| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 32 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Tuesday, November 02, 10:13:37am
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Madeline had received several messages from Paul Wolfe regarding Michael Samuelle’s son. None of them contained good news. Paul had talked to Vacek, which seemed to have made things worse. Vacek deeply resented the American’s interference in personal family business, and the relationship between the two diplomats was now chilly at best. Vacek had also thought that Michael had given up his quest for Adam. Now that he knew differently, the boy was a virtual prisoner in the embassy. He was rarely allowed outside of the grounds, and even then he had two bodyguards. Salla Vacek wasn’t taking any chances.
Madeline had debated on whether to call Nikita had home, but finally decided a face-to-face meeting was needed. She had her secretary draft a letter and put it in Nikita’s box. She would see it the next time she came into the office.
* * *
Nikita’s heart lurched. Carla was wrong about Simone. Michael was having an affair with her.
“I lied about Simone,” he said bluntly.
Oh God!
“I said she was a client, but I was meeting her about personal business.”
Nikita started to see black spots before her eyes. She was hyperventilating.
“She is a con artist and a thief, and she wanted to be paid for giving me certain information.”
The black spots started to fade as Nikita’s heart rate slowed. She looked at Michael, who was looking directly into her eyes with care and concern.
“I didn’t want you to know anything about her until I found out what the information was.”
“What was it?” Nikita asked, chewing her bottom lip nervously.
Now it was Michael’s turn to look uncomfortable. He rubbed his chin. “This is very hard for me to tell you, Nikita. It’s-it’s about your mother.”
“My mother?” Nikita asked in surprise. “Oh, Michael! Is she ill? Is she dying?” He shook his head but didn’t speak. “Tell me,” she demanded. “I need to know.”
“It’s nothing like that,” he promised. Nikita waited. “How well do you remember your mother from when your were a little girl?”
Nikita looked at him in surprise, then looked away. “I don’t really remember that much.”
“I remember that she hit you. You had bruises all over.”
Tears were forming in Nikita’s eyes.
“And what about her boyfriends?” he persisted gently. He thought, but didn’t add, ‘and what she let them do to you.’
“She was different then, Michael!” she snapped angrily as she stalked away from the couch. “She was drinking then. She didn’t know what she was doing.”
“Please sit down, Nikita,” he implored gently. Nikita sat back down in the corner of the couch, a large pillow clutched to her abdomen as if it could defend her from the evils of her memories.
Michael continued. “She was still drinking when she came to the States, Nikita. She did some things—things she wouldn’t want you to know about.”
“What sort of things?” she asked in a whisper.
Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She was a prostitute, Nikita. She has a record with the both the Los Angeles and San Francisco Police Departments. I checked it out myself, and it’s true.”
“Why are you telling me this, Michael?” Nikita asked, tears rolling down her face.
“Because I love you,” he answered honestly. “Because I wanted you to hear it from me instead of someone like Simone.” Nikita didn’t respond or look at him, so he continued. “She’s been sober for five years. She has a good job, and she loves you. She’s not that other person anymore. That’s all in the past.”
Nikita stared at the blank TV screen for a few more minutes, then scooted over on the couch to nestle close to Michael. He wrapped his arms around her protectively. Just like a big brother, thought Nikita.
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