Page 18 of The Child of Rue Royale
She laughs, squeezing my hip. “You will still have a phone. I can give you all the horrific details that way.”
“This isn’t forever,” Mother pipes in. “Go, for now. We don’t want you giving birth here where the truth can come out when we aren’t ready. We’ll brainstorm on Facetime, we will find a solution. If anything happens, I can be there in a few hours. And I’ll take good care of Mercury. Don’t worry.”
I clutch my mom’s hand, suddenly realizing how dependent I’ve become on her since she returned. She is the wild witch, no doubt about it. But she’s my mother. Unpredictable, selfish, a complete pain in the ass. But she loves me fiercely, something I didn’t quite know before.
I kiss her wet cheeks, and she squeezes my hand. “My little witch, I love you. Even if you’re going to get us killed. I love you always.”
I laugh through the tears. “I won’t get us killed. I’ll fix it somehow.”
“Ladies. We are four smart and capable witches. We got this,” Chantal says through a smile.
With hope in our eyes, our hands part. Chantal and I get in the car.
“Okay, I might consider having an affair with a vampire if that means I get to ride on a private jet, have a car pick me up wherever I may be, and be treated like goddamn royalty,” Chantal chimes when we get into the black SUV Cassius arranged for us once we got to California. “Too bad I can’t stand a single one of them.”
Forcing a smile, while my mind spins, trying to catch up with how much my life has changed in the past twenty-four hours. Flights to the other side of the country, a new home to set up. I feel like a transient these days, and my bones long to settle down somewhere. I want stability, a place to call my forever home, and I don’t know where that’s going to be.
It’s evening, but the sun still sits low in the sky, the California weather once a distant memory of a sweet and terrifying time, is now my reality again.
“Are we going to a mansion, Jeeves?” Chantal calls out to the driver, and I slap her knee and give her a serious look.
Thankfully he ignores her. “I told you it’s not a mansion at all. It’s very small but really beautiful.” It’s almost like I repressed the memories of Bastian and me, at the beach house, but I’m about to go in the boxing ring with them all over again.
I’m on autopilot as we unload from the car, our suitcases lined up in front of the house where so much happened. I press the code into the lock, colors seeming to burst in my vision because I’ll be entering a place filled with the loveliest memories one can hold. The bed where we made love, the kitchen we cooked in, the beach where he watched the sunrise and cried that first clear tear. It all hits hard and deep, and Chantal’s face is asking if I’m okay.
“I’m good,” I say as we walk in, and there it all is. The familiar smell of lemon and sea. The small yet modern kitchen. The cozy living room with the couches that embrace you. The fireplace.
One day we’ll tell our son all about our adventures before he was born. We’ll take him to the beach and the boardwalk, and he’ll know everything there is to know about how we would give up heaven so he could be here. It was only supposed to be a taste, Bastian and I. And then it turned into so much more. He promised to love me until his dying day, and he kept that promise. I want our son to know all of it.
I flop on the couch, my feet aching and swollen, as Chantal walks around the house, yelling heroohsandawwsonce she gets an eyeful of the view. I can’t bring myself to look at it yet. In fact, I want to shrink into this couch and not look at a single thing. Not the kitchen where we cooked, not the fireplace where we made love next to, not this fucking couch where we read books together. Down the hall is his bedroom with nothing but windows, and past that, the beach and ocean with the most stunning views. I can’t imagine even peeking into that room. Because I can tell myself I’m bringing him back, but there’s still doubt that creeps in, whispering in my ear, “Can you do this? Can you really do this?”
My eyes glass over, so I shut them fast and tight, willing myself not to cry.
“This view!” Chantal yells from Bastian’s bedroom, but I keep my eyes fastened closed. She gave up everything to come here with me. I have to put on some kind of brave face. I have to try.
“Pretty amazing, right?” I yell back, swallowing the tears and the pain.
Her footfalls reach closer until her silhouette emerges from the hall. “This rough?” she asks, walking into the room and resting her arm on the kitchen counter.
“Yep. I’ll be okay.”
“You will be okay. You, baby, are a survivor. Since you were a little girl. You will get through this and everything else thrown your way.”
“Well, now I really want to cry, Chantal,” I whine, pushing the tears deeper down.
“Do you want to get in bed? It’s late. Been a long day.”
My gaze casts toward the bedroom…the first one Bastian and I shared together for more than a night at a time. “I don’t know if I can do it.” I bite my lip, fingers scratching at my wrist.
“Let’s sleep together. We can share the second bedroom. It’s not like we aren’t used to it.”
I nod, liking the idea of not being alone the first night. “I’m worried about what Nicola said. About how we’re just pushing off the inevitable by coming here. Eventually, the coven will find out I have a son. They are going to wonder why and how. What if we can’t figure out a plan?”
“You’re going to have worse problems if you bring Bastian back. You’re doing it here, right?” She chews on her lower lip, that chastising look on her face.
“If we’re still here. The spell will take eight weeks once the baby is born. Would you hate me if it worked?”
She sucks on her teeth, shaking her head in disbelief. But then she meets my eyes and says, “I could never hate you. I mean, girl. You’re having a boy. That is crazy. And I believe that you’ll figure all this out.”
