* * *
GRACE WATCHED OUT the upstairs window as Mica drove his truck into the driveway below. The snow was falling in fluffy flakes, and on any other day, she’d be tempted to take Jules outside, even for a few minutes so he could feel snowflakes on his little face and look at her through snow-covered eyelashes.
She would have liked to put him on a wooden sled and pull him down the sidewalk, but she couldn’t. She had to work.
Grace knew she wasn’t alone in feeling guilt as a working mother, but it seemed to be weighing heavier on her these days. She should have taken Jules to see the Christmas lights around the Eiffel Tower. She should have walked down the stunning Champs-Élysées with him even if he was too young to remember it in the future. She had read in a parenting magazine once that babies actually did benefit from delightful, beautiful things. Their minds were enhanced by classical music, and babies who were exposed to art early on were better able to think and process their world.
Being an artist, Grace believed this. Her mother had often told her that she’d taken Grace to museums before she was christened. Of course, Grace’s mother never missed a gallery opening or a new art exhibit in Chicago. Grace couldn’t remember a time when art, beautiful clothes, colorful flowers and stunning architecture didn’t fill her with a sense of awe. Grace hoped to instill that kind of passion and appreciation in her son.
He was only six months old and already she wanted so much for him. All mothers probably thought their baby was the most intelligent, most beautiful and gifted child on the planet, but Grace knew Jules was different. When Mica told her that Rafe had walked and talked at eight months, she believed him. Jules was trying to say words. Jules was smart and intuitive and her friends in Paris saw it.
With how much her work had ramped up even in the past few days, Grace was feeling worse and worse about not giving Jules the attention he needed. She just hoped that bringing him here, leaving him with Mica, was the solution. That Mica and his family and all their friends in Indian Lake would continue to nurture her exceptional son.
The knock on the apartment door shattered her thoughts and caused a dozing Jules to jump awake. He let out a bellowing cry.
“Oh, sweetie.” She lifted him out of his carrier. “Maybe Daddy and I should go shopping for you,” she said.
“Da,” Jules said and touched her cheek as she walked to the door.
Mica was wearing his camel-colored leather jacket with sheepskin lining. He had a soft brown scarf around his neck and his jeans were washed denim. Snow covered his raven-black hair.
“It’s really coming down out there.” He smiled as he brushed snow off his head, some of it falling on Jules’s face.
Jules scrunched his nose and then his eyes widened. He smiled broadly and reached for Mica.
Grace’s emotions swung from guilt to love, admiration, concern, fear and finally love again. Jules acted as if he understood Mica was his father. Was that possible? And if it was, why would she be wary of it? Jules looked so much like Mica; no wonder she’d continued to pine for him the whole time they’d been apart.
She’d longed for Mica. But she’d also known she could never have him. Her life could never be his life. She knew it as she knew the stars would never fall from the sky.
But as Mica’s blue eyes fell on her face, wonder and delight filling them, causing them to brim with tears, she thought that maybe, possibly, somehow, she could make Mica love her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE MOMENT MICA laid eyes on Jules and Grace, all thoughts of winter storms and drifting snow vanished. He felt a wave of warmth rush over him.
He unbuttoned his jacket.
“Mica, please come in. There’s barely any heat in that stairwell,” Grace said. “Let me take your coat.”
“Jules...” Mica smiled at his baby son as he took off his scarf. He looked at Grace and paused. He didn’t know how she could look more beautiful than she had last night, but she did. Her blond hair was pulled up in a knot at the back of her head, revealing her long, slender neck. She wore a pale pink sweater embellished with a satin ribbon that revealed a glimpse of shoulder. Oh, he wished things could be as simple with her as they had been a year ago...
Jules kept squirming out of Grace’s embrace, reaching for Mica.
Mica blinked. Things could never be simple with him and Grace again.
“I think he wants you to hold him,” Grace said as she took Mica’s things.
Before Mica could reach for Jules, the baby leaped out of Grace’s arms, threw his hands around Mica’s neck and hung on like a monkey hugging a palm tree.
“Did you see that?” Grace asked.
“I did! I swear he’s knows I’m his dad.”
Grace’s expression softened. “Jules, this is your daddy. Can you say ‘Daddy’?” She placed her hand on Mica’s cheek.
If he wasn’t holding Jules, he would have pressed his hand over hers. It felt warm and soft and caring. He shivered.
“Da,” Jules said.
Mica held his breath. “Did you hear that?”
“Uh-huh.” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling.
“Come on in,” Grace said, and he followed her to the kitchen. She hung Mica’s jacket on the back of a chair. “It’s a bit wet from the snow. Maybe it will dry off here.”
Mica chucked Jules under the chin. “Is it possible he’s grown since last night?”
“Oh, he’s been eating a lot since we got here. And as we saw with the carrier, he’s in a bit of a growth spurt right now. He’s been moving around a lot more, too.”
Mica chuckled. “He’s a sporty little guy. Maybe I should buy him a football.”
“I think he’s a bit young.” Grace smiled up at him. “But knowing how smart Jules is, he’d probably memorize the entire playbook before he’s a year old.”
“Gabe would be ecstatic.”
