♡
Sara's POV
I awoke to Michael laying next to me on the mattress, both of us squished together next to each other. I had to giggle softly, then laid down onto my pillow again and watched him sleep peacefully.
Of course he wouldn't sleep on his own. Whenever we were together, he explicitly demanded we always sleep next to each other.
I traced his cheekbones and beard, kissing his nose softly. Michael mumbled something his sleep and drew me so close my face was pressed against his.
I managed to glance back at his intertwined arms which had me locked in. Great, how was I going to get up now? A pain jolted across my upper body and my face twisted in response. Too tight. I tapped his chest softly. Maybe he would let go - nope.
Michael only squished me closer to him.
A low chuckle sounded from the door. I managed to twist my head slightly to see his uncle stand there.
Victor came inside and shook Michael's shoulder. "Wake up sleepyhead it's 9 am already."
Michael groaned at him and drew the blanket over us.
"You are squishing your girlfriend", Victor's voice sounded above us. "Think of her rib."
Michael let me go. I felt as if I could breathe again. My boyfriend mumbled a sorry and kissed me sleepily on my eye. But he had no intentions of getting up.
I peaked up from under the cover and Victor's hand awaited me. I took it and was lifted to my feet. "Why did you decide to share the small mattress?", Victor worryingly looked at my bandaged body. "Michael doesn't like sleeping on his own when I'm with him", I answered in a shushed voice and turned back to him to tug him in properly. "He must have joined me in my sleep."
"You are too good for him", Victor shook his head, speaking in his normal loud voice. "If he's not up by 10, I'll get a glass of water."
Michael was unbothered by that, his chest slowly, gradually rising and falling along his even breathing. Victor turned on his heel and left us alone. I crouched down and kissed Michael's beardy cheek, then decided to get changed and join them downstairs.
"Back", he mumbled angrily. "I'm not sleepy anymore", I told him. "Cuddle", he demanded, his voice deep and raspy from his sleep. My weakpoint. "I'm hungry", I proclaimed. "I'm needy", he countered, lazily lifting his head back to see me. "Bandages", he weakly pointed out. I heard him get up.
His fingers landed on my back and undid them. "Stay", he mumbled, then walked with heavy and slow footsteps to our suitcases. He drew out the balms and bandages the hospital had given me. My rib wasn't bandaged, but the cuts and punch marks on my upper body were.
Michael softly massaged the balm in, then wrapped the bandages around. He secured them and leaned his head on my shoulder. "I can't put my bra on if you stay like that", I told him amused. He looked ready to fall asleep again.
I softly lifted his hand, lifted my arm through the strap and let him rest his head on me again. I clipped it close and reached for my shirt, when he undid it again. "Michael!", I chided. My hands shot to my back to close it again. He mumbled something. I turned around and he buried his head in my chest.
I held him with a sigh. "Alright - but only until you've properly woken up!"
Michael slipped his arms around me at that, humming happily.
We stood there, arm in arm, while I gazed to the shut curtains. Soft light was peaking through the window and with each minute it got stronger. Dust particles danced in the rays of the sunlight, tickling my feet with its warmth.
Michael's head followed to see what I was looking at. "The vineyard is visible from here", he spoke in his raspy morning voice, getting up. He handed me my shirt and I slipped into it. "Marthe must be working already."
"What does she have to do?", I asked, hoping he would never stop talking with that voice.
"June is the stage of the flowering. The first trim is due this month", Michael explained. He pushed the curtains aside so we could see more. "She also needs to make room in her office, so the process of bottling starts. Grapes developed into small ones as you can see from up here. The harvest is almost around the corner."
"Can we help her somehow?" "If you want to work the whole day long at the vineyard?", Michael asked me. "It would be an experience", I shrugged and smiled. "Good. I'll tell her. I'll get us working attire. You go down and prepare us breakfast."
"Just for us?", I asked, already on my way.
"The others eat at 6 am", Michael informed me, watching Marthe for a few moments. He opened a window and yelled something in French to her, something that made her toss his glove at him. Michael stepped aside with a grin, the yellow gardening glove barely missing him. Then he shouted in English: "After we ate breakfast we'll come down and help you tatie!"
