"Hold On"
Danni Rinaldi and Henri Belmont
“Didn't they always say we were the lucky ones.
I guess that we were once, babe, we were once,
but luck will leave you cursed, it is a faithless friend,
and in the end, when life has got you down,
you've got someone here that you can wrap your arms around.
So hold on to me tight,
hold on to me tonight.
We are stronger here together,
than we could ever be alone.
So hold on to me,
don't you ever let me go.
There's a thousand ways for things to fall apart,
but it's no ones fault, no it's not my fault.
Maybe all the plans we made might not work out,
but I have no doubt, even though it's hard to see.
I've got faith in us, and I believe in you and me.
So hold on to me tight.
Hold on, I promise it will be alright.
Cuz it's you and me together,
and baby all we've got is time.
So hold on to me,
hold on to me tonight.
There's so many dreams that we have given up.
Take a look at all we've got,
and with this kind of love,
and what we've got here is enough.
So hold on to me tight.
Hold on, I promise it will be alright.
Cuz we are stronger here together,
than we could ever be alone.
Just hold on to me,
don't you ever let me go.
Hold on to me, it's gonna be alright.
Hold on to me tonight.
They always say, we were the lucky ones.”
It was almost sunrise by the time Henri returned home, the limo sliding up around the drive and pausing just long enough for Henri to leap out, striding purposefully up the walk to the front door.
Isadora hadn’t been answering his phone calls. For hours he had attempted to contact her, only to be forced to listen to the incessant ringing, to the beep of her voicemail. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said anymore, certain she wouldn’t know how to access her messages in any case. He was all but certain she was perfectly fine. If she’d been ill, or injured, Bertram would’ve called. But then, Bertram had failed to pick up the phone as well. Frustrated, angry, and just a bit worried, Henri unlocked the door, disabled, put in the code for his security system.
When he would’ve walked straight up to the bedroom –Danni was certainly still sleeping at this hour- he heard a noise in the kitchen, pausing a moment before he took a short detour, popping his head through the door. And there, looking as though he hadn’t slept a wink, was his loyal butler, a cup of tea sitting on the table in front of him and a magazine lying open beside it.
“And here I thought you’d all abandoned the house while I was gone. Does no one in this home remember how to answer a phone?” He knew his voice was sharp, didn’t care. He’d worried, damn them, and here was his butler sipping tea and reading gossip columns. However, rather than have the grace to look ashamed, Bertram slowly slid his glance over to his master, folding his hands in his lap. For an odd moment, Henri felt like a boy about to be scolded.
“You’re home early. I rather thought you were enjoying yourself in Rome.” At the disapproving tone, Henri’s frown deepened, his arms crossing. He was still dressed in the suit from his business meeting, so rushed had he been to get home and see what was wrong. And now he was being…sassed, he decided. Sassed by his own butler.
“What’s this all about then? Where’s Izzy?” He watched as Bertram slowly turned to face him, his hands shifting to his knees. He didn’t understand the expression on the man’s face, couldn’t comprehend the cause of it.
“The young miss is, I believe, in your personal quarters. It’s kind of you to spare her a thought.” He paid no mind to his master’s narrow-eyed glare, nor did he blink when he stepped forward, his mouth twisting into a scowl.
“What nonsense is this?! What have I done to make you speak to me this way?” In response, Bertram laid a hand on the magazine, slid it across the table turned to page sixteen.
"You made this week's cover. I had never taken you for a cruel man, Henri." His brow furrowed, Henri walked over to the table, glared down at the magazine. What could possibly...
Every thought in his head simply trailed off when he saw the words "Rinaldi Replaced?" splashed over the top of two pages. Blinking slowly, he lifted the magazine, stared at the pictures side by side on the pages. One of them was of he and Izzy. Under other circumstances, he'd have clipped it out and hung it on the fridge. But beside that...A picture of himself and Anna-Theresa. There were more pictures of himself and the blonde, each one more incriminating and damning than the next.
Slowly, almost afraid to look, Henri flipped over to the cover, saw that he and Anna-Theresa dominated that as well, with "Belmont's New Belle" scrawled beneath it. When he hadn't been looking, someone had painted him as a cheating b*****d. A faithless womanizer.
“…Danni saw this?” He spoke softly, but Bertram heard him fine enough, nodding staunchly, though his eyes narrowed now as he studied his master. His was not the face of a man who’d been exposed cheating, but rather a man who’d been insulted.
“She did, though I’d hoped to dispose of it before she could. Some kind neighbor delivered it to our front door this morning.” Henri nodded, flipping back to page sixteen and skimming over the text.
“…And what did she say?” When Bertram hesitated, Henri looked up, met the butler’s gaze. After a long moment, Bertram folded his hands on his lap once more, staring straight ahead.
“She cried, sir.” He said nothing when Henri paled, when he swore and ran his fingers through his hair in a rare gesture of agitation. Dropping the magazine, Henri turned towards the door, paused only a moment to shoot a look over his shoulder.
“I didn’t cheat on her.” Though he left immediately after that, Bertram still nodded, picking up his cold tea to sip at it. Yes, he could see that. Satisfied that his world would be shortly put back in order, Bertram got to his feet, bent down to pick up the magazine. It would give him great pleasure to burn it. But first, the picture of the master and the young miss would look lovely in his scrapbook.
While Bertram went to destroy the magazine, Henri made his way quietly up the steps, dread beginning to fill him. She’d cried. His Izzy had seen that blasphemous, nonsense article –one that had absolutely no basis in fact- and had believed it. Believed it, he thought, because he hadn’t bothered to call and explain anything beforehand.
