When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(109)

Elise understood Francesca’s hesitance to say Trevor Gaines’s name. No wonder Lucien looked like he’d just eaten something foul every time the topic of Gaines was broached.

Several minutes later, Elise’s phone rang. She checked the caller identification and quickly hit receive.

“Lucien?”

“Yes. Ian’s fine. I’m with him.”

“Ian’s fine,” Elise immediately conveyed to a wide-eyed Francesca. “Where are you?” she asked Lucien.

“We’re on our way to London.”

“What?”

“I took a guess and followed Ian to the airport in Indiana where he keeps his jet. I thought if I couldn’t find him, I could charter a plane there. I figured he’d want to get to his mother’s side as soon as possible,” Lucien added under his breath, something about the hushed quality to his voice making her think Ian wasn’t far away.

“Are you . . . are you going to try and see Helen, too?” Elise asked shakily, suddenly wondering where she stood with him. She couldn’t read his mood. Was he furious? Worried? Preoccupied? Elise sensed mostly the last, but she couldn’t be entirely sure.

“It depends upon her state. I assured Ian I wouldn’t push the issue.” Guilt washed through her at his words. She recalled how he’d insisted that day in his office that he wouldn’t force things with Ian when Ian was dealing with his own private anguish. But Elise just had to be the one to push . . .

“Please tell Francesca that Ian said he would call her later,” Lucien was saying. “He’s . . . tired at the moment.”

“Lucien . . .” she began, glancing anxiously at Francesca. She desperately wanted a private word with him. She longed to apologize for her faux pas.

“Can you tell Sharon that I’ll be out of town indefinitely as well?”

“But Lucien, can’t—”

“I’ll be in touch when my plans are settled.”

“Lucien,” she blurted out, desperate lest he hang up before she got the opportunity to apologize. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know . . . I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Of course you didn’t. You never do.”

Shame swept through her at his words. He’d said something similar to her before, when she’d offered up a lame excuse for her impulsiveness.

“It’s done now. Try not to worry,” he said.

The line went dead. Elise pulled the phone from her ear, feeling numb all over again.

“What is it?” Francesca asked sharply.

“Ian is with Lucien. They’re on Ian’s plane, flying to London.”

“Ian left without me?” Francesca asked, her voice ringing with shock.

“He says to tell you he’ll call later. Lucien said he was tired,” Elise said soothingly, even though she was quite sure that Lucien was using tired as a euphemism. She sincerely doubted Ian Noble was sleepy at that moment.

Francesca stood and picked up her phone, paging for a number.

“What are you doing?” Elise asked.

“Booking a flight to London,” Francesca replied grimly.

Helplessness gripped at Elise. She envied Francesca’s position as Ian’s fiancée that she could make such a decision. She—Elise—felt like a powerless outsider. She couldn’t go storming into the private hospital, demanding to see Lucien. Not after what she’d done.

No, she was worse than an outsider. It’d been her impetuousness that had created all this anguish tonight.

* * *

Twelve days later, Elise rode the elevator up to Ian Noble’s penthouse, her heart feeling as heavy as a lead weight in her chest. Francesca was waiting for her in the foyer when the elevator slid silently open. Francesca had lost weight in the past week, with the result that her dark eyes looked larger than usual . . . haunted. Without saying a word, Elise walked over to her and they hugged.

“The funeral was today,” Francesca said while they still embraced. “Anne, Ian’s grandmother, just called to tell me right before I called you at Fusion. I can’t believe it,” she said shakily. “I’m still in shock. Ian promised me he’d give me time to get there.”

“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.