‘Ana, talk to me. What is it?’
The urgency i
n his voice finally scraped the edges of her consciousness. Slowly his face swam into view. Her heart ached at its perfect beauty, at the hard, impassive edge he portrayed to the world, at the concern he couldn’t help but feel—because deep down Bastien was just a man whose heart ached for love, just as hers did.
Most of all her heart was ripped open at the knowledge that she was the cause of his pain. That she had helped shape him into the hardened cynic he was today.
Tears blistered the back of her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Bastien. Oh God, I...I’m so sorry.’ Her voice broke and a sob dredged from the very depths of her pulverised soul erupted through her lips.
‘For what?’
‘Your mother. She took pills, didn’t she?’ The words scraped her throat, as if rebelling against being aired.
A frown slowly gathered on his brow. ‘Yes, but how...?’
‘She... Oh, God, Bastien... She didn’t try to commit suicide. I think she overdosed by accident. And I...I gave her the pills.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BASTIEN’S FACE, NORMALLY a vibrant, masculine hue, paled. It was almost as if he’d turned to stone, so statue-still he became. His eyes reflected shock. Horrified, disbelieving shock.
‘Non, il n’est pas possible!’
His lips barely moved with the denial, but his fingers tightened painfully on her shoulders.
‘That is not possible, Ana. She came to Verbier with the express purpose of...’ His words trailed off and he swallowed, his eyes darkening with remembered pain.
Ana’s heart twisted. ‘You weren’t there, Bastien. You were in the gazebo. She asked me to get pills from the housekeeper for her headache. Lily always kept a bottle of pills on her bedside table. She...she told me they were for her headaches. Oh, God, I didn’t...couldn’t read the label. I...I gave them to your mother—’
‘How many did she take?’
‘I don’t remember—’
He thrust her away from him, surged to his feet. He stalked to the window, his movements stiff, wooden. For several seconds he said nothing, then he whirled to face her. ‘Mon Dieu!’ The hand he shoved through his hair shook badly.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered brokenly.
‘And all this time I’ve believed—’ He stopped, fists clenched at his sides.
A deep shudder raked through his frame and her heart twisted anew.
‘I’m so sorry... Oh, God!’
He crossed the room and caught her arms. ‘Stop apologising, Ana. You were eight years old and you couldn’t read. You are not to blame for this!’
‘But if I’d called someone instead of just handing her the pills...’ She clamped her hand over her lips, racked with horror. ‘The repercussions of that day have shaped your life, Bastien. What I did has coloured the way you see your mother for the last sixteen years...’
He shook her once, the act almost one of desperation. ‘No, it hasn’t. Don’t forget the things she said before she took the pills. You had nothing to do with that. That was her...all her.’ Renewed pain threaded his voice.
Ana wanted to offer something, anything to soothe his pain. Except she was the cause of his pain.
‘Let me go, Bastien.’
‘No, you wanted to talk, so we’ll talk about this.’
‘There’s nothing left to talk about. I ruined your life—’
‘No, dammit, listen to me.’