Tightness formed in his chest, pressing against his lungs and heart. She should’ve taken her phone in case she needed emergency help. What if she started feeling nauseous? Or worse, fainted again?
He shook his head. If she’d fainted, she’d be helpless. Which was precisely why she should have somebody with her at all times!
This was all his fault. The agreement he’d created was ridiculous, and the settlement Craig had tried to convince him to pursue was equally off the mark. The basic problem, Gavin thought, is that I should have never agreed to something I didn’t want. I should’ve spent the rest of my life convincing Amandine she should stay with me.
He should’ve fought for the only woman he ever loved.
His fingers unsteady, he dialed Thomas’s number.
“Is there a problem, sir?” the chauffeur said.
“Can you check if Amandine’s Mercedes is in the garage?”
“Of course. Just a moment.” A few minutes later, he said, “Yes. I see it.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
So Amandine was somewhere in the house. There was no other car for her to use…and no one to drive her now, either.
He went to the studio. That was the only other place she might be. On the way, he composed the speech he wanted to deliver. Something stern—she was risking her safety—but also sweet and pleading and full of love and hope and—
His mind blanked as he saw a large canvas.
It was about half-finished, and the colors consisted of mostly warm flesh-toned shades with some chocolate brown mixed in. His eyes couldn’t make sense of it for an instant, and then he saw the broad pattern and his breath caught as realized it was him in repose. In the nude.
He studied the painting. The Gavin in the work was relaxed, his face peaceful, yet something about the lines of his body, the way his right arm was flung over his head looked powerful, strength leashed in sleep.
His throat closed. He’d never posed for his wife. This was how Amandine saw him, remembered him.
What an idiot he’d been all this time. Why had it taken so long for him to realize how lucky he was to love a woman who loved him back?
But it’s too late, isn’t it? You killed her love with your neglect.
He stepped toward the chair where she would be. She’d gotten rid of her stool for a big armchair with good back support.
“Amandine.” He kept his voice soft to avoid startling her. He steeled himself for the inevitable pain of seeing his wife again.
She didn’t respond.
When he reached the chair, he saw her slumped sideways. Her face was a bloodless white, other than some dark brown paint smudged above her right cheek like a football player’s eye-black.
Panic clutched his heart, and he fought to draw in air as he searched for her pulse. It was there, erratic but weak. Her skin felt cool against his. Paint marred her shirt and shorts; she must’ve fainted while working.
Stay calm.
He pulled out his phone. It shook in his hands. No… It was his hands that were shaking.
He managed to hit nine-one-one and waited. Come on, come on.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“It’s my wife. She’s unconscious. Please help. She’s pregnant.”
The operator asked for the address, and he rattled it out.
“We’re sending an ambulance right now, sir.”
He hung up and called Thomas to direct the ambulance personnel inside. Thomas said something, but Gavin couldn’t comprehend anything through the pounding in his head. His eyes stung. He rubbed them, only to find his hands wet with tears. He almost laughed at the futility of them. How unproductive, how unhelpful. But he couldn’t stop crying or force the panic to subside.