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CHAPTER 13

Nathanael stood just a few feet away as anxious nurses struggled to bring Shaundra back to consciousness. His face was stony, rigid, as he struggled to gain control of the cataclysm swirling inside him.

She was lying on a gurney just outside the torture chamber where they’d practically assaulted his son with a needle. The back of her head must hurt like hell, he figured. She’d clonked it when she’d fainted. He hadn’t been near enough or fast enough to catch her.

Immediately, she’d looked around, seeking out his face. He couldn’t bear to hold her gaze. He looked away. The situation made him feel so helpless, so emasculated. His baby was in a dire situation, a live-or-die situation, and all the knowledge, education, and experience he had acquired in his lifetime was of no use.

When she was helped to her feet, he stepped forward and begun speaking to the senior doctor again, his French rapid, his tone authoritarian. Where were they taking Benjamin now? What doctors would be attending to him? Did he need any more tests? What was the protocol? What happened next?

They began arguing about accommodation. The doctor explained that this was just a small children’s hospital, and that although it would be best for Benjamin to have a private room, to reduce his exposure to contamination and potential infection, there were none available.

Like hell,Nathanael thought. He repeated his demand for a room. The doctor held his ground. They called a hospital administrator, an intimidating-looking man who was even larger than Nathanael was, with a voice even louder, and the argument escalated.

“Desolé, Monsieur,but we are unable—”

With a soft curse, Nathanael stepped away, picked up his phone, dialed a number and barked into it.

Thirty minutes later, the same administrator came back, and with almost painful deference, led them to a private suite that was hastily being prepared to accept Benjamin.

He smiled grimly. Wealth was nice, but the power that came with was immeasurably better. Nathanael had called his executive assistant, who in turn called his accountant, who in turn had called the president of the hospital trust, and pledged more than two million euros for new postnatal diagnostic equipment.

In return, they had some peace and quiet. A little distance between them and the insanity that reigned on pediatric wards; the desperate faces of exhausted and frightened parents, and the heart-shredding wailing of children in pain.

He’d told Samia to take Shaundra’s car and go home, and she’d responded that she wouldn’t go home, but was headed to the mosque to pray for him and his family. He felt huge gratitude that this woman, who had been a stranger and now cared so much.

Now he looked on as Shaundra leaned over the crib where their son lay. He was hooked up to a nest of tubes, his little hands in mittens to prevent him from yanking out his oxygen tube or the access port at the back of one hand.

He had screamed incessantly for more than two hours, red-faced, furious and in pain, too distraught even to feed at her breast. It was sheer exhaustion that led him to fall sleep, and by that time, the sheets were so drenched with perspiration that an aide came in, insisting on changing them.

Which woke him up and led to another bout of crying.

Angry, Nathanael let the aide know that the next person to come in and wake his son would have to get past him.

Shaundra rested her hands lightly on the crib rails, looking down at the tear-streaked, exhausted little face as he slept fitfully, twitching now and then as if he was having nightmares. Hot tears roll down her cheeks.

That awful feeling, that emasculating helplessness, assailed him again. Never in his adult life had he felt like this.

He stepped up behind her, close enough to be able to hear her breathing. He placed one hand on each of her upper arms and gently stroked her. “He will be okay,” he said softly.

She spun around, lashing out, grabbing his hands and throwing them away from her body. “Who told you that? You may have a direct line to the chairman of every goddamn board in the south of France, but do you have a direct line to God? Did He promise you that my child will wake from this in perfect health? That this infection won’t worsen? That my child won’t emerge from this experience blind, deaf, unable to walk or speak? That is, if he…”

Her lips couldn’t form the rest of that sentence, but he knew what she was about to say.If he survives.He was as loath to hear it as she was to speak it. The idea that there could be a future without Benjamin in it now that he wanted to be included in his life was incomprehensible.

But he had to be a man now. He had to reach inside and find strength he didn’t feel. If not for himself, for his wife. His voice was deep, reassuring. “Shaundra, I promise you, Benjamin will have every possible avenue of healthcare open to him. If there are any mountains in the way of that, I will move them—”

She snorted. “Well, at least you’re good for something!”

He stepped back, a look of puzzlement on his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“What do I mean? Since when have you been good for anything other than your money? Since when have you brought anything to this table, our son’s table, other than a roof over his head and a heap of toys in the corner of his room? Since when are youconcerned,Nathanael? Are you trying to convince me that you care whether our son lives or dies—?”

“Of course, I care.”

“Says the guy who never wanted him in the first place. Am I supposed to believe that all of a sudden, completely out of the blue, you give a fuck about him? Aboutus?”

Nathanael winced, placed his hands on his hips, and examined his shoes for several seconds. Trying to gather his words before he spoke. She had every right to react like that. Whatever she threw in his face, he deserved it.

He thought about his actions the past year, what an ass he had been. What an absolute bastard he was. Was there a chance he could recover from this? Surely he could do better. He wanted to do better. He cleared his throat and began to speak, hoping that the sincerity in his voice matched the sincerity in his heart. “Shaundra, please. I need you to listen to me for a minute. Can you do that?”


Tags: Niomie Roland French Conquests Billionaire Romance