reputation apart for the whole fucking world to see. I hope he knows it. I hope he feels it as he burns in hell.”
The passion and conviction in Pascal’s voice, his steely gaze, send a thrill down my spine.
Now I’m safe.
Now I’m safe.
I might just burst into tears.
“Of course, that’s not the only surprise I have for you,” Pascal says. “And it was a surprise to myself. A big one. I’m not even sure how you’ll handle it, but just so you know, I’m handling it well. Better than well. I think it’s the best thing that could have ever happened to me, happened to us.”
I stare at him, having absolutely no idea what he’s about to say, but the intense devotion in his gaze is giving me chills.
“What?” I say softly. What else could there be? What could be better than the death of Gautier Dumont?
He takes his hand and places it on my stomach, ever so gently, just below where my body is bandaged up. “The bullet missed all your organs and arteries. It was a clean shot, straight through. You lost blood, but your mother was able to give blood to replace it. So there’s that. That’s one good thing on her behalf. Just remember all this before I go on. You’re going to have a full recovery. You’ll have a scar right below your ribs, and that’s it. You’re fine, and you’re going to be greater than great. Okay?”
“Okay?”
He keeps smiling at me, turning sweeter. “You’re pregnant.”
My eyes go round, brows shooting up to the ceiling.
My heart seems to freeze in my chest.
I can’t even speak.
“You’re pregnant,” he says again. “And perhaps I’m terribly optimistic in thinking it’s my baby, but hey, that’s a new leaf for me. You’re pregnant, Gabrielle. And I know this is all your choice and I’m going to support your choice, no matter what it is. But in case you’re afraid of how I feel, just know that I . . . well, I fucking love you, for one thing.”
He loves me.
He loves me, and I’m pregnant.
I can’t even process this.
I can’t even think.
All I can do is feel.
I feel love, love, so much love, so much joy, so much . . . too much.
Pascal is looking teary-eyed again, and I put my hand down over his, over my stomach, grasping it. “I love you,” he says again, “and I think I might just be a good father if given the chance. And I know you’d be such a good mother. The baby would have a lot of love, extra love to make up for the love we both never had.”
I burst into tears, smiling through them. I cry and I cry, trying to reassure him that I’m happy, but it’s all so much, my body isn’t equipped to handle this much happiness. I’ve trained it over the years to carry so much pain, it doesn’t know what to do with the opposite.
I feel like I’m drowning in it.
What a beautiful way to go out.
“Please tell me those are happy tears.” Pascal sniffs, wiping his nose with his hand.
“They’re happy tears,” I say between sobs. “They’re happy tears. I love you. I love you so much.”
All the things I never knew I wanted, never knew I needed, life had a funny way of giving them to me.
And it all started when I first saw Pascal Dumont.
The son of the devil.
My lover, my savior.
The father of my child.
My friend.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PASCAL
I always knew my father’s funeral would be the event of the year. It was something he often talked about, how we would spare no expense in putting on such an extravagant operation that it would draw in mourners from around the world. He wanted every last penny the Dumont label had to be put toward it, because, as he said, the brand would die with him. When he was gone, the label would go down as well. He believed it couldn’t possibly survive if he hadn’t, as if it hadn’t been around through decades and generations of Dumonts, from our great-grandfathers to today.
I think what my father really wanted, though, was to ensure the world didn’t forget about him. He wanted everyone to throw themselves on the streets and mourn, scream his name and pound their fists and cry at the loss of such a great man. I know he definitely wanted to go out in a way that would overshadow his brother.
Well, in his death, my father managed to succeed in