down the hall within the bowels of the prison. He stood in anticipation, almost unaware he had moved at all. His gaze shifted to the door beyond the barrier. Swallowing hard, he had to remind himself to breathe. Through the small plate glass in the door, covered with wire mesh, he saw the grim face of a security guard. The door swung open with a creak and Fiona walked into the room.
His heart lurched in his chest.
Dressed in an oversized orange jumpsuit, she looked so frail in her misery, so consumed by it. Gray walls drained her skin of color, blanching it to a doughy sheen. Her normally piercing gaze had lost its defiance. Eyes the color of deep jade had faded and now brimmed with tears glistening under fluorescent lighting.
Profound defeat robbed her of dignity. Fiona would never be the same again. This image of his mother would forever stick in his memory. She stared, a tear draining down her cheek. Christian fought the lump building in his throat. He gestured for her to sit, unable to take his eyes off her.
Keep it together, Delacorte — for her sake.
"How are you? You've lost weight." His words sounded trite.
She nodded and wiped fingers across her cheek. "I'm fine. You look . . . Are you getting enough sleep?" Her voice muffled through the speaker in the Plexiglas.
No doubt, the dark circles under his eyes gave him away. Of all people, Fiona knew how he slept, understood his relentless demons. As a child, she comforted him on many nights after one of his recurring nightmares, holding him until he fell asleep again. As a man, the dreams came less frequently, but remained a constant reminder of his past.
So the rift between them left a gaping hole in his heart, stealing the one person he'd known his entire life .. . his confessor. And worse, he could do nothing to ease her suffering.
"Yes. I'm fine," he lied, hating the strain between them. "I miss you. I wish—"
Before he finished, she raised a hand to stop him, pain etched deeply on her face. "Not a day goes by that I don't wish things were different between us . . . that I had made different decisions. But I can't change what happened. I only hope one day you can forgive me."
"I'm trying ..." He lowered his eyes and took a breath. "So much has happened. I just need . . . time."
Awkward silence. No matter how much he longed to reconnect with her, a part of him knew the link had been severed for good. He would have to get beyond her betrayal, and she would have to survive the guilt. None of it would be easy.
Furrowing her brow, Fiona nodded her head in acknowledgment, yet kept her eyes on him. "You look like you have something on your mind. Please . . . say it."
He could never hide anything from her. Today would be no different.
"On more than one occasion, I've asked you about my father . . . my biological one." He took a deep breath, giving her time to prepare. "This time, I need an answer."
"Please . . . don't ask me again. Believe me, it's for your own good." Her words were engulfed by an underlying fear. He read it in her eyes.
"Why?"
"I made a mistake when I was a very young woman. If I tell you now, then you might convince yourself he is a man worth knowing. I can't let you do that." She diverted her gaze, wringing her thin hands. When she looked up, tears filled her eyes, her lips quivered. "Even if you don't think of me as your mother, I love you more than my own life. Keeping this secret is the last thing I can do for you . . . from in here. Don't make me answer that question. Please."
An uncomfortable stillness filled the space between them. Locked in her gaze, he felt the stalemate, unsure how to proceed. Only one way remained. Her way. Just say it. . .
"Nicholas Charboneau has been kidnapped in Brazil." Christian raised his chin, his jaw rigid.
He witnessed her pain, unable to console her. Fiona's eyes widened in shock and the defeat returned, forcing her to stare at her trembling fingers. Without the ability to touch her, he ached with
His heart lurched in his chest.
Dressed in an oversized orange jumpsuit, she looked so frail in her misery, so consumed by it. Gray walls drained her skin of color, blanching it to a doughy sheen. Her normally piercing gaze had lost its defiance. Eyes the color of deep jade had faded and now brimmed with tears glistening under fluorescent lighting.
Profound defeat robbed her of dignity. Fiona would never be the same again. This image of his mother would forever stick in his memory. She stared, a tear draining down her cheek. Christian fought the lump building in his throat. He gestured for her to sit, unable to take his eyes off her.
Keep it together, Delacorte — for her sake.
"How are you? You've lost weight." His words sounded trite.
She nodded and wiped fingers across her cheek. "I'm fine. You look . . . Are you getting enough sleep?" Her voice muffled through the speaker in the Plexiglas.
No doubt, the dark circles under his eyes gave him away. Of all people, Fiona knew how he slept, understood his relentless demons. As a child, she comforted him on many nights after one of his recurring nightmares, holding him until he fell asleep again. As a man, the dreams came less frequently, but remained a constant reminder of his past.
So the rift between them left a gaping hole in his heart, stealing the one person he'd known his entire life .. . his confessor. And worse, he could do nothing to ease her suffering.
"Yes. I'm fine," he lied, hating the strain between them. "I miss you. I wish—"
Before he finished, she raised a hand to stop him, pain etched deeply on her face. "Not a day goes by that I don't wish things were different between us . . . that I had made different decisions. But I can't change what happened. I only hope one day you can forgive me."
"I'm trying ..." He lowered his eyes and took a breath. "So much has happened. I just need . . . time."
Awkward silence. No matter how much he longed to reconnect with her, a part of him knew the link had been severed for good. He would have to get beyond her betrayal, and she would have to survive the guilt. None of it would be easy.
Furrowing her brow, Fiona nodded her head in acknowledgment, yet kept her eyes on him. "You look like you have something on your mind. Please . . . say it."
He could never hide anything from her. Today would be no different.
"On more than one occasion, I've asked you about my father . . . my biological one." He took a deep breath, giving her time to prepare. "This time, I need an answer."
"Please . . . don't ask me again. Believe me, it's for your own good." Her words were engulfed by an underlying fear. He read it in her eyes.
"Why?"
"I made a mistake when I was a very young woman. If I tell you now, then you might convince yourself he is a man worth knowing. I can't let you do that." She diverted her gaze, wringing her thin hands. When she looked up, tears filled her eyes, her lips quivered. "Even if you don't think of me as your mother, I love you more than my own life. Keeping this secret is the last thing I can do for you . . . from in here. Don't make me answer that question. Please."
An uncomfortable stillness filled the space between them. Locked in her gaze, he felt the stalemate, unsure how to proceed. Only one way remained. Her way. Just say it. . .
"Nicholas Charboneau has been kidnapped in Brazil." Christian raised his chin, his jaw rigid.
He witnessed her pain, unable to console her. Fiona's eyes widened in shock and the defeat returned, forcing her to stare at her trembling fingers. Without the ability to touch her, he ached with
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