Marthe's response was a raised thumb.
♡
Victor was sitting in the living room as I passed to the kitchen, newspapers spread around him. He was flipping through a German one I thought, until I read the title and felt my heart warm and also tear apart at the same time. It was an Austrian one. From my home.
"Some singer of yours got divorced", he stated, flipping through the paper. I hadn't announced myself, but he still had known it was me. "Crimes are high in certain cities."
"Nothing new then", I said with a smile, brushing my bottoms. "Would you like to eat breakfast with us Victor?"
He lowered the paper to check the time, contemplating. "If you don't tell my wife?"
"Of course not", I raised a finger to my lips, then went to the kitchen. "Where do you keep the plates and such?"
"Mostly cupboards", Victor yelled from the living room.
I sat the table quickly, hearing Michael walk down the staircase. He greeted his uncle and they had a quick back and forth in French, then he sat down. Almost as if it was a ritual, he had taken a newspaper along and shoved it under the foot of the table. He wiggled it and leaned back.
"Wobbly table", Michael explained, as if that would answer everything. "Marthe found it at a garage sale and nobody's allowed to touch it. I managed to repair a few things before she lost her cool."
"Doesn't she like that?", I reached for a pan and some eggs.
"She's too proud to admit some things need to be prepared", Michael mused.
"She doesn't like the fact you are big enough to repair our home on your own", Victor corrected, hitting his nephew with the folded newspaper. His English was as smooth sounding as his French, only a few words accompanied by his mother tongue's pronunciation. "Especially cars. It was something Hector did for her all the time."
"Marthe can't drive a coffin on four wheels around!", Michael defended himself.
"Don't you repair stuff around the home, Victor?", I steered the talk into another direction, asking him kindly.
"I'm blessed with figures and not with tools", Victor shrugged, sat down and handed Michael the newspaper. "The WSJ is in my office, you can have it once I'm done."
Michael was already lost in the newspaper, nodding absent-minded. This family really loved to read.
I went back to making breakfast, listening to the silent peaceful village that was spread around us. Marthe hummed outside. Jacques watered the plants in the garden. Michael occasionally flipped the page; this and the spatula were the only sounds in the kitchen. Even Victor seemed to listen to the village's birds and people in the distance.
Soft, big steps approached the end of the kitchen and French music, there take on casual, country music I reckoned, filled the kitchen. Victor shuffled around with the antenna until the song was clear and no static interrupted it.
I put the eggs on the boys's plates and we went on ahead and eat, all listening to the music.
"It's rare for you to eat with us", Victor said to Michael after we were done. "Usually you jog in the morning."
"I wanted to sleep in these two weeks", Michael explained, reaching for the last brioche and jam. "I'll jog in the evening."
"I'll give you a flashlight", with that, Victor got up to leave us be. "Thank you for the breakfast Sara. It was delicious."
"Anytime", I smiled at his uncle.
Michael helped me wash the dishes and then we slipped into old clothes, I assumed I got Marthe's, then we went outside to help her. She waved us over with a big smile and cutting pliers in her hand.
♡
As Marthe sent me down to her working room to wash the pliers, I eagerly met the task at hand.
My feet carried me down the staircase into the surprisingly well-lit basement, where a strong scent of herbs and wine met my nose. I took a deep breath and mused out loud what she kept down here, looked at the stone walls and stone floors, touched the wooden furniture pieces, the scratched working bench and rested my hands on the basin and stared out the window into the garden.
My shoulders sunk and I was now totally calm. I closed my eyes and reminiscent of the times I spent at my grandmother's in her village, helping her out water her many, many flowers, enjoying the sunlight in my face and listening to her hum an old song.
Deep inside of me I wished Michael and I could live in a home like this one day. On the country side in a country home, a farmer's house, with pops of grey-blue colour, or dark wooden floors with white painted walls, both modern and old-fashioned, with a strong, homey feel.
But this wouldn't be possible. Our work place was in New York and the company would stand for centuries by how things were looking. He might even pass it down to our children one day ...
There it was again - I imagined us married and with children again. That wouldn't be happening any time soon, nor was I ready. The thought of him proposing to me scared me to the bones, and I haven't told him. I know he had promised he wouldn't change once we were married, but what if? Neither of us knew how our marriage would change us.
