Unwrap Me Daddy_A Holiday Romance

by Natasha Spencer

  Chapter 12

  “Sure you want to do this?” Savitri asked as she helped Amanda pack up her few belongings.

  “For now, yes. You know, I’ll actually miss this place.”

  “Why would you? Arnaud’s place is gorgeous!”

  Amanda grinned. “You know what I mean.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work out?”

  Amanda finished wrapping her box with tape. “Then what will be will be. Sav? I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  “I am, luv. I am. It’s just that... well, are you sure this isn’t just a case of rebound? I get why you’re falling for this guy, but... this just isn’t you, this impulsiveness. I mean, sheesh! You map out your days, weeks, and months on an Excel spreadsheet. It’s obscene!”

  “There’s nothing wrong with organizing things on an Excel spreadsheet! But you’re right. It is impulsive, isn’t it? And you’re right. I am a little nervous. But it’s Paris!” Savitri rolled her eyes. “Ok, so that was corny. Look, I’m happy, alright? Everyone, especially you, have been going on about me being such a depressing creature. Well I’m not depressed anymore.”

  “And the wife?”

  Amanda shrugged. “If you can call her that.”

  “What!?”

  “Ok, that wasn’t nice given the condition she’s in. But that’s just it.”

  Savitri shook her head. “Explain to me again why he can’t just divorce her?”

  “Guilt, partly. But the real reason is that his family’s wealth and business interests are so tied up to hers that...” Amanda shrugged. “They have different rules, these people. A divorce could cost thousands of people their jobs, not just here in Europe, but all over the world. I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

  Savitri sat down on the bed and bit her lip. “I have a confession to make.”

  “Well that was a quick change of topic. What’s wrong?”

  The Anglo-Indian woman shook her head. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that you’ve been attacked twice? I mean, most of us have never gotten mugged even once.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Richie went to the hospital while you were in.”

  “And you never told me!?”

  “Gave him a massive telling off, I did. Then I called the police on him, but they let him go. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t want to worry you.”

  Amanda shook her head and described her earlier meeting with her ex. “But he’s never been the violent sort.”

  “That we know of.”

  “I’m not worried about him, Sav. Alright?”

  Savitri nodded, but she looked distracted as she got up to pack more stuff.

  “Look, Sav. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll have a new roommate till I find a new place. Won’t that be fun?”

  Her friend groaned. “Meaning we’ll try to fit in thirty square meters while I provide a free shoulder to cry on.”

  “Exactly! It’ll just be like old times.”

  “What joy.”

  “Hey! I thought you wanted to stuff my face till I got so fat I couldn’t fit through a door?”

  “I realized that I wouldn’t then be able to fit another man in, either.”

  “Ah.”

  *****

  “Oh my dearest!” Duncan crooned as he greeted Amanda. “I’m so glad to see you’re alright! And don’t you dare walk out this time, do you understand?”

  She chuckled. “I promise I won’t.”

  She was back at Duncan’s compound only because Arnaud had sworn not to leave her this time. Unfortunately, he did just that. He’d also sworn that it would be a small gathering. Fortunately, he kept his word on that one. The meal wasn’t on the roof deck because of the weather, this time. It was in a large dining room with a table set for twelve.

  Seeing her look, Duncan explained, “Now don’t panic, dear. You’ve already met Camille and Sylvie. The rest are old friends.”

  “That doesn’t help, Duncan. How will they react to seeing...?”

  “Arnaud’s girlfriend? Why, I expect they’ll be positively delighted. It’s been such a long while, you understand?”

  “Thanks. I was about to say mistress, but girlfriend will do.”

  “That’s not a four-letter word here, in France. But don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows about the poor state that Sophie’s in and would be delighted to see Arnaud up and about again.”

  At her questioning look, he continued, “He doesn’t really go out much, our Arnaud. Since his marriage to her didn’t work out, he got married to his work, instead, ha ha! But a little birdie named Marie tells me he’s been taking more and more time out lately, and that he’s been leaving the office early. I’m assuming that’s because of you, hmmm?”

  “Who’s Marie?”

  His eyes widened in a guilty. “Oh, eh... excuse me, my dear. A host’s job is never ending!” And off he puttered to greet some people who’d just walked in.

  Amanda wondered if she had to go and introduce herself to be polite, but she needn’t have worried. Arnaud reappeared with an apologetic look and began introducing her to some more people.