“And God forbid we don’t please Gabe,” she joked.
Mica noticed she was wearing some pointy-toed flats that were decorated with plastic jewels. The heels were clear plastic. He’d never seen anything like them.
“Nice shoes.”
She peered down at her feet, then turned her left foot. “You like my shoes?”
“I do.”
“Come on!”
“Seriously. They’re cute. It’s like you have your teen crown on your toes.”
“Mica...” She narrowed her eyes.
He could tell she was ready for a fight, but he didn’t want to fight with her. In fact, it was the last thing on his mind.
“Where did you get them? The shoes?” he asked.
“They’re mine. I mean, I designed them.”
His mouth fell open. “I knew you designed dresses, but those...involve leather and—”
“A very good cobbler,” she added. “I have the best guy ever. He’s young and looking to make his mark. His father was a cobbler for Louboutin.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know...”
“Christian Louboutin. Famous shoes, purses. His signature is the shiny red soles on his spike heel shoes.”
“Ah!”
“You know them?”
“Uh, no.” But he was darned sure going to look this guy up.
“I’ve got three new designs I came up with during my sleepless nights. I was inspired by Sarah and Maddie, actually. See?” She showed him a drawing of a putty-colored winter coat. “The shawl collar stands up and can protect against the cold. Sarah says the winter wind hurts her neck and chin. And this sweater has a scarf running through the boatneck. The jade green reminds me of Maddie’s eyes.”
“Those are really good,” Mica said, inspecting the sketches.
Just then, Jules pressed his mouth to Mica’s jaw and licked.
“What
is he doing? Does he think I’m lunch?”
Grace walked up to Mica and put her hand on his numb arm in such a way that he could feel the pressure of her hand, if not the touch itself. He liked it.
“He’s been doing that for about a month,” she said. “It’s a teething thing, I think.”
“It really tickles. Feels funny.”
“Yes, well, enjoy it. In a few months, he’ll have all his teeth and never do it again. It’s the little things you have to relish while they last,” she said, her tone wistful.
Mica walked over to the Victorian sofa and sat with Jules.
“So...what are you working on this afternoon?”
She raised her eyebrows, seeming surprised at his interest. “It’s this Skype conference. Etienne is getting it set up in Paris.” She looked at her watch. “It’s three o’clock here, which means it’s ten there. It was the earliest Etienne could get the team together—but they’re used to working late nights. They’re going to show me some mock-ups.”
That got Mica thinking. If Grace could conduct business over the internet, then maybe she wouldn’t have to race back to Paris quite so soon. He’d have more time to convince her that marrying him was best for their baby.
Best for us.
Grace was chattering on about a jacket she’d designed, and Mica had to struggle to pay attention.
How could he believe marrying him would be good for her? Just look at her. She was animated, her eyes alight as she talked about her work. She rushed out of the room and came back with another pair of shoes. These were platform shoes with spiky heels that only an acrobat should be able to balance in, but Grace put them on with ease. Standing in her black, silky pants and that pink sweater, she looked like a million bucks. No—a gazillion bucks.
He was glad he was sitting down. Jules was climbing up and down his chest, nearly straddling his shoulders, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t take his eyes off Grace.
“It’s so hard to come up with something innovative, but I think—no, I know—my forte is in the fabric. I remember when I was a little girl, my mother would take me to the fabric room in the basement of Marshall Field’s in Chicago. She would make me touch all the wools, silks and knits. She taught me the difference between cotton and batiste. Handkerchief linen and damask. She’d tell me to lift the cloth to my cheek and feel its life. The weave. She told me to imagine the face of the weaver who made the linen from flax.”
“Really? Your cheek?”
“Yes,” she said, pointing to Jules, who was trying to kiss Mica on the cheek again. “Just like he’s trying to find out about you through touch. Fabric is all about tactile sensations.”
He was fascinated.
Mica had spent his life figuring out what made machines tick. Grace had spent her years not only learning about fashion, but also about people. Suddenly, he wanted to know all about her and find out all the things she knew. He wondered if one lifetime would be enough.
He was struck with the clear fact that marriage between them was the right thing. Even if it wasn’t the best thing for Grace and him, they had to make this decision for Jules. Their son deserved the best they could give, and he deserved to have both of them in his life. Mica’s parents had chosen the right path. They’d created a life for their sons filled with honor, respect and the knowledge that responsibility toward others were the true joys of life. Mica knew what it was like to be proud of his parents’ achievements. The swell in his chest and the tingles of admiration every time he looked out over their plowed and growing fields filled him with awe and humility. Jules should have that. Jules should experience that kind of pride.
And love? He believed that his mother had loved his father in her way and that he had loved her back. Maybe theirs had not been a romantic love, but it had been something. Couldn’t he have that something...with Grace?
He couldn’t deny the attraction between them, and every time he was with Grace, he looked forward to being with her again. Was it Jules? Or was it more to do with her?
If he was honest, there already was something between them. Mica just didn’t know what to call it.
The trouble was, he had less than a week left to figure it out.
Just then the laptop on the kitchen table pinged.
Grace jumped and her arms flew out to her sides like someone had just put ice cubes down her shirt. “That’s them!”
