Chapter 3: Léonie - Crushing His Mountain Flower

“What have you done?”

Étienne turned toward me, his fingers tightening over the bars on the examination table until his knuckles were pure white against the deep tan of his skin.

I felt my husband’s anger and disbelief like a physical blow, like something had cratered inside me.

“No no no. . .it’s not possible,” I whispered, my throat feeling scratchy. “There must be some mistake. Please, you have to believe me.”

“Why would you do this?” Étienne demanded, the only sound in the room besides my ragged breathing the steady thrum of our baby’s heartbeat on the screen.

“There is no other man!” I cried. “Have you ever seen me even look at another man? They don’t exist to me!”

It seemed inconceivable that my husband could be unaware of my embarrassing obsession with him, the humiliation of knowing I loved him more than he loved me.

But I loved him anyway. I couldn’t help it. He had a whole world out there in the mountains, but I had no world other than him.

Everyone knew I’d follow Étienne Bastide off a cliff if he told me to. That all he had to do was raise an eyebrow or a long, strong finger and I’d do as he asked.

He bent closer, and I whimpered, that distinctive scent of cologne mixed with rough Appalachian herbs. My husband always smelled like the mountains, different with each season, because he knew his range so well, knew every herb and flower of his territory up to where it met Boudreaux territory to the South.

“That’s not what I’ve heard. I’m gone a lot. I would have thought you were smart enough to keep your legs closed.”

The harsh rebuke stung, and my cheeks flushed to hear him say such things to me with his family and Faustine right there.

“But you, Étienne, have you ever seen me look at another man?” I asked, my hands clenched in tight fists.

I never spoke to my husband like this. It wasn’t done in our families. It was not the way of things. But as I struggled to sit up on the table I felt desperate for him to understand.

He didn’t answer, his dark eyes boring into mine.

How could he not read the truth of what I was saying on my face?

“Whatever you’ve been told is a lie. I promise.”

But Étienne pointed at the doctor. “You think I’m a fool? The paternity test doesn’t lie.”

And the words seemed to slide back down my throat, because how could I argue against it? How could I convince him? Somewhere there had been a mistake. I didn’t know how or why. But it was the only explanation. Someone wanted to break us up.

Étienne stalked across the room and cocked his head as he looked up at the monitor, our baby still pumping his little fists and kicking his tiny little toes.

Placidie was shaking her head. Like she didn’t even want Étienne to get closer to his son.

“Whose bastard child is this?” he rasped, pointing at the screen. “It’s not goddamn mine. So whose is it?”

“Please,” I wept. “Please. When would I have had a chance to cheat on you? I spend all day at our home and you know who comes in and out of there.”

“Perhaps you did not want to marry me,” he countered. “Perhaps you had another lover and your parents forced you to marry me.”

“No, never!” I said, shocked. “There is no one else, Étienne. No one but you.”

He scoffed, and turned away from the monitor as my heart crumbled into ruin.

How could he look at the ultrasound and deny the evidence in front of his eyes? To me I could see nothing but a resemblance to him in our child’s vitality and strong, pulsing heart.

“Perhaps—the more detailed imaging?” a nurse ventured in a timid voice. “This is only the 2D imaging. There is—more detailed imaging we can do. It costs a little more, but surely. . .”

The doctor shot a glare at her. “I will take it from here, Nurse. Your opinion is unnecessary.”

“No,” Étienne said with disgust. “I don’t want to see further evidence of her betrayal.”

“But they would show,” I begged. “They will show that the baby is yours. Look at him.”

“Sit back,” the nurse told me. “You are breathing so hard you might hyperventilate.”

The entire room was silent.

“There is no reason not to!” I insisted.

Étienne wasn’t looking at me, and it was like being plunged into darkness.

“Fine,” he said in a tight voice and I felt almost weak with relief again, as the nurse hastened to switch to the much more defined 5D imaging, and in only a few seconds vivid, colorful images of our son filled the screen.

These were much more detailed and even my wrecked and anxious heart filled with joy as I watched our baby’s strong, determined fists and the perfection of each tiny finger and toe.

“That’s him,” I said, and this time the tears felt happy.

How could they not be? I was looking at the evidence that my husband loved me, that he chose me. That he had put a baby in me.

“Étienne, look,” I almost laughed. “Look at the shape of his nose. Look at the color of his hair. He looks like you. He’s yours.”

My husband said nothing, still standing in front of the screen, his tall, strong frame with all its suppressed power and vitality concentrated on the image of our baby in my belly.

Claim him, I wanted to beg. You must feel what I do, that urge to protect and cherish our baby. I know you love him. You must.

“You know who it looks like,” Faustine said, as she and Placidie stared at the screen.

“Who?” I asked.

“Your brother’s friend Bruno. One of the Pinoteaux guards.”

The blood seemed to drain from my face.

“He does not! He does not look like Bruno! I’ve barely even seen Bruno since I got married.”

“Are you sure?” Faustine said.

“What do you think?” my mother-in-law asked Étienne, shooting me a venomous look.

“I know nothing about babies. But I don't see any evidence of Bastide blood.”

I could only stare in disbelief.

Where had that condom wrapper come from? The cigarette pack? What motive did anyone have for falsely incriminating me?

Étienne was still staring at the screen, and Faustine came up behind him, her pink-tipped nails touching his elbow and my stomach sunk to see the easy familiarity between them, the way he turned and bent down to listen to what she had to say.

“That hair color—yours is black, but this baby’s looks brown. And I don’t think the nose is your shape either.”

