“I’m so sorry,” Elise said. She and Francesca had been in contact since that night the truth had come out. Francesca had immediately flown to London while Elise stayed in Chicago, ritualistically going through her routine to keep herself distracted from what she couldn’t control. Lucien had called Elise the day after he’d left, but after that he had resorted to text messages with updates on Helen’s status. He’d corresponded with Francesca ever since she’d been forced to return to Chicago because of her graduate program demands. Lucien’s regular contact with Francesca reaffirmed Elise’s anxiety that he was too angry to speak with her.
Elise had been so guilt-ridden on the phone with Lucien on the one occasion he’d called that she’d stumbled over what to say. He seemed distant as well . . . perhaps cold? Clearly, he hadn’t come to terms with what had happened. True, he’d told Ian that night that he’d suspected his mother was alive, further prying open the door to the secret, but it’d been Elise’s impulsive statement that opened the lock in the first place.
“Thank you for coming over so quickly,” Francesca said, releasing her.
“It wasn’t a problem. Denise is covering things at Fusion,” Elise assured. Elise took Francesca’s hands in her own when they broke apart. “I can’t believe there’s already been a funeral.”
“It was a memorial service more than a funeral. Apparently, Helen had made a request during one of her more lucid periods to be cremated. I had just heard from Lucien early in the morning that Helen had passed away, and before I had a chance to make some last-minute plans at school and pack, Anne was calling to say they’d already held a service and not to come.”
Elise’s heart leapt at the mention of Lucien’s name. Elise repressed an urge to ask a slew of questions about Lucien. She knew from those messages he’d visited Helen Noble in the hospital with Ian, but she had no idea about the outcome of those meetings. Once again, she experienced that terrible feeling of being an outsider.
Alone.
“Don’t you see, Elise?” Francesca asked her miserably. “Ian didn’t give me a chance to even get to the service because he doesn’t want me there. Why is he avoiding me this way?”
Elise shook her head, determined not to show her worry about Ian’s actions regarding Francesca. Although Francesca had immediately flown to London when she’d heard Ian was there, she’d only stayed for three days. After learning that a professor refused to extend a deadline for a project, Ian had insisted she return to Chicago, assuring her he’d contact her when things got worse with his mother. Apparently, Ian hadn’t done that, however, and that’s what Francesca was so upset about.
“He’s confused and grieving. Give him time,” Elise assured, taking Francesca’s hand and leading her to a salon that led off the main gallery hall. “Sit down. I’ll get you something to drink,” she said, spying a pitcher of water and some decanters on a sideboard.
“But I’m his fiancée, aren’t I? I’m supposed to be with him while he’s going through something so terrible. When Anne called and said I shouldn’t come, she said Ian had to leave for an important business crisis in Germany. She was being elusive on purpose. I know it,” Francesca said shakily as Elise handed her a glass of water.
“Ian doesn’t strike me as the type of man who would want you to see him while he’s vulnerable.”
“Well too bad!” Francesca blurted out. “You can’t have a relationship with someone and avoid that person just because you feel vulnerable. Of course he feels bowled over after his mother’s death . . . after what Lucien told him. Who wouldn’t? All the more reason I should be by his side right now. But he’s barely said two words to me since he stormed out of here that night, even while I was in London. He kept insisting I shouldn’t come until Helen had passed. But when Helen did go, he never told me! I’m furious at him,” she said, her voice breaking in anguish. “And I’m sick with worry. What in the world is he thinking?”
“I wasn’t defending him, Francesca. I just meant, it’s not too shocking that he’s throwing up some walls at this point.”
“I have this awful feeling he’s going to leave me.”
Elise’s mouth fell open in surprise at Francesca’s stark declaration. Francesca had never struck her as being prone to hysterics. “Ian leave you? No . . . never. He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on.”
Francesca shook her head as if she couldn’t adequately convey her fear. She set down the water on the coffee table untouched.
“You don’t know Ian. You don’t know what a nightmare this all has been for him. It’s bound to send him into a crisis,” she said hoarsely. She blinked and brought Elise into focus. “It’s been awful for you, too. You knew more about Lucien and Helen than Ian and me on that night, but the rest of it—the part about Trevor Gaines—was a shock to you as well.”
Elise nodded grimly. “And Lucien has been just about as uncommunicative with me as Ian has been with you. Lucien has a good excuse, though. He’s got to be furious at me for forcing the issue that night. He’s always considered me impulsive . . . a loose cannon. I had to go and prove him right, didn’t I?”
Francesca patted her hand where it lay on her knee. “Lucien made a conscious decision that night to tell Ian. You didn’t force him to it, Elise. You acted from the heart. That’s not a bad thing. You were worried Lucien would never get a chance to find out about his biological mother with Helen so ill.” Her expression lightened slightly. “Oh . . . and Lucien told me good news about that when I spoke to him early this morning. Has he told you, by chance?” Francesca asked delicately.