Raw and Broken Ch. 05

But for the first time, I wished I'd not come on this trip. I wished I could escape to the observation room of Malcolm and Becca's mansion. Most of all, I wished I had someone to comfort me.

###

Christmas Day passed with the same lavish treatment from our host. We exchanged gifts, had another meal, and sat around talking for hours. As the evening approached, a couple of the girls suggested playing charades. When Claudette saw it wasn't go so well with the language barrier, she corralled everyone into a media room to watch classic "American" Christmas movies.

During "It's A Wonderful Life," I went to use the restroom. But it was just an excuse. I was staring out a window at the end of the hall, considering going upstairs to retire, when I remembered a couple of the French girls had talked about the elaborate gardens behind the mansion. I bet they looked beautiful right now.

I snuck out a back door I'd seen, confident I'd be warm enough in my cowl-neck sweater, jeans, and knee-high boots. Besides, I didn't plan to stay out here too long. I just needed a quick break.

It had stopped snowing. But the entire back yard—if one called it that over here—was covered for as far as I could see. Trees, bushes, rolling hills. All of it a pristine white. The fresh blanket crushed under my feet as I followed a gravel path in the moonlight.

This. This is what I had missed last December. What I'd longed for this year.

My very first Christmas with Drake, we'd gone for a walk to a local park in Wheaton after dinner with his sister and mother. His brother hadn't been able to make it down for the holiday, but we'd coped. It had been very peaceful, just the two of us. No talking as we sat on a bench, holding each other, and watched the snowflakes fall around us.

We'd celebrated the next year at Becca's condo with the addition of Malcolm, but it had just been four of us again as Beth had been sick, and weather had kept Alexander from driving down. It was easy to imagine myself with the same group every year. I'd tried not to get my hopes up.

Then Drake had proposed. We'd set our wedding to be in November, in autumn, my favorite season. I'd looked forward to a good-old family Christmas the next month. Especially after finally having met Alexander and his girlfriend Cameron at Thanksgiving. Malcolm and Becca had been hosting at Malcolm's house where she'd moved in. But Drake's persistence to force Becca to attend the collaring ceremony had ruined the Christmas plans, leaving me severely disappointed.

"It's a little cold out for a walk, isn't it?"

I flinched and glanced back over my shoulder at Stefan. "I'm from Chicago. I'm used it."

"Ah, the old Windy City. I'm from the coast."

I didn't bother asking him to elaborate which one as I followed the path that curved away from the house behind a cropping of trees. "Does your girlfriend know you're out here alone with me?"

"Who?"

"Nikkole? The arm candy you've been carrying around for the past two days."

He chuckled.

My heart did a flip-flop. I cursed silently and tried to stomp the joy right out of it.

"She's not my girlfriend. Although my mother thinks we'd be a perfect match."

"Well, if the shoe fits."

Stefan grabbed my arm to stop me from walking and turned me to face him. He wasn't smiling. "Did I do something to piss you off?"

I managed to cross my arms even though he still held onto me. He was right, it was chilly out here.

I contemplated coming clean. That since our first encounter, I couldn't stop imagining walking down a runway in nothing but a leash and heels for him. Or him flogging me when I didn't get the steps right. Making me crawl toward him then kneel and suck his cock. Fucking me ten ways from Sunday on the catwalk. All of which scared me.

I'd come to the decision that I wanted a normal relationship, if one at all. Maybe the occasional spanking. But no more collaring and living to serve another man. I had to live for me. Daphne.

A shudder raced up my back that the man actually had me reconsider giving up masochism and slavery, even though I doubted he was into that.

"I'm a little homesick. This isn't really what I had expected to be doing this Christmas. I'll get over it." It wasn't a lie, just not the whole truth.

"I'm sorry."

My muscles relaxed at his quieter tone. "Thanks."

"Maybe you haven't figured it out yet, Daphne, but I'm trying to get to know you better. I like you."

"Why?" I shrugged and looked around at the estate where each of the staggering roofs and awnings of the three stories glimmered under a cap of snow as they stretched out in both directions as well as rose toward the moon. "Why would you want to know a poor girl from the Midwest with nothing to her name when you've got something like this? You can have your pick of any girl here in France. You're surrounded by models every day. Most men would die for that opportunity."

Stefan snorted. "I'm not most men."