I knew what I was like in a marriage, but what about him? What did he expect me of me once I was his wife?
"What's taking you so long, tomato?", Michael's lips landed on my neck and his arms wrapped around me.
"I'm enjoying the view, silvery tongue", I told him, laying my hand on his.
"Mhm", his lips kissed my shoulder. "Why did you look scared then?"
"Just thinking of things", I leaned against him and closed my eyes. "Michael?"
"Hmm?", his lips traced my neck.
I breathed in, searching for the right words. "Do you ever think of proposing to me?"
"Where's this question coming from?", Michael lifted his head, stopping the affection. "I know we talked about marriage and children, but I thought you wanted to wait?"
"I do want to wait", I told him. I tugged at the hair on his arm. "But I'm unsure how long."
Silence.
"Scared?", he realized and finally asked.
"I'm getting the worst cold feet at the thought", I whispered.
"Of what? Marriage? Or married me?", Michael's voice hinted he knew already.
"... you."
He didn't avert himself. He didn't stop hugging me. He didn't throw hurtful words at me.
No. He hugged me tighter. Kissed me again. Understood.
"You are full of unnecessary fears sometimes you know that?", Michael kissed my behind my ear. "How could I be any different when we already act like a married couple?"
"We don't. I'm just-" "Living with you. Doing your laundry. Cooking with you. Going grocery shopping with you. Talking about our savings. Our expenses. The names of our future children", Michael raised my hand. "And the other day, before the incident, we were eyeing rings at a display. Don't lie - I saw you look."
I breathed out shakily. "What did I do to deserve you?"
"You were married to an asshole", he reminded me and turned me around. "Since you obviously are doubting me and my love, it just screams for me to push you into having a date with me tonight!" "Michael I-" "Bab bab bab!", he interrupted me. "A nice dinner in another city. And we are staying overnight at a hotel." "Why can't we return home afterwards?", I asked as he removed his finger.
He raised a brow. "You know damn well why."
I reddened. "But the doctor said-" "No hard physical activities. Doesn't mean I can't love you slowly", he shrugged. "It's only been two days but it's killing me I can't hold and kiss you openly without everybody in the house butting in. I need a day with you alone. Just the two of us."
I took his hand. "How about we make it a day-trip then?"
Michael beamed. "Great! I'll pull out the map to show you the nearest cities." He leaned forward and kissed me deeply. "Now, stop putting idiotic worries in your head", he poked my forehead "and help me with the village kids."
"The village kids?", I followed him confused.
"Every time I'm around I help my village, well, except the last time I had been here. The village kids show me the broken things in their school and I repair it. They are tight on budget so I help out."
"You are too good for this world", I caught his hand. "I do it for a reason - in New York I'm stuck to my table. Here I do what I did before I left for university." "You were a handy-man?", I asked laughing. I couldn't imagine him in an overall at all. "Either that or farmer. And in no way did I want to harvest grapes and do nothing for the rest of the year!"
Michael turned around at me with a raised brow and devilish grin. "What are you laughing at missy?" "Can't imagine you in that position, that's all", I snorted in laughter. "Well, you couldn't see yourself in certain positions either but here you are, folding over for me in bed like-"
I covered his mouth and he wiggled his eyebrows at me. I felt my face burning up from embarrassment.
"But seriously now", he muffled underneath my hands and took them away. "My first few tries were horrendous. I learned by doing the tasks. Started by painting. In the end, I learned how to build a car from scratch due to the other and only handy man in the village at that time. His name was Jean-Pierre. He passed away ten years ago and his sons took over the business. I still help occasionally, from time to time."
"And why not help Marthe?"
"Marthe was so stubbornly proud of everything she did, that touching anything resulted in me being scolded", Michael explained while laughing. "So I took the only job nobody thought about. Victor and Marthe tried to talk me into being a teacher and teach the children of the village, but that didn't cut it. Literature or nothing. Then came the company thing and I had to drop the job", Michael conveyed to me.
We went outside to Marthe's car. A tool box was already in the back of the truck. "Anything else you need, tatie ?", Michael yelled towards the garden. "Shopping list is in the boîte à gants!", she answered. "That's glove box in English, tatie ", Michael told her and opened the car door for me.