  “So you’re Amanda!” gushed the woman with an Australian accent. “Arnaud’s been raving about...”

  “No he’s not,” her partner cut in. “You’ll have to forgive Sheila. She tends to exaggerate. But she is right. Arnaud’s been... uh, more relaxed lately.”

  As the couple moved off, she turned to Arnaud. “Why does everyone know about me?” He responded by nodding to Camille who was talking to several people. “Oh. Ok, so maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “Why? I want my friends to know about you.”

  “Don’t you find it sort of awkward?”

  “Not at all. We live together now, and,” he grinned, “I want to show you off. Please, Amanda. It’s not a problem. Everyone here knows the situation, so relax.”

  Camille walked up to her with a sheepish smile as she shooed her nephew off. “Amanda, you must hate me so much. I did so want to speak with you before tonight’s dinner. If only you could forgive me for letting my mouth run away like that the other night.”

  Amanda shook her head. “It’s alright, really. I was bound to find out sooner or later.”

  The woman wrung her hands. “It’s just that I assumed you knew. And that you understood.”

  “I’m not sure that I ever will. But he has been very good to me and,” she sighed. “If that’s what being a mistress is about, then I’m willing to give it a shot. It feels weird saying that out loud.”

  “That’s not something to be ashamed of. Everyone here knows about Sophie. And everyone approves.”

  Camille was apparently correct. Dinner turned out to be easier than Amanda had thought. Everyone seemed eager to tell her something about Arnaud, something he suffered with good humor. She started to relax and laugh along with everyone at his expense, feeling better at being here.

  With dinner over, they began breaking up into small groups. Arnaud was cornered by two men, but Amanda didn’t mind. She knew everyone’s names, by then, and was feeling more comfortable.

  Sheila came up to her and guided her to a sofa. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

  She nodded. “I’m glad I came.”

  “It must seem very strange, all this,” Sheila waved around the room. “Oh, I forget. You’re British. We have nothing this historical back in Australia. No. I meant, it must be strange, you and,” she gestured toward Arnaud.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m getting used to it, Sheila.”

  “I just want you to know how happy I am for you. And for him. He needs you, I think. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him this... well, Carl likes to say ‘relaxed’ but I’d prefer the word happy.”

  “It’s mutual.” At the other woman’s questioning look, she added, “I’ve had a bit of bad luck with relationships, myself.”

  “It’s scary, isn’t it? Putting your heart out there and taking another
risk. But I think you’ve made the right choice. I certainly think he has.”

  “It’s just,” she heard Arnaud laugh with another group and smiled. “It’s just that I never thought I’d ever be someone’s mistress.”

  Sheila smiled. “In a perfect world, as they say.”

  “Here’s to an imperfect world,” she offered her glass to the Australian.

  “And to making the best with what we’ve got,” Sheila replied as she toasted Amanda’s glass.

  More people approached Amanda, drawing her into similar conversations, so much so that she became suspicious. When Arnaud finally joined her, she had to ask, “Did you put your friends up to this?”

  “Up to what?”

  “Telling me not to mind being your mistress?”

  “I would never do such a thing. And you’re not my mistress.”

  Amanda raised a brow at him, noting his possessive tone of voice. “Is that so? Then what am I?”

  But another group corralled her and insisted on giving her a tour of the premises. Duncan, meanwhile, seemed to be doing everything in his power to avoid her. As she walked away with his friends, she gave Arnaud a look that said, this isn’t finished yet.

  Only Camille saw her nephew silently mouth words as the beautiful, green-eyed redhead was led out of the room by a gaggle of laughing people. It was in French and made up of three words but pronounced with only two syllables. It spoke volumes regardless of the language it was spoken in: je t’aime.

  Camille’s eyes hardened as she clenched her fists and made up her mind. She’d been putting it off for some time, but it was clear that she could no longer do so. She therefore vowed to do everything she could to put a stop to it.

  Arnaud had to be protected, even from himself. She’d made that vow to his parents before they died. The family’s future depended on it, after all.

  Despite Duncan’s protests, she left the building.

  *****

  Richard sat in his car and watched the old lady step into her limo. He vowed to get rich, some day, so he could own one, as well. But it wouldn’t just be a limo, oh no. He’d get Amanda and himself a gorgeous mansion, some day. Given the exchange rate, he could probably get them one in Spain or some Eastern European country, eventually.

