She remembered Christien’s constant presence.Every time she woke up he was there, washing her face or holding her hair out of the way while she vomited.
She vaguely remembered him saying something about a trip.Maybe when she got better they’d go on a trip?That sounded wonderful.Hopefully it would be someplace with a private beach and a house right on the sand.Did Christien own his own island?Wouldn’t it be cool if he did?
“Madelaine.”
She forced her eyes open again.She was in a soft bed beneath even softer sheets, in a room that seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn’t quite place.Certainly she wasn’t in Christien’s bed in his apartment above the club.No velvet spread with matching curtains tied to the bedposts.This room was lighter, airier, the windows much bigger with the view of a cloudless blue sky and rolling hills of green grass.No Lake Michigan in sight.And yet she felt at home here.Almost at peace.
She sat up slowly, relieved her stomach didn’t protest.Christien was sitting on the side of the bed, his eyes weary and bloodshot, a few days’ growth of beard covering his chin and jaw.
“Hi.”
He smiled back but it didn’t reach his eyes.“How do you feel?”
“Much better.Did I have the flu?”
He shook his head, his lips thin and bloodless.“You don’t remember?”
She took inventory and decided she felt fine except for a sore throat and a residual achiness that would probably go away once she moved around.“I remember coming home from work and wanting to see you.I wanted to get a glass of wine and sit at the bar to unwind before…” Her eyes widened.“What day is it?I have a huge project due on Monday.”She threw the covers off, surprised to find herself in only a large white T-shirt.“I have to go to work.Giselle will be furious if this project isn’t finished by Monday morning.”
Christien put a staying hand on her wrist.“It’s Sunday, Madelaine.”
“Sunday?”She jumped out of bed.The room tilted and she had to grab on to the delicate nightstand beside the bed.Oh my God, she was in so much trouble.Giselle was going to fire her.
Christien eased her back onto the bed.“Madelaine, sit.You’re in no shape to go into work.”
“I have to—” She looked around the room, at the ornate white-and-gold-trimmed dressers, the light yellow walls and the paintings of people from other eras.Obviously this wasn’t Christien’s bedroom in Milwaukee.Or any other room she’d been in.“Where are we?”
When Christien didn’t answer she turned to him.“Where are we, Christien?”
“At my home.”He took a deep breath.“In France.”
Her breath caught in her throat.France.She was in France.She’d never been outside the country before.“I don’t have a passport.”
“Taken care of.”
Of course.Was he so powerful even in France?Sure he was.This was his country and he lived in this huge house full of antique furniture and paintings that in her naïve estimation were probably worth a lot of money.His wealth far exceeded even what she had guessed.
But why didn’t she remember flying to France?She didn’t remember anything past Christien introducing her to Ken the bartender.
“I’m going to miss my deadline,” she said in horror.
“I’m afraid you are.”
“I’m going to get fired.”Her dad was going to lose his place in the nursing home and her student loans would go into default.Suddenly her stomach started to churn and it had nothing to do with the flu.
Christien took her hand in his.“Listen to me, Madelaine.Something happened at the club Friday night.”
She searched his face, waiting for him to continue but it seemed he was finding it hard to go on, which made her fear double.“What happened?”
“You were drugged.”
She yanked her hand away.“Drugged?How?”
“I don’t know, but I’m looking into it.”His voice was hard, his eyes flashing steel.“You’ve heard of the date-rape drug?”
Her hand flew to her mouth.“Oh my God, I was raped?”
“No, no.”He took her hand again.“Someone slipped a similar, but far more lethal drug into your drink.You passed out and were rushed to the hospital.”