Shaking his head, Henri strode down the hall, opened the door to his bedroom. She was, as he’d thought, sleeping. Not in the bed, but in the window seat, her forehead resting against the cool glass of the window. Even in the half-light, he could see that her closet was open, could see the suitcase at the foot of the bed. If panic had not set in before, it did so now, so much so that he all but leapt over to the suitcase, unzipping it and grabbing a pile of clothes, tossing them into the closet.
“What are you doing that for?” His breath catching in his throat, Henri looked over his shoulder, saw Danni sitting cross-legged on the window seat, watching him with dark, quiet eyes. She didn’t look furious, as he’d expected, nor tearful, as he’d feared. She simply looked…blank. It had been a long, long while since he’d been punished by one of her expressionless masks. He’d rather she hit him, cursed at him, called him every name she knew in every language she could summon. Anything but that neutral stare.
Without a word, he lifted the suitcase, tossed it into the closet and shut the door. She didn’t so much as lift a brow. Nor did she speak when he walked across the room, stopped less than a foot away. When he reached out, however, went to touch her face, she shifted away, her eyes flashing for the briefest of moments.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare. Not with hands that touched her.” He grimaced, crouched down so that they were eye-to-eye. And yes, he could see the bruises under her cheeks, the lines of fatigue that etched themselves into her face whenever she cried. Words couldn’t express how sorry he was to have put them there, however unintentionally.
“Her name is Anna-Theresa. She is…You will let me explain!” His voice rose, sharpened a bit with desperation when she looked away, obviously ready to tune him out.
“There is no need to explain. The pictures made it clear enough.” She paused, and he could have sworn her eyes were sad when next she spoke. “There was no need to lie to me, Paris. All you had to do was say you’d grown tired of me. All you had to do was tell me to leave. I would have…I would have preferred that to this. You need not have lied to me.” That, perhaps, was what stung most. The man who’d demanded and won her trust had lied. And it hurt.
“I didn’t cheat on you. I did not lie. Damn it, Danni, look at me. Look at me and believe me. I swear to you, I didn’t…” He trailed off at the look on her face, felt his own face fall. She wouldn’t believe him. Whatever he said now, she wouldn’t believe him. Unsure as to how things had gotten so out of control in his absence, Henri scrubbed his hands over his face, shook his head.
“Isadora, I vow on the name. I vow on the name that I have not wronged you. I vow on the name that I did not tell you a single lie.” He watched her eyes widened at that, knew he’d said the right thing. Perhaps she wouldn’t believe a promise. But she would have no choice but to believe a vow on the name of Rinaldi. It was not a statement one used lightly. He watched her draw up her knees, wrap her arms around her legs, a protective, vulnerable position.
“…What happened in Rome, Henri?” He almost sagged with relief. She was going to listen. Clearing his throat, he took a breath, steadied himself. She wasn’t going to leave. He was going to make sure of it.
“I had a meeting with one of our investors, a Mr. Belucci. To put things simply, he agreed to continue supporting Rinaldi Corp. on the condition that I escort his daughter, Anna-Theresa, to a charity ball. I suppose the media must have been allowed entrance without my knowledge, and they decided to print what they liked. Had it been my choice, I would’ve taken you to the ball. Instead, I had to spend hours on end with a spoiled, pouty blonde woman who was incapable of carrying on a conversation.” Thinking of the pictures, Henri decided he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d arranged for the pictures to be taken in the first place. It had been an endless night of prying her hands off his butt and fetching her more champagne. He would’ve given anything that night to be sitting in front of the fire eating snack cakes with his fiancée.
Since Danni had said nothing, Henri sighed, looked up at her face. The blank mask of indifference, he saw with some relief, was gone. In its place was vague annoyance and acceptance. She had, it seemed, believed him. But she wasn’t happy about it.
“I should have called you, before attending the ball. I wasn’t hiding it, it just didn’t seem to be worth mentioning.” He reached out again, out of sheer need, grateful when she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let him brush his fingertips over her cheek, sighed when he brushed his thumb over the dark marks under her eyes. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice, tried not to think of her crying, alone, thinking he’d grown tired of her. As if he would ever be able to grow tired of someone so full of contradictions.
“I need you to believe me, Danni, on just one more thing. I vow, I vow on Rinaldi, that I will never be unfaithful. Not once. Not even for an instant. And if I have to spend the rest of my life making this up to you, I will. You’ve only to tell me to.” For a long moment, she said nothing, only stared at him with those quiet gray eyes. How careless he’d been, he thought, to have ever caused her to doubt, to question, to feel as though she were anything less than his entire world. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she nodded, let out a long breath.
“All right. I regret now not scalping the blonde, but I understand. So perhaps you will hold onto me for a bit while I finish forgiving you.” Still getting past the scalping comment, it took Henri a moment to register her next words, and only a moment longer for him to be floored with gratitude. So that was all, he thought. He need only apologize, need only explain, and he was forgiven. And she’d asked him to hold onto her. The hand he had on her face slid around behind her head, pulled her forward a bit while his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her up against him. For a moment, he could’ve sworn the breath she let out wasn’t quite steady before she dropped her head on his shoulder.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“I almost wish you scalped her.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Did you miss me?”
“Your absence crossed my mind once or twice.”
“You missed me.”
“Perhaps I did.”
Content, Henri let out a quiet sigh, his eyes closing as he listened to Danni’s heartbeat. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to sleep with so much silence the past few nights. This, he thought, was where he belonged. And later, much later, with both of them curled up on the window seat and watching the sun rise, Danni glanced over at him, her eyes heavy with fatigue.
“I let Samson pee in your loafers.”
