Finding Gabriel

Home > Other > Finding Gabriel > Page 36
Finding Gabriel Page 36

by Rachel L. Demeter


  Jacques drew away and limped toward a passing vendor. A frail baker rolled his cart to a halt. His ruddy cheeks glowed as he adjusted his poofy white hat. Jacques met Ariah’s eyes, then signaled Emmaline over with an insistent wave.

  “Go on.” Emmaline’s hand hesitantly slipped free. Jacques was kind and gentle enough – yet their relationship remained platonic and strained.

  He fished a handful of sous from his coat and placed them in the baker’s grubby palm. A smile stretched Emmaline’s mouth as she selected a steaming pastry. She devoured it within seconds, and icing caked her lips.

  Jacques grabbed hold of Emmaline’s sticky fingers and returned to Ariah’s side. Keeping pace with Miriam and Marius, they continued maneuvering through the bustling crowd. Then Jacques spotted a group of former comrades. He quickly darted in the opposite direction – but it was too late. Smiling wide, the uniformed men waved and enthusiastically gestured him over.

  “Shall I join you?” Ariah asked.

  “No,” Jacques replied, his voice stiff with agony. “Enjoy the festivities. I shan’t be long.” He forced a smile, though tension was apparent in every line of his face. Ariah softly grazed his shoulder and awarded him a reassuring squeeze. Then he swallowed deeply and limped toward the group of men.

  “Come along, darling,” Ariah said to Emmaline. She tapped on Miriam’s shoulder and yelled over the hustle and bustle. “Can you watch Emma for a moment?” Miriam nodded, smoothed down her skirts, and grasped Emmaline’s hand.

  Ariah seized the opportunity to search for Gabriel. Fairly holding her breath, she pressed through the crowd and scanned the countless faces. Men in military garb whizzed by, children flocked in compact groups, ladies strolled onward … but Gabriel was nowhere to be found. And yet she felt his presence. She sensed his nearness, as if it were a tangible thing. Perhaps she was losing her sanity – but she suddenly needed to find him.

  If not, she’d surely perish.

  Desperation strangled her throat. She elbowed her way past an elaborately garbed dandy, frantically searching the vast ocean of faces. Heart beating against her rib cage, she spun in circles, praying for a glimpse of Gabriel’s towering form.

  Please, allow me just a glimpse.

  Every person blurred together in a nauseating swirl of colors and movement. And none of them was her Gabriel.

  Bile crept up her throat in a sickening burn. Gasping for breath, Ariah pressed a hand to her stomach and counted to five to soothe herself. Then several men in navy greatcoats ensnared her attention. She surged forward, almost tripping over herself in the process, and latched onto one of the soldier’s arms. He spun around full circle, and a pair of bright blue eyes stared down at her.

  “Mademoiselle? Are you quite all right? Is something amiss?”

  Ariah’s heart sank. “Oh. Pardon me, monsieur. I’m perfectly fine. I just – I mistook you for someone else.”

  Tears burned Ariah’s gaze, and the knot of despair tightened. She briefly closed her eyes and conjured an image of Gabriel. Mon Dieu. She was lost without him. Lost within a world of chaos – and with no hope to be found.

  Defeated, she rotated on her heels and continued her journey back to Miriam and Emmaline. Each step caused her legs to throb, and her kid boots seemed to be filled with lead.

  He’s here … somewhere. I feel it with every beat of my heart.

  Not watching where she was going, a lady wailed as their bodies collided. Ariah whispered an apology and continued moving forward, though the world around her appeared to remain completely still.

  He’d been gone for days. For Emmaline’s sake, she needed to pull herself up and out of this hole. Ariah inhaled a deep breath, hastened her steps, and strode forward with renewed purpose.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. The very air shifted directions while icy fingers raced up and down her spine.

  I am being followed.

  There was no doubt of it.

  A quick backward glance confirmed her fear. A tall, auburn-haired man beelined through the crowd, his eyes firmly planted on her every movement. From her vantage point, he was nothing more than a blur of color. And he was coming straight for her.