Michael started the motor and we were headed to the village.
♡
First stop - grocery store and the DIY superstore. Both small but still had what the people needed.
I took a trolley, noting how many greeted Michael and threw curious glances at me. He smiled and whispered "Not long before the whole village knows about us."
Michael knew the store like the back of his hand and went to get noodles, vegetables Marthe didn't plant, fruit, flower so Marthe could make her bread, milk, eggs - the typical stuff a household needed basically. "Won't the groceries go bad until we return home?", I asked, tugging at his shirt.
"We won't help out today - I need to see what needs to be prepared first and then I'll get the stuff", he explained to me. His hands shot out to grab some chips which made me raise my brows. "Hey, we are one vacation", he winked at me with a big grin. "I'll get us our favourite wine too. We'll watch a movie in the attic. I turned it into a home cinema and usually use it to watch movies with Leon's family."
Michael shook his head. "Can you imagine it took me ten weeks to convince Marthe to get wifi?"
As we headed to check-out, a woman approached Michael and smiled bitter-sweetly at me as he introduced me as his girlfriend. She left as quickly as she had come. "What was that?", I was even more confused. "A friend of mine. Approached me the last time I was here with Adrien and Estelle. Didn't seem to believe I do have a girlfriend", he brushed it away. "Many women here marry the men in the village. I had many mothers come to Marthe, asking her if I was interested in their daughters. Since I was from a wealthy American state and spoke clean as well as provincial French, I was a hit for many, many women. They wanted to escape the village because they knew I wouldn't settle down here."
"Why not?"
"You'll see after a few days. It gets boring when you have nothing to do. And I was used to the busy life at home in Connecticut, later New York. I loved my home, don't get me wrong, I came back here and Paris every summer for three months, but I loved America more. And I was always drawn to foreign women." He nudged me lovingly. I rolled my eyes with a smile.
Michael insisted he carried the groceries to the car due to my rib and drove us to the school. He got out the car and a man instantly approached him, talked down on him like a waterfall and left with a wave.
Michael got back inside with a laugh. "That was the school's principal", he turned the engine on. "Told you it took less than five minutes."
The hardware store consisted of me following him around like a puppy while he grabbed everything he needed.
It was when we parked before our home that things got interesting.
His phone rang.
"Hamish", Michael greeted him happily. "What's the news?"
With each passing minute, his face got grimmer. "I see. Thank you for the fast updates. Tell Lucas to keep on finding out more. I'll tell her, of course. Also, Hamish - see to it my flat is supervised. Check the furniture too while you are at it. Make them check everything three times - but with different people. Keep me updated."
Michael leaned back. "How are things with the company?"
He listened silently. "Rejected. Their company's philosophy would drag us down. I like the premise of it though. Look into other companies, even our subsidiaries. Has Miller paid his loan back?"
This went on and on, but Michael always shook his head when I wanted to leave the car.
"Invest into that company. Start with 5000 $. Check every hour. Sell it before the end of the week. Prospectively the interest will decline until then. Thank you Hamish. A good day to you too."
Michael sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. I waited until he regained his composure.
"And?"
"Things are less than shit, but still horrific", Michael started. He stared straight ahead. "The private detectives Lucas hired found out Eleanor was behind the scandalous headlines. Eleanor has a habit of keeping her office and desktop unlocked, so one of them could snoop on it while the other covered her. Turns out she has files of the newspapers. She typed them out herself."
"So you were right", my stomach grew hot and my blood started boiling. "She was the one to sell it to the newspaper!" "She wrote them", Michael corrected. "But somebody else published them for her. The publisher couldn't be tracked back to her. She's not the brightest, but she's wicked in that regard."
Michael took my hand. "That's not all of it."
My heart dropped at his face. "What is it?"
"The police found your phone without the memory card. Everything had been played onto it. Your phone was trashed."
"Do you think they-"
Michael squeezed my hand tightly, his face furrowing in anger and sadness. "They found cameras and bugging devices in your old flat too."
I froze in horror.
He took a deep, deep breath. "Somebody was monitoring your every step, Sara."