Page 119 of Prelude To You

Marguerite:Chérie!! Dieu Merci! Welcome back to Le Petit Chateau!

Me:Marguerite…

Marguerite:Jean-Rene is gone, fired! I’m head chef now!

Me:How did that happen? How did any of this happen?

Marguerite:Who cares? You’re coming back.

Me:Can I get back to you on this?

Marguerite:Why? There’s no time!

The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that I might be the only thing standing between Henry and whoever wanted to switch off those machines. I knew Marguerite wasn’t going to take it well, and I was searching for a delicate way to let her know. Finally it came down to only one approach:

Isabel:Actually, I won’t be able to do it. I’m sorry, M!

Marguerite:Merde. Think about it some more. Call me back.

Had I made the right decision? There was no way to know. One thing I believed was that Henry’s chances of dying in the immediate future would be significantly reduced if I was there to keep watch.

When I finished answering all the emails and texts, it was quiet again.

For all the effort I put into NOT thinking about Roman, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I found myself wondering what he was doing. Did he even give last night a second thought? I stifled a curse.

Get. Over. It. And move on.

I was pretty sure Roman had already moved on, or maybe he didn’t have to. It was probably all fair game to him. I hated that I had to villainize him to feel better about it all. And I also hated that I could never hate him.

I texted Sergei. Probably the last thing I should do since I was coming apart at the seams. He was rehearsing at the ballet company tonight and suggested we meet up after. Sergei had just always been there to soothe me in times of anguish.

Not that those times were anything like this, and I didn’t dare tell him. I had enough drama already.

Me:It’s fine. Next time.

Sergei: Good night, zhizn moya.

Why couldn’t I feel with Sergei what I felt with Roman? Why couldn’t I feel the same kind of desperation for Sergei that I did for Roman?

Me:Good night, luchik.

I still called Sergeisun rayin Russian. It went back many years, before we became romantically involved. And it stuck. Sergei would always be a light in my life.

31

ROMAN

The merger was finally coming together, which didn’t give me half the satisfaction it should have. I sat back in my office chair. Thoughts of Isabel weren’t just lingering; they were becoming more intense. Which didn’t bode well for me.

It was exactly 6.30 PM when I received news that Isabel had declined the offer to return to her old job as Le Petit Chateau’s pastry chef. No amount of work could appease the growing frustration I felt that it was not in my power to make things better for her, or to protect her from any of this. From all of this.

I didn’t understand what could possibly make her refuse the job she loved. On the other hand, did I really think I could just wave my power wand and make everything better?

My lack of sleep wasn’t helping my reasoning abilities. I was re-imagining our evening last night, minute by minute. The very least I did to regain some control over my day was to kill the image of Isabel on the big screen, but my resistance to calling it up again was beginning to fade.

“You need to sleep, Roman.”

I never heard Steven come in. I felt the fury and irritation creeping back inside me, just at the sound of his commanding voice.

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