Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter XXVIII - Time Heals Not

"It is quite a relief that the two of you still make the journey here," remarked the head of the orphanage, pausing to sip his coffee as sunlight streamed through the windows. The Walton couple sat opposite him, looking entirely at home, as they had for more than a week now—arriving each afternoon without fail to help with the children.

Victor—now properly named, properly fed, and properly cherished—rested comfortably on Gabrielle's lap while she dutifully fed him spoonfuls of his puréed lunch. The transformation in the boy was remarkable. His cheeks had taken on a rosy hue; his once thin frame had filled out; and he no longer resembled the almost shell-shocked child they had first discovered. He joined the other children in play now, though he remained, more often than not, attached to his self-appointed "mama."

Gabrielle pressed a fond kiss to his chubby cheek before addressing the head's comment with a modest shrug. He watched her with quiet amusement just as Vincent leaned forward to wipe a smear of food from the corner of Victor's mouth—only for the boy to seize his finger triumphantly and laugh.

Gabby laughed too when Victor promptly placed the man's finger in his mouth and bit down with surprising determination.

"If Victor biting this great hulking man and making him squeak is the entertainment I'm rewarded with, then yes, I'll continue coming," she teased, pinching Victor's cheek as he giggled, delighted with himself.

"Let go, boy!" Vincent demanded, face contorting in betrayal as the child merely tightened his bite.

"Ouch—Bella! Do something!" His voice cracked in genuine distress, which only made Gabrielle's laughter ring louder. She held up her own hand, showing a red swollen mark.

"He's teething, Vince. You're not special," she said through her giggles.

"I do not care—ouch—Victor, let go!" He twisted in his seat as the boy held on like a tiny but determined terrier.

"Give him a teether! He's mangling me—Gabrielle Ralph Walton, I swear he's severing my finger!"

That earned another burst of laughter from her; he only resorted to her full name when he was well and truly irritated.

"Let go, sweetheart..." she murmured to Victor, kissing his temple gently. "Be a good boy and release dada's finger... come now, darling. Dada is on the verge of tears."

Her soft coaxing made Vincent freeze, heart stumbling at the sound of her calling him dada—something she had never done before.

Victor finally released him, allowing Vincent to yank back his hand with a groan as fresh air hit the abused skin.

"Good lord..." he hissed. Gabrielle shot him a warning glare.

"No vulgar language." She covered Victor's ears, though the boy simply stared up at her in confusion. "Do not learn from him, baby."

"He absolutely will," Vincent muttered. "He'll be worse."

"Vince!" she hissed when he swore again, kicking him beneath the table.

"I think he's finished his food," she said pointedly, rising with Victor in her arms. "We'll play a bit before his nap."

Vincent watched them go with softened eyes—his wife, cradling this boy as though born to her.

"You've done wonders for Victor in only a week," the head observed quietly. "I'm grateful you still return, even after I denied his custody."

"Gabby is many things," Vincent replied with a small, proud smile, "but she possesses a very good heart. She cares deeply for these children. Even I didn't expect this much from her."

"That is true," Saleem murmured. "Gabrielle is... a great deal more than she allows people to see, if guided well."

Vincent stilled. The man had unknowingly spoken aloud the very thought Vincent carried: Gabrielle was more—so much more—than her sharpened edges. Beneath her armour was the woman she once was... before disappointment hardened her, before life taught her distrust.

The woman she might yet become again.

"We're home, Bella..." Vincent whispered, brushing a kiss atop her head where she rested against his chest. She hummed in protest, eyes refusing to open as the car door was pulled open.

"Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs.—" The doorman abruptly clamped a hand over his mouth upon seeing Gabrielle asleep.

Vincent shook his head fondly. She had exhausted herself entirely today: baseball, swimming lessons, chasing children across the garden—it was little wonder she had slumped against him in the car, yawning once before slipping into deep sleep.

He steadied her carefully, then hurried out to her side to lift her from the seat.

"Is Madame unwell?" one of the hotel's senior staff hurried toward them.

"She's fine, Monique. Just worn out from the orphanage."

"She is an angel," the older woman smiled.

"She is," Vincent agreed. "When asleep." He winked, earning a laugh before he stepped onto the escalator, his wife cradled in his arms, wholly ignoring the staring patrons.

Their butler, Robert, greeted them at the lift with a teasing grin. "Good to have you back, sir. No quarrels today?"

"Nothing noteworthy," Vincent replied lightly. "She did take great pleasure in watching a child nearly chew off my finger."

"I imagine Mrs. Walton found that delightful."

"She did. She's a menace," he whispered—only for Gabrielle to murmur sleepily:

"Who's a menace...?"

He nearly dropped her.

"No one, darling. Go back to sleep."

By the time he reached their suite, he carried her to the bed with practiced tenderness. Robert dimmed the lights, drew the curtains, poured water—and paused when Vincent frowned.

It struck Vincent only then: Gabrielle's skin was hot. Far too hot.

And—

His breath caught.

A thin line of blood trickled from her nose.

"Bella?" He tapped her cheek gently, then harder. "Bella, wake up."

Her eyes flickered open weakly.

"My head..." she whispered, wincing.

Vincent's heart lurched.

"It's alright. A doctor is coming. Stay awake, love." He kissed her forehead, panic tightening in his chest.

Her wince turned into a cry.

"My head—Vincent—it hurts—!"

Blood flowed faster. She clutched her hair in agony.

"Bella!" He grabbed her hands, pulling them away from her scalp as she trembled. He held both her wrists with one hand, pulling her against his chest, his other hand rubbing her back in frantic attempts to soothe her.

"Stay with me—Gabrielle, look at me—just breathe, darling, the doctor is on the way—"

"It hurts..." she sobbed, voice small, fragile. She almost never called him Vince; now it tore him apart.

"I know, love. I know. Stay with me." He kissed her temple, holding her tightly as though sheer will might anchor her in place.

And he waited—terrified—for help to arrive.