  Her labored breaths misted against the frigid air. She felt the urge to scream, to cry out – but fear sealed her throat shut and strangled all words. By habit, she fondled her skirts for the dagger – then remembered it was tucked away in her dresser drawer. The instinct to fight or flee seized hold. Shouldering past men, women, and children, she gripped her skirts and increased each stride.

  A passing carriage screeched to a halt and nearly rode her into the pavement. The driver hollered a foul curse as the two horses bucked their hind legs. Breathless, Ariah leapt to the side before continuing to race forward.

  She exhaled a sigh of relief when Jacques and his fellow comrades finally came into view.

  But amidst the commotion, no one noticed the hand that suddenly clamped over her mouth – nor the arm that wound around her waist and reeled her into the nearby shadows.

  •

  Mon Dieu. Geoffrey could hardly believe his eyes. It truly was her, his little Ari.

  “Geoffrey …”

  Geoffrey tried to speak, but all words died on his tongue. The sound of his name, spoken by Ariah’s soft lips, seized hold of his mind and body. Her delicate features reflected each shifting emotion, leaving nothing unknown: recognition, shock, apprehension, and finally outright horror.

  Hardly believing she stood centimeters away, Geoffrey ignored her revulsion and edged closer. He’d swept her alongside one of the buildings, away from the commotion; they were mostly secluded, save for the occasional wanderer. The distant roar of music and voices faded into background noise. Geoffrey perceived only Ariah – his sweet, little Ari. He devoured every detail, every feature … the luscious golden mane of hair, her sapphire gaze, and supple porcelain skin. She was more stunning than ever, boasting an enticing blend of softness and icy determination. Though there was a new fierceness in her gaze, and arctic shadows deepened those blue depths.

  “Ari …”

  Her breaths shortened to erratic pants, and when he attempted to graze her skin, she recoiled against the wall. Revulsion filled her eyes, and Geoffrey felt his heart harden. Her slender torso expanded and deflated with labored breaths. She shot forward, attempting an escape. He cursed aloud and latched onto her slender waist. Then he hurled her against the wall with more force than intended and propped a hand on either side of her body. She resembled a cornered, wounded beast … a beast who was about to be devoured by a hungry predator. Geoffrey felt himself soften the slightest bit.

  “Not so fast. I’ve waited nearly eight years for this moment. I mean to cherish it.”

  “What … what do you want from me?” Her voice was venomous, and rage flashed in her lovely eyes.

  Geoffrey barked a humorless laugh. Emotions escalating, he shook his head and melded his body against her curves. Christ’s teeth, she was so warm … so close. “You. You are mine, Ari. You always have belonged to me.”

  “You are a monster.”

  What she did next stunned Geoffrey. In a practiced, decisive movement, she kneed him square in the groin. Pain surged through his body, and the wind was knocked from his lungs. He crumpled at his midsection as shades of red flashed behind his eyes. Anger filled him – and he rejoiced at the familiar emotion. Anger he could use to his advantage. Anger was an intricately forged weapon that had protected him since he was a boy. It had guarded his heart against the mother he’d never known, guided him through years of abuse and torment, and kept him motivated when Ariah had left him alone in the world.

  Anger was his friend … his only friend.

  Ariah cried out and darted toward the busy square – but Geoffrey was worlds quicker. He wound his fingers in her curls and yanked her backward. Her scream was lost to the celebratory thunder, and satisfaction flushed through him. He slammed her body against the stone wall and latched onto her chin – forcin
g her to meet his potent glare. She winced as the jagged wall ground against her back, though she indicated no other trace of weakness. Then, to his astonishment, she met his eyes without hesitation – and the hatred he found there sent chills down his spine.

  “Let me go.” Her voice was hauntingly cool and composed. Her breathing picked up pace once more – and he eyed the delicious curves of her breasts that were buried beneath a modest neckline.

  “The child – the little girl. She is my fuckin’ daughter, is she not? And don’t you dare lie to me.” He swallowed and clenched both hands into fists. “You owe me this much.”