“You’re right,” my husband said. “That is not my baby.”

“I told you,” Placidie said. “I told you about marrying into the Pinoteaux. They are not trustworthy.”

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I lurched upright, swinging my feet off the exam table.

“How can you say that isn’t your baby? The one we have been so excited for?”

But Étienne’s face was set.

The 5D image slid off the screen and it felt like my hopes that this could be resolved easily slid off too.

But still I tried to get through to him.

“I promise that is your baby! I have not been unfaithful. There must be some mistake.”

Étienne shook his head.

“Faustine,” my husband said, and the sound of her name in his mouth made me so jealous. Why did it sound so low and sensual?

“My wife,” he spat the words like they were a curse, “claims the paternity test must be wrong. Can you go with the doctor and ask them to run the sample again? See if there’s any possibility there was a mistake.”

The tone of his voice made it obvious he thought it was a ridiculous idea.

“Can I see the test?” I asked. “I want to figure out what must have happened.”

“I’ll take that,” Faustine said as she snatched it from the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure there was no mistake.”

“But—” I protested as I met her eyes.

“Come with me,” Étienne interrupted, jerking his head to the door, and I was left to get off the table by myself and stumble after him.

Faustine had a little smile on her scarlet red lips as we left, and I had a sinking, horrible feeling that she would do anything but fix this mess.

How could I trust she would even do what my husband had asked?

“The samples—they must have been mixed,” I babbled on as Étienne, Placidie, and I got in the SUV. “Or—maybe they did his cheek swab wrong.”

“How did that other dick feel in your mouth?” Étienne snarled coldly as he spun the big vehicle out of the parking lot, and I knew, could feel in my bones, where he was going, his ever-present security following along behind. “Did you take off your ring or did he fuck you in the ass knowing you’re married?”

“Étienne, please—stop!” I cried, tears blurring my vision as he drove down the mountain roads. “If you would just let me explain⁠—”

The set of his face was void and expressionless. Étienne did not show emotion unless he desired to. I should know that very well.

“You and this bastard baby are going somewhere while I decide what to do with you.”

We drove down the winding roads, down low into the valley, and I began to get increasingly frightened the lower we got. This was a long way from my husband. From my home.

Finally, we pulled up to a high gate, its iron bars overgrown with thick ivy, and Étienne got out, ripping the ivy away. Then without a glance back at me, he flicked open a black box and rapidly punched in a code.

The doors swung open and I began to see men emerge from the shadows, men with sharp knives, who nodded to Étienne and fell in silently behind us.

The driveway was long and overgrown too, and we emerged from fields of wildflowers to an old-fashioned wooden lodge lying silent and dark in the shadows of the mountains.

No lights glowed from within. The entire place looked abandoned and dark.

And it dawned on me. My husband was planning on imprisoning me here.

“Get out,” he bit.

“Don’t leave me here,” I begged, unbuckling my seatbelt with trembling fingers. “Please don’t leave me here. Give me a c-chance, Étienne, to explain⁠—”

“Give me your ring,” he demanded.

“M-my ring, no, please⁠—”

“Your ring or I’ll take it from you.”

His jaw was set and rock-hard.

Shamed, I pulled the beautiful ring off my finger and handed it over. I didn’t know what kind of diamond it was, only that Étienne had said it was a fallen star, big and translucent, with all different colors that danced inside it—sunset reds and oranges and summer sky blues and buttercup yellows and cow-cream white.

He shoved the ring in his pocket, and it felt like the baby and I were already being erased from his life.

I was trembling from head to foot, still so shell-shocked that I could barely speak.

To have Étienne turn on me, Étienne who I loved more than anyone else in the world. . .

“If I can prove to you that you’ve been lied to, that I am innocent⁠—”

My husband’s hands were tapping impatiently on the side of the car, and he was looking off into the distance, back up those mountains.

“Réjean is arrogant,” he said, the confrontation with my brother clearly uppermost in his mind. “Small-pricked soft-bellied dog.”

“And yet you’ve brought his unfaithful sister and her bastard baby out here,” Placidie said, glancing over at me.

“Please, my love⁠—”

Étienne slammed his hand into the side mirror, sliding his eyes over me as he stalked back around to the driver’s side of the big SUV.

“I should have listened to my mother.”

For several long moments as the SUV started to move I was frozen in shock and horror, forcing myself to breathe as the emotional blow reverberated through my body.

He regretted our marriage. He regretted choosing me.

And then I turned around to see the lodge, the evening shadows creeping over it, the windows dark and shuttered.

What was in there?

Panic engulfed me. I couldn’t be left alone here!

Clutching my swollen belly, I headed down the driveway, really more of an overgrown path, waddling as fast as I could after the SUV.

But it was already at the end of the drive.

The gate was already open.

And then he was already gone.

There were little tight pulses all over my belly and I was cramping up, gasping for breath.

When the gate clanged behind my husband, I sunk to my knees and slid down through the overgrown meadow to the ground on my hands and knees.

My ribs were aching and it was like I couldn’t catch my breath. The wild night smells of the mountain filled my nostrils, and for the first time, they frightened me.

He had abandoned me. To be without Étienne for a single night gave me anxiety. To be without him for even longer—it was unendurable.

“Let me help you up,” an unfamiliar voice said. “it will do you no good to lie on the ground in your condition.”

I knew it was true, and wearily I dragged myself up and turned around.

But the person who met my eyes was so unexpected and so impossible, that all I could do was open my mouth and scream.