Graham's Fiance (8 page)

She held her breath as the dial tone sounded, not sure if she would reach him or a voicemail.

“McGregor here.”

His deep voice on the other end shocked her into silence. Savannah bit her lip. Swallowed.

“Hi, Michael. It’s me, Savannah,” she rushed on. “I’m the woman who used to live in your building. The one who...who married Graham Victor.”

“I know who you are, Savannah,” he said very gently.

Inexplicably, something in his tone made her begin to cry. Her lower lip trembled as the tears ran down her face. She grabbed a napkin from the table and mopped at her face. She cleared her throat.

“I wasn’t sure,” she said in a voice that wobbled alarmingly.

“Are you all right?” His tone changed, became harder. “Did he hurt you?”

The tears poured down her face faster until she was sobbing quietly with the phone pressed to her cheek.

“Savannah? Savannah?!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m fine. I think I’m just having a mild attack of nerves.” She took a deep breath. And then another.

“Are you still in France? What’s happening over there?”

How did he know she was in France? Even she hadn’t known where she and Graham were going until they had walked up to the departure gate to Air France. Oh, right. His investigation.

Savannah cleared her throat again. She took a sip of her coffee that was now lukewarm. “Yes, I’m still in France. I’m sitting in a cafe. Graham’s asleep.”

“Has he hurt you? Are you afraid for your life?”

The humiliation of the previous night flashed through her mind. She could never tell Michael about that. Never. “He...threatened to leave me in Paris. He said he could kill me if he wanted to.”

Michael cursed in her ear. “Get on a plane, Savannah. You hear me? Get on a plane and come back to the States right now.”

“I can’t. Maybe...maybe he’s just talking,” but even as she said the words, she remembered how frightened she felt when Graham had her in his unyielding grip. “I just wanted somebody to talk to, I guess.”

“You can talk to me anytime, please know that.”

“I do.” That was the reason she called him.

She’d thought about calling her brother, but it seemed like too much to unload on him. Too much to deal with after his spiritual cleanse in India. Shit! It was too much for her to deal with.

“Thanks for answering my call,” she said.

Michael made a harsh noise. “Savannah...,” he breathed deeply. “Please get on a plane and leave that man. He could hurt you. I don’t think those threats he’s made are idle.”

“You may be right, Michael. But I just can’t leave him. He’s my husband. I just married him a few days ago.”
Oh God! Had it only been a few days?
“I don’t want to abandon something that can be saved.”

“Don’t be naive. Nothing attached to that man can be saved,” Michael paused. “Do you know that he killed his first two wives?”

Surprise stopped Savannah’s breath. She remembered Monique saying something about another wife but....

“Are you sure?” She clenched her hand that was suddenly trembling in her lap.

“I don’t have any proof, if that’s what you mean.”

Suddenly, the conversation was too much for Savannah. “Listen, Michael. I have to go. Thank you for picking up the phone. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“Savannah!” His voice rose.

“I really have to go. I’ll see you when I get back home, okay?”

“You should leave him. Leave him and come home to the people who love you.”

“I’ll be all right, Michael. Take care of yourself. I’ll be home soon.” She hung up the phone, cutting off his raised voice.

She sat with the phone in her lap, her hands trembling around it. Graham had had wives before her. She remembered being surprised at hearing that the night before, recalled that information falling away under the sheer weight of everything else that had happened to her.

Other wives?
And Michael thought he had killed them. He had no proof. He was worried for her. Graham had threatened her. Twice.

Savannah tucked her phone back in her purse, blinking out at the bright day with the beautiful Parisians passing before her eyes on foot, riding scooters, and in tiny little cars. The city loomed above her, ancient and enthralling.

A dream she had had ever since she was a child was to come to Paris and see the beautiful city. The singular Parisians with their berets and cigarettes and their beautiful accents. Their fashion. And she was finally among them. But she was miserable. The misery sat in her belly like a yawning sore as tears threatened again.

How could a dream have become so twisted? What was she going to do?

Savannah spent the rest of the morning out in the city by herself. She kept her phone nearby in case Graham called but he never did. And she never called him. Instead she went to the Louvre and walked through its magnificent halls, absorbing the history, the art, the unique solitude she found from being with hundreds of strangers in a quiet, public place.

She didn’t want to go back to the hotel. But she had no choice. Her clothes were there. And for better or for worse, so was her husband. Late afternoon. Almost five o’ clock.

She found herself tired from her sleepless night, her eyes dropping closed as she sat in the Louvre courtyard with her baguette, hunk of cheese, and bottle of Perrier. The courtyard rang with hundreds of voices, the sound of laughter. Sunlight glinted off I. M. Pei’s glass pyramids, dazzling her eyes. Although she wanted to fight the reality of it, it was time to go back to the hotel. She was tired. Her body was exhausted from its emotional night time journey and its physical daytime one.

