An Unbreakable Bond (My French Teacher Claims I'm His Mate - book 2)

Ch 1: At Last

She closed her eyes in frustration, inhaled deeply, then opened them only to find her damned shoes smirking at her in amusement – or so she angrily pictured them.

Maria was about to go through the door when Clara stopped her, her hand firmly holding her shoulder, "How are you gonna go to his place?"

"I'll take a cab," was the quick, annoyed reply she got.

"Take my car," she countered, handing her the keys.

Maria's eyes widened slightly at the offer. It was so unexpected after all, but now was not the time to waste her time on astonishment... now was not the time to think about the radical change she had gone through. Damn it, she could have mistaken her for another woman had she not known better. This gentle caring blonde was not the step-mom that had welcomed her oh-so-coldly into her house three years ago.

Maria tightened her hold on the keys to bring herself back to reality, snapping her currently easily-distracted mind back into focus.

"Thanks," she hurried the words out of her mouth while slipping out of the house, into the darkness of the night.

It took Maria no longer than fifteen minutes to get to his house. Naturally, she had forgotten everything she had learned about speed limit, lights and whatnots.

She stepped out in the brisk cold air as soon as the engine was put to a rest. Having her mind set on finding him and making things right, she had not stopped until she was right in front of the door and that's when she suddenly started getting cold feet.

After all, she only assumed he loved her. Maybe that's what her oh-so-frivolous mind wanted to believe – needed to believe.

« Et puis, je suis arrivée jusqu'ici... qu'on en finisse à la fin : où ça passe, ou ça casse. » She told herself encouragingly. (Oh, well, I've come this far... let's get this over with: it either falls right or apart)

She gave the door a gentle push, seeing as it had been left ajar, and followed the sound of bleak soft music playing in the background. It led her straight to the living-room that looked, just then, nothing like such. It was more like a battlefield. The television screen had a hole in it, the sofa laid upside down, and the antic wooden table – that used to monopolize the center of the room – was now torn to pieces... only the stereo remained unscathed, probably because it was actually built-in.

And there he was, standing proudly in front of the picture window, his back hard, and his shoulders stiff.

He hadn't moved one muscle at her quite discrete entrance although she was pretty damn sure he heard her. And she couldn't seem to find the courage nor the strength in her to be the one to start talking.

"What brings you here?" His voice seemed distant, from far away, devoid of all emotions, and her heart clenched at that.

Why did she come? Didn't he give her everything she wanted already? Wasn't pretty boy's recovery the answer to her every wish? Didn't he already make it simpler by walking out on her; thus sparing her the torment of having to break up with him? Wasn't it enough that he had to act all indifferent and haughty when he felt like dying?

Did she really need to come and torture him? What was there left to say? She chose him.

He heard her taking cautious steps down the hall, only stopping when she reached the opening of the living-room, and Blake definitely didn't miss her sharp intake of breath upon looking at the scene, nor the jump her heartbeat suffered.

Yeah, well, a living-room gone to waste, that wasn't even nearly enough to calm him. He could have laughed at the thought of that small carnage being enough. Of course, it wasn't!