It was such an unexpected response, I laughed.

He put his hands on hips and dropped his jaw. "Are you making fun of me?"

I shook my head, pursing my lips to stifle a giggle. Then I shrieked as the wind picked up and snow from a tree branch blew down the back of my neck.

"Come on. If you won't go inside, there's a gazebo up the way that's out of the elements."

Possibly against my better judgement, I said, "Okay."

We continued away from the house and walked side-by-side as barren bushes and trees sprinkled with snow crystals flanked our way. He took me down a winding path that went past an honest-to-goodness hedge maze with an arched entrance formed from two trees that merged and twisted together at the top. Up ahead, I could see the gazebo nestled under a grouping of willow trees. The long wispy branches were pure white and cut the wind as we entered.

Stefan brushed snow off of one of the benches inside then gestured for me to sit down.

"Thank you." I had to admit, he was right. It was warmer in here.

Neither of us spoke for awhile. There actually wasn't any sound at all except for the occasional rustling of the willow branches as the wind blew against them. It was nice. But Stefan had to ruin it by clearing his throat.

I looked up at him—hell, even sitting he was taller than me. "I'm recently widowed. I—"

"I just want to be your friend, Daphne." His voice was very soft. Sad, even. "Is that okay?"

I closed my mouth and nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, not really."

"Okay." He was quiet for a bit, then he said, "So tell me something else about you?"

"Like what?" What happened to the all-knowledgeable guy who had me curious if he'd done a background check on me? Apparently his source had not been all forthcoming.

"Well, I know you're from Chicago. And you're a model. Is that what you always wanted to be?"

"No. I wanted to be an actress. It's what I went to school for."

"That's cool. So how did you get into modeling?"

I leaned my head against the upright beam behind me and grinned. "I saw an ad for Muriel's agency. I thought she sponsored actors. She wouldn't let me leave without promising to do one photo shoot."

"And the rest is history?" he said, chuckling.

I wished he would stop doing that. It was too inviting. "Yeah. I guess so."

"You mentioned family back in the states. Do you have any siblings? Are your parents still alive?"

I turned to face him fully and squinted. "What is this, twenty questions?"

Stefan grinned. "It's called getting to know each other. You answer mine, I'll answer yours. Deal?"

I shrugged and shook his proffered hand. "No siblings. I never knew my dad. My mom raised me on her own. She died from breast cancer the week after I graduated from high school."

"Geesh, Daphne. I'm sorry."

"She fought hard for months. I didn't want to let her go. But the doctor said he could only make her comfortable at the end. We managed to get her to the auditorium for my ceremony. I think that took the rest of her energy. She didn't get out of bed after that. I was with her every day until she passed away in her sleep."

"Can I give you a hug?"

Stefan wrapped his arms around me as I nodded.

It's hard to explain what I felt in that brief moment. Almost as if a void I'd had inside me for weeks was slowly starting to fill in. Maybe it purely was human contact. Genuine concern from another person, even if was from a man. Maybe it was more. But I didn't want to put too much weight on it.

Then the moment was gone. We were sitting there apart in silence. Awkward silence.

"Anyway, I found a smaller apartment closer to school and got a job. Life moved on. So...next question?"

"We don't have to do this, Daphne."

"Nonsense. I made a deal. What else do you want to know?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment. "Speed round, then."

"No judging?"

He put his right hand over his heart. "Nope."

I raised an eyebrow at him and shook my head. "Okay, go."

"Favorite color?"

"Blue."

"Favorite dessert?"

"Anything with Oreos."

"Favorite musical artist?"

"Bon Jovi."

"Interesting."

I shrugged. "I grew up in the eighties. Plus, he's easy on the ears and the eyes, and he only gets better with age."

"I wasn't asking, but thanks for the clarification. Favorite actress?"

"Meg Ryan."

"Nice. 'When Harry Met Sally?' The fake orgasm in the café?"

My cheeks grew warm despite the chill in the air. Of all the scenes in all the movies she was in, he had to pick that one? I struggled to not adjust my position. To scoot away from him a little. "I prefer 'You've Got Mail.' Or 'Top Gun.' "

"She was in 'Top Gun?' "

I looked up at him, wild-eyed. "Goose's wife?"

"Oh, yeah. Huh."

