Chapter 22
For Max, the sound of a baby crying—his baby crying—was like the death of a thousand cuts. Each frantic wail, each mewling sob, was like a razor against his skin, eliciting a tiny drop of blood. While each one would do him no major harm, in totality, the loss of blood and of hope was sure to kill him.
Something inside him had fully shifted, and now there was nothing in the world he needed more than to recover his son and ensure his safety. Take him into his arms and promise him that he would never allow any harm to come to him, ever.
As Sienna looked anxiously on, Max squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus with his entire being on what Éloïse was saying. “I wish he would shut up!” she grated in frustration. “All he ever does is cry, cry, cry!”
That’s what babies do,Max thought. Especially when their needs weren’t being met. Éloïse sounded fatigued, irritated, impatient. And that scared him. On the flight back to France with Sienna, he’d watched an interesting video on Shaken Baby Syndrome and heard interviews from people who felt pushed beyond their limits. That documentary gave him a wake up call.
He tried to console Éloïse and keep her calm. More for the baby’s sake than for hers.Because her, he wanted to strangle.He had never felt this much rage towards a woman in his life, and it scared him to think what he would have done if she were within arm’s reach.
But for the sake of the child, he tried to stay calm. “Have you fed him? Changed him?”
“Don’t tell me how to take care of a baby!” she snapped. “Do I sound like an idiot?”
“No,” he said, summoning the voice of the peacemaker. Sienna reached for his hand. Even though she couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, he could see in her eyes that she understood what was happening and was trying to let him know she was there. “I’m just thinking that he might stop crying if you only—”
“This is on you, you know! This is all your fault!”
“What? How is it my fault that you’ve gone back on the agreement you had with my brother and his wife and absconded with their child? My child.”
She sneered, “Oh, so it’s your child now, is it? It wasn’t yours when you had the chance to make things right. It wasn’t yours when your mother was begging you to man up, stand up like your brother would have—”
Max flinched visibly, feeling his hands involuntarily clutch the phone so tight he was sure it would buckle. He said nothing, allowing her to rant as if it would get the poison out.
“If married me, then you’d have your precious baby. All would have been well. None of this would have happened! I wouldn’t have had to do this!”
“Do what, Éloïse? Kidnap my kid?”
She laughed like someone on the road to insanity. “What kidnapping? I’ve merely taken a little vacation, and lo-and-behold, I went unexpectedly into labor. How is that a crime?”
Max rubbed the space between his eyes with his thumb, pleading with his inner demons to be silent. Exercising every ounce of control in him to resist from unleashing upon her a verbal attack she wouldn’t forget, and which he would sorely regret.
It was clear to him that Éloïse was becoming unhinged, and from the incessant wailing in the background, he knew he needed to act immediately to safeguard the defenseless infant’s safety.
He said, as calmly as he could, “Tell me how to solve this. How do I get him back? What do you want?” He didn’t even bother to couch his words in the language of diplomacy. He was a businessman, and he knew when negotiations had come to a point where it was put up or shut up. And whatever she wanted, he was prepared to put up.
She snickered contemptuously. “There you go, spoken like a Lavigne. Always thinking that money will get you your way—”
“Cut the crap, Éloïse.” His voice was dangerously soft. “You and I both know where this is headed. Just let me know what you need, and you shall have it.”
She dropped all pretense. “I want five million euros transferred to an account I’ve set up in the Caymans. And I’m not going to let you bargain me down!”
Max wanted to laugh. To someone like Éloïse, five million euros sounded like a lot of money. He wouldn’t even bother to tell her that he had that much stashed in a small fund that he never needed to touch, which he kept close in case something came up and he needed pin money.
She heard his hesitation and misunderstood the need for it. “I mean it, Max! It’s what I want and not a penny less! Otherwise, you won’t be seeing him again. Because I’ve already been in touch with a Russian couple who want nothing better than to adopt a healthy newborn, and are willing to pay for it. Would you like that? Huh? Would you like the heir to the Lavigne fortune growing up shivering in a Russian winter somewhere outside of Saint Petersburg?”
The idea of it enraged him. Max squeezed the phone hard enough that he heard the plastic groan and, in that moment, wished it were her neck. “What’s the guarantee that I will get my son? How can I be sure you won’t keep the baby and the money?”
She laughed, a rasping, ugly rasp. “Are you joking? Do you have any idea how hard it was squeezing out that little brat? Thirteen hours of labor, Max, and you’re paying me for every single minute of it. And have you heard the lungs on him? Do I strike you as the kind of woman who wants to listen to that every day?”
You strike me as the kind of woman who would do a lot of things,Max thought.None of them pretty.
She confirmed his view by going on to say, “Send the money and then come get your brat. He’s of no relation to me, anyway. He means nothing to me; I was just the incubator—oh, my God! Will you shut the hell up? How am I supposed to think with you screeching like that?”
As if understanding, the baby immediately fell silent, and Max had a moment of panic that she’d somehow harmed him. “Is he okay?” he asked anxiously.
“I won’t harm a feather on this little golden goose.”