Page 20 of Madam Alana

“I have a gallery in Paris, of course. Though our home islittered with pieces of my soul.”

“Our home?” I reiterated, astonished by how much I adoredthe idea of having a real home.

“Oui. I am anxious to take you to France, to sharemy culture and its history. If you love this, you will adore the French countryside.But first, let us finish our tour.” He placed a sweet kiss to the bare skin ofmy neck and nuzzled me there until I giggled freely. “Come, come. There is moreto see.”

Christophe took my hand and together we continued the tour,walking through Eagle Point’s authentic Native American Hualapai village. Welearned how their people made houses and how they honored their heritage andtraditional methods. Something I could relate to.

We finished the tour by climbing pyramid-shaped red rocksthat overlooked almost athree-hundred-and-sixty degreeview of the canyon. Christophe helped me navigate the steeper parts and largerboulders, sometimes pulling me with his mighty strength or pushing me up with ahand on my behind. Those times he’d crack a joke about copping a feel of my assand how he was a lucky Frenchbastard.

The end of our day brought us back into the helicopter wherewe saw the sunset coast over the horizon, the sky turning marvelous shades ofred, orange, pink, and purple. I reached for Christophe’s hand, brought it tomy mouth, turned over his palm, and kissed the center, breathing him in. Hesmelled of sunshine, rich earth, and a heady musk that was him alone.

My husband looked at me with such compassion and care, hisvery soul open for the taking. He was as beautiful as the canyon for me, onlymore so.

“Cheri…”

He said the word like a prayer.

I was determined to try and give back, to let my iron wallsdown a little. I looked him directly in the eye and told him how I felt.

“Christophe,husband,” I started, enjoying how hesmiled wide at that last part. I think Christophe liked it when I called him bythat title. “Today has rivaled only one day as being the very best of my life.”

“What was the first?” he asked, instantly curious to learnmore about me.

“Yesterday. The day you made me your wife. The day I becameAlana Toussaint.” As I spoke, his eyes fired with the light of a million starsin the sky. “You keep saying you’re lucky, but that’s not true. I’m thefortunate one. Blessed. Because it was you, Christophe, who chose me. I’llnever be able to return such gratitude, but every day of our lives together I willtry to show you my appreciation.”

“I will take your thanks graciously, Alana, but that is notwhat I want,” he added gently.

“What do you want? I will give you whatever I can.” Hedeserved nothing less after what he’d committed to and all that he’d alreadyshown me.

He cupped my cheek, tracing my jawline with his thumb.

“I want your heart. I want your love.” His expression wasserene, while I was a tumble of tumultuous emotions riding a tsunami wave,barely clinging to the surface where the air was plentiful.

I inhaled sharply as his true intention became clear.

“I-I…I don’t know what to say,” I stated lamely, tearsfilling my eyes.

“Don’t say anything at all. One day, I will earn your heartand your love.Thatwill be the best day of my life.”

Chapter 8

Froma Caterpillar to a Butterfly

The helicopter landed and I silently exited, Christopheholding me close. I kept quiet until we made it back to our room where Iexcused myself and dashed through the master bedroom and into the bathroom.

The second the door closed, I locked it, spun around, andpressed my back to it. Covering my mouth, a sob burst through my fingers. I letmy body slide against the door until my butt hit the floor while I cried intomy knees, crunched up into a little ball of despair.

For a solid thirty minutes I allowed myself the time tospiral. Thoughts invaded my mind at a rapid-fire pace, each making me feelworse than the next.

Why is he being so nice?

What’s in it for him?

A man like that couldn’t possibly want the real me.

He says he wants my heart and my love.

Why? Why? Why?

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