“I just want you to be happy, Jess. If writing the book makes you happy, even if it means you’re spending less time with me, that makes me happy.” The corner of his mouth tilts up. “But you’re mine whenever you can fit me in. And I’m gonna make the most of that time.” He slowly kisses my neck, drawing a moan from me. “And if you should get stuck like Garrett does sometimes, instead of you pacing or working on your garden, I’ll be happy to give you multiple orgasms to get the words flowing again.” Troy’s eyebrows dance, and I giggle.
God, I love him.
I still, the words swirling in my head. I gaze into his eyes, his love for me gleaming in them unrestrained.
I open my mouth to say the three simple words to him, but I can’t. The chanting outside the window halts them, yanks them back into my throat.
I love him, but I’m not ready to admit that. Not yet. Not when there are so many uncertainties we’re dealing with. The protesters who are trying to drive me away. My feelings of not being good enough for him. My history of losing the people I love. My decision not to have children, even though he wants a family.
So, I just kiss him, letting him know without words how I feel. Pouring my love for him into the kiss.
I only hope it’s enough for him.
For now.
33
ANGELIQUE
February 1944
France
“Areyou sure you are up to doing this, Éve?” Lise’s astute blue eyes drop to my swollen belly, visible under the brown cotton of my dress. I close my valise, which only has a few items of clothing in it, and lift it from the bed.
In the two months since I left Dr. Hubert and Rosita’s home, the baby has grown considerably. But due to the constraints of the occupation, the bump is smaller than it should be for a woman in her early third trimester. Françoise, the midwife who is monitoring my pregnancy, has reassured me my baby is fine.
“I’m positive,” I tell my flatmate. “The Germans are less likely to pay attention to a pregnant woman.”
A fair number of pregnant women are walking around Poitiers these days. A good proportion of the pregnant bellies are the result of liaisons between German soldiers and French women or are the product of rape. I embrace for a moment the memory of the man my heart still beats for. I can guarantee none of those soldiers abandoned their unit to join the maquis because of the new life they had created.
“Delivering propaganda is about the only thing I can do these days.” I lovingly caress my belly, letting my baby know I do not resent her for that. She is my precious world. One of the few people I live for.
Lise knows the truth about my relationship with a German officer and how he helped me escape after the Gestapo arrested me. She hasn’t asked me many questions about my time in theCashmerenetwork. She only knows that one of our own turned on us.
After I left Dr. Hubert and Rosita’s home, I headed south to where Lise had been assigned. It took me two weeks once I arrived in the city, but I was fortunately able to track her down. We have tried to find news about Johann, but so far there hasn’t been any.
I keep busy so I don’t have to think about how much I miss him. Some days it’s hard to breathe, wondering what happened to him and where he is. I try not to think beyond that. Try not to think beyond surviving each moment. But at night, when my mind refuses to sleep, memories of our time together, the way he made me feel when he made love to me, slip in.
And that only makes me miss him more.
“Alright, if you insist,” Lise says. “But you really shouldn’t press your luck for much longer. The baby is due in just over two months. You need to take things easy.”
“What my daughter and I need is for the war to be over.” And for me to locate her father. “That won’t happen if I’m dillydallying in your flat and not doing my job.”
“What will happen if a German officer inquires to see inside your valise?”
I walk to the hall mirror and check my brown wig is secure and my stage makeup makes me appear five years older than my true age. Well, more like five years in addition to the five years this war has added to my age of twenty-nine. I celebrated a birthday last month. “It hasn’t happened yet. Most seem relieved it wasn’t their seed responsible for the baby in my belly. They treat me as though I am an incubator for a deadly disease and they don’t want to risk touching anything I’ve come in contact with.”
Lise shrugs on her coat. “When are you planning to tell Baker Street you’re pregnant?”
“Maybe they already know. I told Allaire.” What we don’t know is if he communicated it to London before the Gestapo captured him or if he never had a chance to relay the information. “I haven’t confirmed with them exactly what they know about it. I’ll do that soon.”
“Soon?” She shriek-whispers. “Your baby will be born here if you’re not careful.”
“Just a few more weeks. I promise. It’s probably too late for them to get me out of France now. And I certainly won’t be able to waddle over the Pyrénées.”
Lise chuckles, though the worry doesn’t leave her eyes. “That would be a sight.”
