucien?”

  His sudden smile was a familiar flash of brilliance that made her chest ache, but heartened her as well. “Yes. Elise and I located her together last summer. Not only her. My grandmother, my grandfather, an aunt and uncle who both have huge families. My mother never married, so I don’t have any brothers and sisters in Morocco, but I have more cousins than I can count. My mother is well. It was a very . . . special moment, meeting her for the first time. She’s been to visit Elise and me twice already, and we’ve made several trips back.”

  She drank in his exultant expression like a much-needed medicine. Yes, she’d been avoiding the pain by shutting herself off from those she cared about, but she’d missed out on some wonderful things in the process as well.

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said feelingly. “An entire family—all in one fell swoop.”

  “It is pretty amazing,” he agreed.

  “You deserve it, Lucien.”

  His focus narrowed on her. “Francesca, listen,” he continued in a pressured tone. “I’m at your disposal in regard to this deal. In regard to anything,” he said pointedly, eyebrows arched. “All you have to do is call, and I’ll come by or do whatever you need to make sure you’re comfortable making this decision.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “I definitely will call you after I’ve read over the proposal and contract. I want to hear about these potential risks you spoke of.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Lucien cupped her shoulder with his hand.

  “Are you sure you want to go to Ian’s penthouse?” he murmured, for her ears only.

  “No,” she said. “But if I keep running from my past, I’ll never have a future.”

  Lucien said nothing, his gray eyes looking concerned in his otherwise somber face.

  * * *

  Francesca accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Hanson with a smile and shoved back a mound of papers.

  “It’s chamomile. It’ll help you sleep. You look like you could use it. I’ve never seen you so thin, and you look tired,” Mrs. Hanson said, her gaze moving concernedly over her face.

  “Thank you. You take such good care of me,” Francesca said, taking a sip of the soothing, hot liquid, hoping to make light of Mrs. Hanson’s maternal worry.

  The four of them—Gerard, James, Anne, and she had convened in Ian’s large library-office following dinner in order to get down to work. Anne sat near the fireplace, reading portions of the proposal through a pair of stylish glasses, a knitted afghan spread across her knees. James and Gerard sat at the oval table with Francesca, perusing different portions of the contract and pausing frequently to answer Francesca’s queries. They never once grew impatient with what she suspected were very novicelike questions. Their kind support humbled her.

  “We’ve been at it for hours,” Gerard said, leaning his long body back in the chair and accepting the tea from Mrs. Hanson with a gracious thank-you. He checked his watch. “It’s two in the morning. You do look dead on your feet, Francesca. You should rest. We can resume picking this apart in the morning.”

  “I am a little sleepy,” Francesca said, rubbing her eyes and feeling the burn. Mrs. Hanson glanced at her hesitantly.

  “I had originally thought to put you in the blue room,” the housekeeper said, referring to a guest room with which Francesca was familiar. “But Gerard thought—”

  “You’re the rightful mistress of this home, so the master suite is yours,” Gerard interrupted. “I had been staying in it, but I moved everything out earlier, and Mrs. Hanson has readied it for you.”

  Anne’s head came around sharply. “I hadn’t realized that,” she called across the room, sounding mildly alarmed. “Gerard, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

  “No?” Gerard asked, bewildered. He looked at Francesca, realization dawning. “It will only take us a moment to switch. I was only thinking of your comfort. Many of your things are still in there . . .” he faded off.

  “Of course you were. Thank you,” Francesca said, giving both Gerard and Anne a reassuring smile. “I’m not that fragile. But I am tired. I’ll say good night.” She stood and went to Anne, kissing her cheek.

  She was proud of herself for walking so calmly out of the room.

  * * *

  She paused in front of the elaborately carved wood door of Ian’s suite, memories assailing her. She could see Ian’s arresting face as he looked down at her, desire gleaming in his eyes, speaking in a hushed tone.

  “You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” he’d asked.

  “No,” she replied, equally as anxious as she was excited. “Is that all right with you?”

  His mouth had twisted slightly in an expression she’d since identified as irritation at something he considered a personal weakness. “It wasn’t at first. I want you so much, I’ve had to come to terms with your innocence, however.”

  She’d taken that step across the threshold that night into a world of untold emotional challenges and sensual delights . . . into a realm of indescribable love. Her life had changed forever.

  And here she stood again, now as empty and bereft as the rooms where Ian had once lived and breathed and loved.

  He had loved, hadn’t he?

  Finding the question unbearable, she inhaled for courage and twisted the knob. The door swung open.

  It looked much as it ever had: the luxurious seating area before the fireplace, the rare paintings, the decadently rich four-poster bed, the lush fresh flower arrangement behind the couch, this one of white hydrangeas and purple lilies. She couldn’t imagine how it all could look so familiar and unchanged, when she felt so different.

  Five minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom, hesitating by a gleaming, antique writing desk. Moving quickly, as if she knew she must endure the pain but wanted to get it over with, she opened a narrow drawer. She flipped back a folded square of black silk and stared, her breath lodged in her lungs, at the exquisite platinum and diamond ring. She recalled perfectly how cool the metal felt as Ian had slipped it on her finger, the sound of his low, rough voice uttering those precious words forever burned into her memory.

/>   Yes, she’d replied simply, the vision of Ian blurring through a veil of tears.

  I’m afraid I’m being selfish, he’d said starkly.

  She blinked and his image came into focus. Loving is never selfish. You’re taking a risk. Don’t think I don’t know it. Personally, I think it’s the least selfish thing you’ve ever done, she’d whispered, touching his hard jaw, wishing she could soften him . . . make it so that he was just a little gentler on himself.

  The drawer slammed shut.

  She sat on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but the tank top she’d had on under her blouse and a pair of panties. She had nightgowns in the dressing room, but she was too weary to go in there tonight, too fragile to inhale Ian’s scent. The smell that lingered there was one she always associated most with him—his spicy, unique cologne, the fresh-laundered fragrance of his dress shirts, the leather from the rows upon rows of shoes, the cedar scent from the hangers and shoe trees.

  She’d dare the closet tomorrow. Tonight, she used all her resources just to perch on the bed where they’d slept in each other’s arms, whispered endearments, and made love countless times.

  It hurt so much, but for some reason, she craved that pain tonight.

  She shut out the bedside lamp and hurried beneath the covers before she could second-guess herself. This was good for her, she told herself. Therapeutic to confront her memories head on. Maybe after she’d stayed here for another night or two while they hashed out the details of the Tyake acquisition, she’d gain some perspective . . . some freedom for herself. It wasn’t unlike visiting a grave, was it? She needed to accept the emptiness of this suite, of this bed.

  She needed to let Ian go, once and for all.