Monica rushed to her husband’s suitcase and asked if there was room for her things. “I’m coming with you!”
“No!” Henry grabbed her by the arm on her way to the closet. “I mean, that’s not a good idea. Somebody should stay here in case we’re wrong and there’s another development.”
“Eva can do it!”
“No, Monica, one of her parents needs to be here. I know the Beaumonts. I will go.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and hope to God that everything works out all right? Twiddle my thumbs?”
While Elson was on the phone and Matilda spoke with Eva, Henry wrapped his wife in his arms and whispered, “Be the rock that we’re all counting on to get us through this.”
She clung to him as if she might never see him again.I might not. Not as the father of my daughter.At that moment, Monica swore that if any hair was harmed on her daughter’s head, there would be nobody in that world who could withstand the maternal wrath of Monica Warren.
Especially not Isabella, who would only have God to answer to when Monica was through with her.
Chapter 10
When the Cold Chill Hits Your Neck
Henry couldn’t get out of the airfield for another three hours due to a poorly timed snowstorm. Once he was en route, however, he texted his wife in the early morning hours, encouraging her to get some sleep.
She told him the same thing and reminded him that they should be grateful that they could fly to France at a moment’s notice to find their daughter.
Monica couldn’t sleep, though. She was afraid to take medication in case something happened that needed her attention. She envied Eva and Nadia, both of whom passed out until the latter had to get up for work. Monica busied herself with pacing the halls of Warren Manor, looping from one wing to the other and even peeping in on Eva, still dressed in her day clothes, passed out on her living room couch.
Slowly, the house woke up. The chef was in the kitchen making breakfast and the first shift of maids began their chores. Thedriver did his morning check-in with Monica to see if she needed to go anywhere. She didn’t but asked him to stay nearby.
Still, no matter how many people emerged around her, going about their business with a reverently somber silence, Monica couldn’t sit still. She couldn’t sleep. All she could do was let herself into Abigail’s room, where Matilda futilely tidied up the toys and folded the laundry that came up from the basement.
I should do it.Yet Monica stood in the middle of her daughter’s room, taking in the lavender walls and the pile of stuffed animals that Abigail often rearranged before flinging herself onto them as if they were a giant body pillow. How many times had Monica asked her to keep things orderly? Asked her to pick a few to donate to kids in need? Asked her to do anything other than be a happy girl who didn’t yet know the strife of the world?
Matilda’s motions slowed when Monica began to silently weep. The nanny politely turned her back on her boss while putting away the last of Abigail’s laundry, but within a few minutes, the two of them were reaching for the tissues on the nightstand.
“I’ve been saying prayers for her,” Matilda said with a sniff. “I feel like this is my fault, Mrs. Warren. I should have known that something was wrong and called you…”
“It’s not your fault. I don’t think any of us thought Isabella would do something like this. All bluff and bluster…”
“Still, if there’s anything else I can do.”
There wasn’t. Matilda knew that. Monica had to remind herself that such a thing was all that mattered in these turbulent times.
She had never been so tired. So bone-deepexhausted.Even when she was younger pulling multiple all-nighters to establish her business. Not even when she lived under the abusive thumb of her ex-Dom and planned her escape for months, years, sometimes so tired that she couldn’t convince him to leave her alone when he came pawing at her half-dead body.
Without Henry around, it was easier than ever to succumb to those memories. As Monica’s aching body recalled that terrible time – ten years of her life – she found it even more difficult to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she was overwhelmed with images of the man who had attempted to own her life – and reminders that her daughter, her flesh and blood created from within her body, was missing.
The guilt she felt toward both was immeasurable.
She was groggily shaken awake by Eva later that morning. At first, she hoped that there was news about Abigail, but it hadn’t been enough time for Henry to arrive in Nice and begin his investigation. Instead, Eva announced, “Jasmine is here to see you. She says it’s very urgent.” When Monica was about to wave her away and go back to sleep, Eva continued, “She says she’s here on behalf of Ethan and has information.”
Nothing bolted Monica up from her couch more than that.
She hurried to make herself presentable after bidding Eva to bring Jasmine up. Fresh tea was delivered by the time one of her dearest friends, Jasmine, entered the east wing apartment still dressed in her winter coat and hat.
“Tell me what you know,” Monica said, hustling to the couch. “Why isn’t Ethan here if he knows something?”
Jasmine removed her hat and the gloves separating her from the icy cold outside. She projected a countenance that she had heard Monica and knew that time was of the essence, but it would take a few seconds for her to settle in and collect her thoughts. Meanwhile, Monica was nothing but idle nerves as sheshooed away the maid from the room. Eva lingered after closing the door.
“Eva.”
