Page 82 of From Paris, with Butter
I whipped my head around as I continued to hyperventilate. My mouth was stretched wide in a futile attempt to get oxygen. I could barely see anything; my vision had narrowed to two pinpricks of light. All I could make out was the pink silk of the table skirt.
No one could see me here. No one could help me as I struggled to breathe. I was all alone.
Chapter 32
Suddenly, two hands grabbed me and roughly pulled me into a sitting position.
“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” a voice asked. It was sharp and angry.
The sudden movement was enough to shock my lungs out of the shallow breaths they’d been stuck in. My first real gulp of air was cool and sweet. For a long minute, all I could do was concentrate on my breathing as I trembled on the floor.
“P-panic attack,” I finally gasped out. I slumped back to the ground, but the hands forced me up again. The cool rim of a water glass was pressed to my lips.
“Drink it.”
I obeyed, although I half-choked on the first sips. The water gave me something to focus on, something to anchor myself to. I concentrated on how cool it was, how pleasant it was to drink. I’d been so thirsty; how had I not realized that?
Slowly, the roaring in my ears receded and my vision came back into focus. It wasn’t until nearly a minute later that I realized I had enough air now, although my breathing remained rapid.
“Are you alright?” the voice asked, and now I recognized it.
Laurent, who had been so pristine when he’d walked in, now looked distinctly disheveled as he knelt on the floor beside me. Concern was vivid on his face.
“Margot, are you alright?” he asked again.
I wanted to nod and get composedly to my feet. That’d show Laurent that this had been just a moment of weakness, but that I was doing fine. Better than fine, even. Then he would be confident in my status as an independent, capablewoman. All I had to do was say “yes.”
Instead, I burst into tears.
Laurent didn’t need any more answer than that. With a purposeful but gentle touch, he got me up and hustled me out of the ballroom. But instead of turning to the kitchens, he opened a random side door and ushered me in. I was crying too hard to see where we were, but I had a sense that we were now in a much smaller space. That was comforting, somehow.
It had been nearly two months since Laurent and I had seen each other. I was afraid that, after such a long time apart, he’d be awkward now, keeping his distance as I cried myself out.
But I need not have worried; Laurent had no such reservations. He held me as I sobbed into his shoulder, stroking my hair and murmuring my name.
When I finally shuddered to a stop, Laurent handed me a roll of paper towels. I looked around as I blew my nose. We were in some sort of storage closet, and it was absolutely filthy. I shuddered as I took in thick coats of dust and desiccated food scraps.
“I’m sorry,” I said, apologizing for I don’t even know what. “That song, it…” I was trembling, but my voice was steady. That was something, at least. “That song the band played was my mother’s favorite song. She listened to it all the time, and I had it played at her funeral. I guess I wasn’t expecting to hear it,” I finished weakly.
I was looking at my clenched hands, but I felt Laurent’s arm come around my shoulders. His touch steadied me. I inhaled deeply, concentrating on the air filling my lungs. I lay my head against Laurent’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths. “I’m sorry,” I said again.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said softly.
Laurent handed me another paper towel. “Margot, I’m so sorry for what I said the last time we spoke. It was horrible of me. I know how much you miss your mom. She’d be so proud of you right now.I’mso proud of you. Look at what you’ve accomplished tonight.”
I sniffed. “Having a mental breakdown and cowering in a closet that’s littered with rat droppings?”
“I was thinking more of the desserts you baked for hundreds of people.”
“The macarons got ruined. We’re going to be short desserts.” I dropped my head. That was a mistake because I suddenly had an up-close view of the moldy bread crusts I was kneeling on.
“The macarons are ruined? How?”
“Sabine ‘bumped’ them.” I looked up to see Laurent’s face darken.
“That little—” his jaw clenched. “Don’t let her ruin this for you, Margot. Why don’t you bake something else to replace the macarons? Something quick?”
“I can’t.”