“What do you want me to do? Take Jules to the other room?” The baby was now dozing on Mica’s chest.
“No, this is the first time he’s settled all day. Stay right there. Earlier, he wouldn’t stop crying. If he does start fussing there’s a bottle in the fridge and you can warm it in the microwave. Then you should take him into the bedroom. There are some diapers in there, too. But no Gorilla Tape.” She chuckled lightly.
“Thanks.” He smiled.
She smiled back at him. It was a friendly smile, laced with enough encouragement that Mica felt his heart swell. They were getting closer. That was more than a good thing.
She raced over to a kitchen chair and grabbed the diaper bag. “There are some toys in here. He’s got a stuffed dinosaur he loves. He named it.”
“Let me guess. Da?”
“No. Ba.”
Mica looked at Jules. “Quite a linguist, aren’t ya?”
The computer pinged again.
“Here we go!” Grace said. “Wish me luck.”
Mica’s good spirits plummeted. She wanted him to wish her luck. It seemed like such a simple request, but his engineer’s brain mapped out all possible outcomes. If she succeeded, she’d go to Paris and never come back. If she failed, she might still go to Paris and never come back, and never have time for Jules because she’d be working twice as hard. Would she leave him here for good, or take him back with her? Either way, Jules would lose out. And really, did Grace need any luck at all? Mica could already see she was amazing. Didn’t she see that?
True, he was no expert on haute couture. He didn’t know this Louboutin guy at all. In her world, Mica was uneducated. But he thought he could recognize a shining talent when he saw it.
“Good luck.” He smiled.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile, then whirled around to the kitchen table.
Mica could see the laptop screen, and Grace apparently intended to do the meeting without headphones. He didn’t want to pry, but with a snoozing Jules still pinning him in place, Mica found himself paying attention.
Etienne was the first person on the screen. He was in his twenties, thin, his dark hair gelled into spikes. He wore a purple shirt and a pink tie and had a cross earring in one ear.
Next was Jasminda. Grace had told him she was the youngest team member, at nineteen. Her hair was thick and blunt, framing her face like a theater curtain. She wore long earrings and a tight, low-cut T-shirt.
Rene Charles entered the meeting room last. He was a dead ringer for Bradley Cooper, and upon seeing him, Mica sat up straighter on the sofa, though he did his best not to disturb Jules. Rene was tall, fit and wore a cable-knit sweater much like the one Mica was wearing. “Bonsoir, chérie!” Rene smiled. “How are you, gorgeous?”
“Exhausted,” Grace replied.
Mica ground his jaw. Was Rene flirting with her? Just who was this guy to Grace?
“Bonsoir, Grace!” Etienne said. “Can you hear us?”
“Oui. Bien.”
“Grace,” Jasminda began, “because you just sent over your sketch for the winter gown, I wanted to show you the fabric I found in that shop in Montmartre.”
Jasminda held up a shimmering white cloth. “It’s from India.”
“Are those sequins?” Grace asked.
“Yes, silver, pearl and white on white. It’s amazing. It looks like fairy dust.”
“But how will it fall? I want the skirt to
kick out and scurry away from the legs as the wearer walks. It should look like drifting snow around her feet.”
“Of course. I think this will work. I’ll baste it together tomorrow and send you a video.”
“Now, Grace,” Rene began. He had what Mica would call a radio voice. “I’m going to show you some of the things we’ve come up with. It’s easier this way, so we can get your immediate input. Also, I rigged up some photographer lights. I borrowed them from Guillaume.”
“Oh, great,” Grace said. “How is he?”
“In Tunis on an outdoor shoot. He couldn’t lug all this stuff with him. That’s why he’s letting us use his equipment,” Rene said.
Grace sighed in relief. “That’s good. I wasn’t sure we could afford the rental fees.”
“Grace, ma chérie, how many times do I have to tell you not to worry. I’m here for you. Always.”
“I know, Rene. You’re so sweet.”
“Bien.” Rene approached the laptop and lifted it to pan around the room. As he did, Mica caught a close-up glimpse of Rene’s slim, wide-shouldered physique. Mica had never considered the individuals on Grace’s team. Nor had he guessed that there might be another guy who cared for her. A handsome one, he thought. And the guy lives in Paris. He’s already part of her world.
“This is the first one, Grace.” Rene turned the camera on a stop-sign-red leather jacket. It had a short waist and wide lapels with gold zippers on the bell sleeves and up the front.
While Grace and her team commented on the styles and designs, Mica took note of the work space itself.
The place was practically barren. The floor was old and from what he could see when Rene showed a row of shoes, the floorboards were warped. There were clothes racks and makeshift screens. He saw cutting tables and sewing machines that looked as old as the one his mother had used when he was a kid. Though the professional lights should have made the place look better, he noticed that the walls had cracks and some plaster was missing around the doorframe.
Mica didn’t know how he’d envisioned Grace’s life in Paris, but this wasn’t it. Somehow, he’d thought she worked in a chic place like one of those 1950s movie sets, with thick white carpet, white-and-gold paneled walls and an MGB roadster sitting outside her front door.
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