"My bad, you would have been looking at Kelly McGillis the whole time."

"Well, she was hard to miss. And she got naked."

"My point exactly. Moving on."

"Uh, male celebrity you'd sleep with?"

"Where do you come up with these questions?"

"Just answer it."

"Fine. Robert Downey, Jr."

"Seriously?"

"You promised, no judging."

Stefan shook his head. "Favorite vacation spot?"

"Paris, so far."

"Beer or wine?"

"Wine. Come on, these are too easy. They don't say anything about who I really am."

"Okay, then, why did you stop Edward from smacking your ass?"

Every muscle stiffened. "It's personal."

"Why?" His voice was a little huskier than it had been.

"My turn. Why didn't you become a model?"

"Because that's what my mom wanted. And I wasn't done with you."

"Have it your way. What's your next question?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"You've kissed me half a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours. We're in France."

"Not like this." He pulled me close suddenly, his lips pressing against mine. His fingers were in my hair. His palms warmed my cheeks.

I was panting when he finally released me. He was right. He'd definitely not kissed me like that before. I was going to make some snide comment about real French kissing—which he had refrained from demonstrating—but all I could do was open and close my mouth.

"Rendered speechless, eh, Daphne?"

I swallowed. Heavily. "Uh, I'm getting cold."

"Do you like me?"

I stood suddenly, no longer liking this game. "You know, they're probably wondering where we went. We should go back—"

"You're avoiding the question, Daphne. You promised to answer mine."

I crossed my arms. "Why do you care? You said you just wanted to be friends."

"Let's just say I have a vested interest."

I snorted and walked out of the gazebo, my heart racing. "You can freeze out here by yourself."

I heard his slow footfalls crunching on the snow behind me as I headed back toward the house. I was in such a hurry, though, that I slipped. Of course, he was right there to catch me. And that brought tears to my eyes. Damn chivalry.

"Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, blinking rapidly. My vision blurred further as the cold air hardened the tears on my eyelashes. "I'm sorry. I'm just not ready. I can't—"

"Shh." Stefan set me upright. He brushed his thumb under my eyes and then hugged me to his body. His lips grazed my cheek as he whispered, "I'll wait."

###

New Years in Paris was something I'd never forget. Claudette arranged for all of us to attend the celebration at Moulin Rouge. I'd read up on it after hearing the plans. I didn't know if she got a discount, but for our group of twenty-two, I could have bought a small car for the cost to have an elaborate dinner and show.

When all of the partying was done, we were back to work non-stop for the next two months leading up to Fashion Week in March.

True to his word, Stefan didn't pressure me. But he made his presence known. He was at every morning meeting now. Attended our group photo shoots with Rene, the head of the magazine we were modeling winter collections for. He even showed up to our Super Bowl Party with Muriel, Georgia, Scott, and Jerome that us American girls held in my flat.

He asked me out for Valentine's Day, but I politely turned him down. I woke up that morning to find a single red rose and a card that read, "Je vais attendre pour vous," tied to our doorknob. Bridget asked me what it said. When I translated that it meant he'd wait for me, she just stared at me slack-jawed and then smacked me on the arm for being such a dunce.

The day before Fashion Week began, Claudette announced that Nikkole had left the agency. No explanation was provided, but Stefan whispered to me in passing that he'd heard she'd been offered a job with Christian Dior. I was both relieved and a little jealous. But I didn't have time to dwell on either emotion as the chaos of traveling from show to show occupied my every waking moment.

In April, I finally relented and let Stefan take me out to dinner for my birthday. We ate at the 58 Tour Eiffel restaurant located in the famous tower. Then we walked down the Champs Elysees where he kissed me under the stars. I couldn't deny that it was all very romantic.

But I knew that May would be here all too quickly. Then only one more month before my trip would be over. A fact that I'd not discussed with Stefan. It had been one of the reasons I'd not easily given into his desire to pursue a relationship. It wasn't fair to either of us.

I'd expected it when Muriel begged me to let her take me on again at the Chicago office. But to my surprise, Claudette extended the same invitation...for the Paris agency. Then there was Rene who wanted to hire me to work for his magazine. And Pauline who also wanted me to be the top model for her fashion line. I'd not thought of staying in France. But now that I knew it was an option...