Savannah ate the last bite of the bread and cheese sandwich she’d made and headed for the Metro that would take her back to the hotel, and to Graham. Within a half hour, she was back at the hotel, pressing the button to take her up to the ninth floor where her husband was. Savannah cursed the nervousness that plagued her, made her want to turn tail and run. But she forced her footsteps down the hallway in a confident strut. She took the keycard from her purse, swiped it, and walked inside the door with a peaceful smile on her face.

Her smile was wasted. Graham wasn’t there. The relief hit her hard. She dropped her purse on the low table on her side of the bed, stripped off her clothes, and climbed between the soft sheets that smelled faintly of lavender. In moments, she was asleep.

Savannah woke to a kiss. She knew it wasn’t from her dream because in her dream, a prince was chasing her with a sword. His mouth was twisted in a snarl and curses fell from his lips while she ran toward the embrace of a fire-breathing dragon.

“Darling, my darling.”

A voice buzzed at her ear, mingling with the kisses to pull her out of sleep’s embrace. Savannah turned her head away. She didn’t want to hear the voice. She didn’t want to hear anything, do anything. She just wanted to rest. She drew the covers over her head, or at least tried to. More kisses. The voice again. Finally, she couldn’t ignore the intrusion any longer. She opened her eyes and saw Graham.

He was dressed to go out, or maybe he was just coming back from someplace. Black slacks, cream shirt, his short hair smelling faintly of the outdoors. He was coming back from somewhere then. She tolerated it while he pressed his mouth to her forehead, her cheek, her chin. The faint scent of sweat clung to him, and the tang of something faintly sour on his breath.

“Savannah.” He said her name with a sigh, slowly pulling back to sit on the side of the bed. She stayed absolutely still and watched him, wondering what he was up to. A smile touched his lips. His eyes were alight with happiness. The bedclothes shifted as he moved near the curve of her hip.

“Hi,” she said very softly, still not moving.

“Oh, darling. Don’t be that way.” He reached for her hands again and she flinched from him, cowering back against the headboard.

A look of deep sadness settled on his face. The happy glint in his eyes faded. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“That’s not what you said yesterday.” Her tone let him know she hadn’t forgotten. Wasn’t going to pretend those moments in that awful place didn’t happen. Wasn’t going to pretend she hadn’t been afraid.

“I was drunk. I was high. I was running hard on adrenaline.” Graham leaned close to her, his eyes earnest. “I would never hurt you, Savannah. You’re my wife, for God’s sake.”

His face crumbled. Eyes darkening with pain as he looked at her. Graham looked so devastated at the very idea that she thought he would harm her that she immediately felt bad for having doubted him. She shouldn’t have let Michael convince her that her husband, the man who’d been so helpful and protective of her since the day she met him was capable of what Michael said.

“You’re my wife,” he said again. “Don’t you remember our vows? To love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do us part. Don’t you remember?”

“I wish I could forget them,” she said finally. “They’re the only reason I’m still here with you.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching her. Was he regretting not taking away her purse with all her credit cards so he could ensure the effectiveness of his next threat to abandon her in France? Or was he truly sorry for what he’d done to her.

Savannah held her head up, meeting his eyes. “I don’t want to live in fear of you, Graham. If you want to live a life where you sleep with anyone you chose, you should have told me before the wedding. If I say no to something that you never shared with me, then you’re the one who’s wrong.” She stiffened her jaw, expecting his coldness or for him to make threats similar to what he’d done the night before. But he did neither of these things.

“I was wrong.” The words were soft, filled with remorse. “I don’t want to hurt you. I was filled with nerves about our new life together. Being in France always fills me up with too much extra testosterone or something,” he smiled wryly.

Graham put his hand on the bed, palm up. “Can you forgive your husband? Please?”

Savannah bit her lip, resisting the urge to ask him what was his excuse when they were in Miami? Why had he threatened to suffocate her then? She kept her mouth shut and offered him the barest of smiles. She put her hand in his.

“Thank you,” he sighed with relief, then with her hand still in his, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a purple velvet pouch bulging with something the size of his fist.

“This is for you,” he said.

One handed, he loosened the drawstring of the pouch, reached into the velvet bag that smelled faintly of cinnamon and drew out a string of pearls.

“Oh, my...,” Savannah put a surprised hand to her lips. 

They shimmered in the low light coming into the room from the street. He pulled the pearls out and kept pulling until the necklace lay like a hard and lovely snake on the bed between them. It had to be at least forty inches long.

“Will you let me put them on you, wife of mine?”

Speechless, Savannah could only nod. Graham drew his hand from under hers and picked up the necklace. The pearls were luminescent in his hands, overflowing his fingers as he picked them up and draped them around her neck. They were cool against her skin, quickly warming with her body’s heat.

“Beautiful.” He sounded as if he meant it.

Savannah looked up at him through her lashes, wanting to believe this was true regret. Needing to believe that things would go back to the way they were. She nibbled at her lower lip.