  “There’s nothing of you in her,” she spat, her eyes narrowed in disgust. “And I owe you absolutely nothing. You stole from me for years. You robbed me of my innocence. I gave you my trust blindly! You – ” Tears filled her eyes, her voice constricted, and the words faded into choked silence. Suddenly she looked like a girl of twelve years again. Nostalgia flooded Geoffrey’s chest in a fierce storm. His grasp on her chin faltered as his fingers grew numb and heavy. Then his hand fell away and clenched into an unyielding ball. His nails dug into his palms until blood surfaced. Ariah’s breaths emerged in wheezed gasps. She looked pale … close to fainting.

  He steeled his emotions and reflected on those lonely, desolate years of searching. He’d searched for Ariah for over seven years. Damn it to hell if he’d let her go now.

  A glint of light caught the corner of his eye. He gazed downward at her ring.

  A fucking wedding ring.

  Muttering a vile curse, he seized hold of her wrist and read the band’s inscription aloud. His fingers encircled her wrist in a viselike grip. She uttered a cry and somehow managed to thrash free.

  “Putain. We were supposed to brave the word together.” Geoffrey seethed as he battled to control his breathing. “Instead, you fuckin’ abandoned me. You left me alone and raised my child with another man. My child, my own flesh and blood!”

  A long, pregnant silence expanded between them. After what seemed a lifetime, Ariah lifted her chin and gazed deeply into his eyes. His chest constricted at the emotions he found there: pain, heartache, and mirrored darkness.

  “I had loved you, Geoffrey.”

  Heart pounding, he stepped away from her in shock. And without another word, Ariah wiped away her tears, shoved past him, and left him alone once more.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The streets grew unusually quiet and still that evening – as if Paris was holding her breath. Fear and suspicion predominated everything. No opulent carriages graced the cobblestone walkways. Ladders were propped against the sides of buildings so workmen could efface any Bourbon emblems.

  Gabriel entered the café shortly after nine in the evening. Darkness enveloped the moderate space, alleviated only by the sconces that lined the room. The flickering illuminations licked at the plastered ceiling and walls with the force of the devil’s tongue, tossing thick shadows in their wake. Dust motes fluttered midair and glided through those eerie shafts of light.

  Gabriel anxiously speared his fingers through his hairline, straightened out his greatcoat, and examined the café. A cluster of men occupied one of the tables. The latest edition of the newspaper was sprawled open while they immersed themselves in a heated political debate. Snippets of conversation fell upon Gabriel’s ears. People regarded the returned emperor as either “that Corsican monster” or “France’s savior.” Reflecting on his meeting with Napoleon, Gabriel shook his head and edged toward the center of the room.

  A prostitute was perched on a nearby chair, her insipid gaze mirroring the café’s dreary state. Shiny red hair hung past her shoulders in voluptuous waves. She adjusted her posture at Gabriel’s entrance, allowing the shawl to slip from her shoulders. But as the left side of his face came into vision, she shrank in the chair and hastily glanced away.

  Sighing deeply, Gabriel scanned the wooden bar. The single-file row of seats were empty, save for one.

  The man was clearly of the working class; he wore his unfortunate status like a badge. Blood stained the torn material of his coat, a smoldering cigar was balanced between chapped lips, and yellowed teeth secured it in place. White smoke veiled his distraught features as he filled his lungs to their limit. He stared forward – though he appeared to see nothing. He looked lost. Grief stricken.

  Gabriel averted his eyes and dropped onto a stool several meters away.

  “To drink, monsieur?” the barkeep said in a dull, lifeless voice. A faded dishrag was draped over his shoulder, its material heavy and soaked through with sweat.

  “Brandy.” A waterfall of amber liquid was poured inside his glass. Gabriel outstretched his hand when the glass reached the halfway mark. “No more.”

  A high-pitched squeak shattered the silence. The stranger rotated on his stool and examined Gabriel with a leveled gaze. Shoving the cigar aside with his tongue, he lifted his glass, tossed back his head, and drank down the alcohol. Then he signaled Gabriel with a cool wave. His mouth cracked into a sardonic grin that revealed several missing teeth. Bloodshot eyes ran across Gabriel’s destroyed face and blemished greatcoat.