They were all very generous offers. And I told everyone that I would consider each one carefully. I weighed Stefan into the all of the equations, as well. But my decision was made for me when I logged into Skype the first Sunday in May.

Becca was grinning from ear-to-ear. Malcolm stood behind her with the same expression.

"Okay, it's obvious you two have good news. Spill."

They argued back and forth unintelligibly for a moment, then something white filled the camera view.

"You're going to have to back up. What is that?"

"I told you it was too close," Malcolm said. His big hand filled the screen for a moment.

"Yes, that's very helpful. Could you please— Oh, shit!" I stared at the image of a white stick that filled my laptop monitor now. Then Becca's face was there again.

"Did you see it?"

All I could do was nod.

"We're going to have a baby!"

Malcolm's face joined hers. "I'm going to be a daddy!"

The tears were falling before I had even realized I was crying. My heart ached. I just wasn't sure if it was joy for them or sorrow for myself.

"Daphne? Are you okay?" Becca was crying now, too.

"We didn't mean to upset you," Malcolm said. His grin had turned into a frown.

I shook my head and smiled. "No, I'm happy for you. Very happy. I can't wait to see you guys next week. I've missed you so much."

Becca wiped her face with a tissue. "We've missed you, too...Aunt Daphne."

We talked for another thirty minutes before I signed off. Instead of going to bed as I usually did after our Internet talks, I went out the garden area in my PJs. I stared up at the stars, thinking about the experiences I'd had this past six months. Hell, the past year.

They had definitely changed me. Made me stronger. Time would tell if it lasted.

###

The day before I would fly home, Claudette had everyone out to her estate for a farewell party. There were a lot of tears and hugs. Exchanges of contact information between the Americans and the French girls who had become friends despite international barriers.

As I was prone to do when I visited this place, I wandered away from the crowd. We were in a different part of the house than the previous times we'd been here, so I went looking for the hallway off the media room to take one last walk in the garden. To sit in the gazebo under the willows that would have blossomed by now.

I found myself down an unfamiliar hall, though...with no windows or external doors. I turned to head back when I saw the door on my right was slightly ajar. Now, I was not a nosy person. But I figured no one would know this time. And if they did, it wasn't like I was coming back here any time soon. I probably wouldn't see these people again in my life.

To my relief, the door didn't make a sound when I pushed it open. A lamp on pedestal table had been left on, casting most of the room into shadows. It looked like a library or a den. The wall on my left was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There was a couch at the far end of the room facing a massive, stone fireplace. A desk with hand-carved figures on the corners was situated on the wall closest to me and faced into the room. In between was a window with dark drapes pulled across. A narrow gap between them let in moonlight.

I was turning to leave when I saw the illuminated painting above the desk. The Impressionist that had been in the main hall at Christmas. I giggled loudly. So this was THE den.

I put my hands on top of the desk and leaned forward. The curved-necked art light above the frame helped me see the design better than last time. It no longer looked like a bunch of wide, sharp brush strokes in a variety of colors. I could make out the outlines of two figures now: a man and a woman. And if my eyes were not deceiving me, he was leaning her back...and kissing her naked breasts.

A desperate moan crept up my throat. How long it had been—

"I wish you would muse about me as hard as you do about that painting."

"Oh, shit!" I gasped and spun around, tripping on my own feet. I fell backwards against the desk as I saw Stefan leaning against the back of the couch, his arms crossed. I couldn't see his face, but I knew he must be watching me. Where the hell had he come from? "I-I'm sorry. I got lost. I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay, Daphne." He stood upright and took a few steps toward me, further into the light. His eyes slowly lifted from my feet, and he tilted his head to the side. "I really do like that outfit on you."

Heat filled my cheeks. I had on the black romper ensemble I'd modeled on my first runway walk. I'd thought it was a nice touch as I said adieu to this beautiful country. I hope he hadn't thought I'd worn it for him. Or maybe I had, subconsciously. A shiver made my shoulders tremble at that thought.

"Thank you." I regained my balance and distanced myself from the desk once more as I lifted my chin toward the painting. "I see you had it moved."

Stefan raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting slightly. Possibly over my shoulder. "Oh, yes. The Leonid Afremov. I think it's called 'War of Feelings.' Are you an art lover?"

"I'm not sure. I like some pieces by Degas and van Gogh, but I wouldn't say I love them."