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Chapter 38

Raoul

I was terrified to tell her.

Meg had only just learned to be comfortable here. She'd only just managed to keep her terror and grief under control, and now...this. Her mother's glasses were broken and found on the workstation of a stagehand. The poor girl would be in pieces.

And yet.

I couldn't keep this from her. It would be entirely unfair. It was her mother, for Christ's sake. I wouldn't keep her in the dark - not about this.

I let her laugh with the twins. They'd weaseled their way into her favor, the charming bastards - and she won their favors as well. I could tell. But, really, how could she not? Sweet, beautiful, talented-

I had to tell her. I loathed to see her upset, panic, cry. But I needed to let her know.

When Julien and Albert at last left, each holding their full stomachs, exclaiming to Janelle how their bellies were about to burst with just how delicious her cooking was, I closed the door behind them. Meg was on one of the sofas, where we'd gone after dinner to have coffee and tea. She smiled at me and lifted the tea to her lips.

I forced a small and sat across from her. My own coffee was still on the table, cold and barely touched. I'd lost my appetite for both food and drink after I'd read the note from Albert. That damned napkin.

"Your friends are so nice." She put her tea on the table. Her hands went to either side of her small hips and she leaned forward. "Albert and Julien. They've a wonderful sense of humor."

I tried not to roll my eyes. As much as I agreed, I could never let them know she'd said that. It would go right to their heads, both of which were already far too big. But I didn't respond. I merely nodded lightly and looked at the coffee table, my stomach turning.

"Raoul?"

I glanced up. Her expression had changed to one of concern, brows stitched and frowning. She tilted her head.

"Are you all right?" she asked me.

My smile disappeared. "Meg."

"Yes?"

"Albert...gave me news. At dinner."

"What kind of news?"

"About your mother," I whispered.

She seemed to turn to ice - face going white as sheet lightning, body a rigid and cold glacier. "My mother?"

"Yes." Slowly, I went to my pocket and brought out the note. I stood, legs weak, and went to sit next to her. I handed her the slip of paper. "I...I'm not..." I let her examine it. She stared at it for far longer than it should take to read. "I'm sorry, Meg."

"She-" Her voice was small. "She could be all right. This doesn't mean...anything."

"Right." I nodded. "Right."

A long pause. "Raoul?"

"Yes, Meg?"

"Christine is with a man named Jules Bernard. He is a production assistant at the theatre."

I stared at her. I hadn't known this. "I see."

"Can I send word to her that I'm safe? And perhaps have her send word back to me?"

My stomach dropped at that. "I...do you trust this man?"

"My mother seemed to, if she let her stay with him."

But that didn't make me feel any better. "Do you know where he lives?"

"No," she whispered.

I paused. "Meg, I don't know. I...what if this man is connected to the killer?"

Her breath hitched. "Then Christine would be in danger."

"And if I send word, then Janelle - or whoever sends the message - could be followed back here. You will be in danger, too."

Her hands went into fists, the paper crunching in her hand. "I...know you're right. You're right. I have to remain hidden. But I...miss them. I want to know they are all right."

And to my horror, her face fell. She bared her teeth, closed her eyes, and sobbed.

I realized, at that...at how quickly her emotions had turned. She hadn't been all right. She hadn't gotten comfortable, not really. She'd only been absolutely marvelous at pretending. As though she'd had plenty of practice in faking her own emotions.

Like me.

"Oh, Meg." My heart broke. "I'm sorry."

Shock mixed with the horror as she leaned to her left, in my direction, and rested her head on my shoulder. I was rigid, only for a moment, and then my affections for her took over and I found myself wrapping my arms around her.

She cried on my shoulder for half an hour. And I let her. At one point, I reached up a hand to stroke her hair. She allowed it. In fact, she seemed to nuzzle in closer at the contact. I began rocking, and the motion soothed her some. Her cries would turn to hiccups, only to start up again a few minutes later.

Scared. Vulnerable. Lonely. I knew those feelings. Perhaps not to the degree she now felt them. But I knew them on a thinner, lengthier level. I didn't want her to experience even an ounce of that pain, let alone the intensity she now experienced.

But the idea of letting her expose her whereabouts to get word to and from Christine... No. And even if Jules was a good man, then there was little guarantee he would admit her location, anyway - I certainly wouldn't admit Meg was here to a stranger, at this point.

We were now leaning back against the couch, and I was still embracing her. My cheek was on the top of her head. Her crying abated, turning again to hiccups. A few minutes later, those hiccups turned to breathing. Even, heavy breathing.

She was asleep. Asleep against me.

And it was that show of trust, that proof that she saw me not as awkward, or pathetic, or useless. She saw me as someone who would protect her and soothe her.

It was that revelation that made me realize: I didn't just like Meg, wasn't just attracted to her.

Because as she slept on my shoulder, I saw a vision of her living with me permanently - a vision of a ring on her finger.