  Clenching his hand, Gabriel downed a mouthful of his brandy and battled not to be offended by the blatant gesture.

  “Another medal earned in the emperor’s honor, I take it?” the man said with a slur, pointing at Gabriel’s deformity.

  Gabriel swirled the brandy before bringing the glass to his lips. “One might say that.”

  The man leaned forward and outstretched a weathered, dirty hand. After a moment of hesitation, Gabriel grasped on and gave a firm shake. “Name’s Geoffrey Lucier.”

  The name left a sour taste in Gabriel’s mouth as he thought of another Geoffrey.

  “Colonel Gabriel de Laurent.”

  Geoffrey saluted Gabriel in a clumsy gesture. Then he sucked on the cigar and polluted the air with lush smoke rings. They swirled upward, decorating the atmosphere with a variety of designs.

  “Well, Colonel … you look like a man who’s been to hell and back.”

  Gabriel shot Geoffrey with a sharp look – though he found himself softening at the pain in the man’s eyes. He wanted someone to talk to, he realized, and Gabriel craved the same form of interaction. Being around Ariah and her family had altered him. He could no longer live in dark seclusion. Ariah had shown him light, comfort … and without those things, he held no hope of surviving.

  “I could say the same about you.”

  Gabriel studied Geoffrey’s vacant expression and haunted stare. An abrupt wave of empathy tugged at his chest. The man was nothing more than a drunk, filthy stranger – and yet he felt like a kindred spirit in his presence. Gabriel could see memories buried within the man’s eyes … remnants of a wasted love, pain, and loneliness. Indeed, Geoffrey stared forward, unblinking and unmoving, as if he was watching something unfold within his mind. Gabriel knew that sensation, how it felt to be haunted by past ghosts, to relive moments a thousand times – only to slide back into a cold reality. Gabriel raised the glass to his lips, threw his head back, and breathed a sigh of relief as the alcohol slipped down his throat. It heated his body like a blanket, and he settled into the comforting warmth.

  Intense conversations rose from a nearby table. Two men, clearly belonging to the bourgeois class, argued above their splayed newspaper. “The people act like a beaten mongrel, I tell you,” one of the workmen shouted. “A beaten mongrel who continuously returns to his abusive master.”

  Gabriel sighed, pressed two fingertips against his temple, and nursed away what promised to be a splitting headache. He shut both eyes, and the men’s overlapping words transformed into a distant blur. His thoughts trailed back to Ariah – and he felt a storm of unshed tears surface. Her delicate features appeared within his mind … real enough to reach out and touch. His fingers snaked around the glass as he erupted with the urge to destroy something.

  “Bonaparte is a determined wretch.” Gabriel’s eyes snapped open as Geo
ffrey mumbled between long drags. White smoke sheathed the man’s haggard face and rose in swirling coils. “I’ll allow the fool that much.” He glanced over his shoulder and raised his glass to the arguing men. They momentarily paused, then returned the gesture and settled back into their debate. “Enlighten me now, Colonel. You must have some words on the matter,” Geoffrey said, his own words becoming increasingly slurred with each drink. He leaned forward and tapped one of the greatcoat’s dangling ornaments. “You’re decorated like one of the damn German Christmas-time trees.”

  Gabriel shrugged his shoulders and ran a pinky finger along the glass’s rim. Quite suddenly, he felt vulnerable and naked without his signet ring. “Napoleon has a soldier’s heart, if nothing else. Since birth, the heat of the battle has been in his blood.”

  Geoffrey nodded and absently picked at his filthy fingernails. He adjusted his slouched posture the slightest bit. Then he took an intense drag of his cigar and shook his head. He blew the smoke inside his glass, fogging the clear sides and stirring the liquid to life. “Half a fuckin’ world away, he might have watched his entire legacy wither and die … he could have watched as it turned to ashes and burned out forever.” The words were slurred and clumsy, though spoken with conviction and heart. “But no. Not our noble emperor. He risked everything for his legacy – the one thing he cherishes most. I tell you, a lesson is to be learned there.” Shoving the cigar to the corner of his mouth, Geoffrey elevated his glass and drowned the last of his words.

 

‹ Prev