Danielle Steel - Honor Thyself

“I wouldn't break your heart this time,” he said, looking guilty.

“You might. People do that to each other. That's what love is all about. Being willing to risk a broken heart. I'm not. I've had one. I didn't like it. I don't want another one, particularly delivered by the same man who gave me the first one. I don't want to hurt that much again, or love that much again. I'm fifty years old, I'm too old to start that.” She didn't look it, but she felt it, particularly since the bombing.

“That's ridiculous. You're a young woman. People older than we are get married all the time.” He was desperate to convince her, but he could see he wasn't succeeding.

“They're braver than I am. I lived through you, Sean, and Jason. That's enough. I don't want to do it again.” She was adamant about what she was saying, and he knew she meant it. And he was equally determined to change her mind. They were still arguing about it when they left the restaurant, and he had gotten nowhere with her. This wasn't the way he wanted it to turn out. “And I like my life in L.A. I don't want to live in France again.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not French. You are. I'm American. I don't want to live in someone else's country.”

“You did before. You loved it here,” he insisted, trying to remind her, but she remembered it only too well. That's why he scared her. She was more afraid of herself than him this time. She didn't want to make a bad decision.

“Yes, I did. But I was happy when I got home. I realized then that I didn't belong here. That was part of the trouble with us. Cultural differences, you used to call them. That made it okay for you to live with me and be married to her, and even have our baby out of wedlock. I don't want to live somewhere where they think that differently than I do. In the end, you get hurt trying to be something you're not in a place you don't belong.” He could see now that the pain he had caused her had wounded her so deeply that even fifteen years later, the scars were still raw, even more so than the one on her cheek. The ones he had inflicted had gone too deep. It had even affected how she felt about France and the French. All she wanted was to go home, and live out the rest of her years alone in peace. He wondered how Sean had convinced her to marry him. And then she was abandoned again when he died. Now she had closed the doors to her heart.

They talked about it all the way back to the hotel, and said goodnight in his car. She didn't want him to come upstairs this time. She kissed him lightly on the lips, thanked him for dinner, and slipped out of the car quickly.

“Will you think about it?” he begged her.

“No, I won't. I thought about it fifteen years ago. You didn't. You lied to me, Matthieu, and to yourself. You stalled for almost three years. What do you want from me now?” Her eyes were wide and sad, and he could see that it was hopeless, but didn't want to believe it.

“Forgive me. Let me love you and take care of you for the rest of my life. I swear I won't let you down this time.” She could see that he meant it.

“I can take care of myself,” she said sadly, looking at him through the open car window after she got out. “I'm too tired to take a risk like that again.” She turned away then and hurried up the steps of the Ritz, with the CRS guards behind her. Matthieu watched until she was gone, and drove away. There were silent tears running down his cheeks as he drove home. He knew now what he had feared all this time, and hoped wasn't true. He had lost her.

Chapter 18

Carole was unusually quiet as she sat across the breakfast table from Stevie the next morning, as Stevie ate a chanterelle omelette and several pains au chocolat.

“I'm going to weigh three hundred pounds by the time we go home,” Stevie complained, as Carole read the newspaper in silence. Stevie was wondering if Carole was feeling all right. She had hardly said a word since she got up.

“How was dinner last night?” Stevie asked her finally, as Carole set the paper down. She sat back in her chair and sighed.

“It was fine.”

“Where'd you go?”

“L'Orangerie, on the Ile Saint Louis. Matthieu and I used to go there all the time.” It was one of his favorite restaurants, and had become hers, along with Le Voltaire.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Carole nodded in answer to her question. “Just tired. The walking has been doing me good.” She'd been out with Matthieu every day, and they walked for hours as they chatted.

“Was he upset about the thing in the Herald Tribune ?”

“A little. He'll get over it. I don't know how he can be righteous about it. They were right. It's a wonder no one figured it out before, although we were pretty careful in those days. He had a lot at stake, and so did

I. He forgets.”

“It'll probably just slip away,” Stevie reassured her. “No one can prove anything now anyway. It's been way too long.” Carole nodded again. She agreed. “Did you have fun?” This time Carole shrugged. And then looked across the table at her assistant and friend.

“He proposed.”

“He what ?”

“He proposed. As in marriage.” Her face was blank. Stevie looked stunned, and then delighted, but Carole didn't.

“Holy shit! What did you say?”

“I said no.” Her voice was painfully calm, as Stevie stared.

“You did? I've been getting the feeling that you two were still in love with each other, and I thought he was trying to get things going again.”

“He is. Or was.” Carole was wondering if he would speak to her again. He was probably hurt by the night before.

“Why did you say no?” Although he had worried her at first, now Stevie was disappointed.

“It's too late. Too much water under the bridge by now. I still love him, but he hurt me too much. It was too hard. And I don't want to get married again. I told him that last night.”

“I can understand the first two reasons, about your being hurt. But why don't you want to get married again?”

“Been there. Done that. Divorced. Widowed. Broken heart in Paris. Why do I need to risk all that again? I don't. My life is easier like this. I'm comfortable now.”

“You sound like me.” Stevie sounded dismayed.

“You're young, Stevie. You've never been married. You should at least do it once, if you love the guy enough to make that kind of commitment.” She was speaking about Alan. “I loved the men I was married to. Jason left me. Poor Sean died, way too young. I don't want to start all over again, especially with a guy who already broke my heart once. Why take the chance?” She loved him, but this time she wanted her head to rule her heart. It was safer.

“Yeah, but he didn't start out to be a shit to you, from what I understand. At least according to what you told me. He got himself tangled up in his own mess. He was afraid to leave his wife, he was a high-up government official, and he got appointed to another term, which complicated things further. But now he's retired from the ministry, and she's dead, he's not likely to make the same mess again. And he makes you happy, or he seems to. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Carole said honestly, “he does. But even if he doesn't make a mess of it again, then what? He dies and leaves me heartbroken again.” She looked bleak as she said it. “I just don't want to put my heart on the line again. It hurts too much.” It had been hard enough losing Sean, and trying to bounce back again. It had been two years. And five years of misery after she left Matthieu in Paris. Every day, she hoped he'd call to say he'd left his wife, and he never did. He stayed. Until she died.

“You can't give up like that,” Stevie said, looking sad for her. She hadn't realized Carole felt that way to that degree. “It's not like you to quit.”