  He frowned. Given the plummeting value of the British pound, perhaps in India or some former British colony. But at least it’d be a mansion! Yes! That’d get that Frenchman out of her head, it would.

  He was a patient man, he was. Amanda would come around soon enough, and together, they’d begin the future that he’d so mistakenly jeopardized. He’d spend his entire life making it up to her, he would.

  Chapter 13

  Amanda stared out at the snow as she lay in bed. She reached out to where Arnaud usually lay, curling into the space where he was not.

  “Je t’aime,” he’d said to her on this very bed as she cuddled up to him, last night. She couldn’t believe he’d said it. She’d demanded to know what she was to him if not a mistress. And he’d said I love you.

  She’d stared at him for long moments... until she had to ruin the moment by bawling her guts out. For though a part of her knew she loved him back, she was terrified to admit it even to herself. And so he had to go and beat her to it. Men! So typical.

  Arnaud loved her and she loved him back. She’d told him so the moment she recovered from her bawling spree. In the face of that, of what value were labels like ‘girlfriend’ or ‘mistress’?

  Amanda realized that her logical mind and its obsession with lists and schedules had held her back. Her concern about what other people thought was another problem. But no one she knew and cared about had a problem with her love life – not Savitri, not her assistant-trainee, and certainly not Arnaud’s circle of friends. Only she had had a problem with it and it had done nothing to make her happy.

  There was still no guarantee of a life ever after, of course, still no certainty that this would even last out the year. But she was happy here and now, and that was all that mattered.

  Arnaud was out of town on a business trip, not with his wife. It was she, Amanda Sorensen, he’d return to, not to Sophia Marguerite d’Havrincourt et du Lac. He’d come back here to this bed and to this home.

  “Our home,” Arnaud had told her emphatically, “ours!”

  Given the little she knew about Sophie’s condition, it was highly unlikely that he would ever share a bed with her again. Or a home. What they had on the 16th arrondissement was simply a house.

  Comforted by that thought, Amanda let herself drift off to sleep.

  And so she didn’t hear the front door open slowly. In an apartment this luxurious and well-maintained, doors do not creak. Nor do the heavily-carpeted floors, as the figure breezed through the foyer and into the living room.

  The intruder moved through the large living room, needing no light as that which shone in from the full moon and the streetlights below were more than enough. The person paused at certain points, touching various items here and there, content to feel but not to take. For now.

  Booted feet made their way unerringly to the oak doors that led to the corner master bedroom where Amanda slept – still curled up on Arnaud’s side of the bed. A gloved hand flicked, extending the blade of a butterfly knife as the other gloved hand turned the door handle.

  The figure watched Amanda sleep for long minutes as their breathing became harder and harder with each passing moment. Raising the knife, the intruder approached the bed.

  “I’M HERE, AMANDAAA!!!!”

  Amanda shot up just as someone slammed into her, knocking her to the floor.

  “I’M HEEERE! OUCH! STOP IT!!!”

  Amanda scrambled away on all fours, smacking the wall till she hit the lights. She couldn’t understand what was happening. Two people were tussling on her bed. The first was a woman in a white sweater and jacket with leather gloves.

  The other was Richie. “I’VE GOT YOU!” he yelled as he struggled with the woman. “Don’t worry, Amanda! I saw this bloke break in, and... Oh my god! It’s a woman!”

  With a loud, hysterical scream, the woman kicked Richie off the bed, then glared at Amanda with such hatred. She scrambled around the bed, looking for something, then howled in frustration.

  Amanda backed up, terrified. The woman bared her teeth, growling like a dog as she got up on all fours then launched herself across the space between them. Amanda braced herself against the wall and kicked out with her right leg.

  “WAAAAAH!!!” screeched the woman until Amanda’s foot made contact with her stomach. “Uurk!”

  Thud.

  The attacker lay on the floor, gasping and convulsing as she tried to suck in air.

  “I’m here, Amanda,” Richie wheezed on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry! I’ll save you!”

  Loud voices came in from the living room, heading their way. Amanda looked around desperately for something to use as a weapon. She grabbed the knife, still not understanding how it got there, but grateful for it, nonetheless.

  Two uniformed men ran in and Amanda gasped in relief. They were the police.

  “Amanda!” a woman yelled. “Amanda!” It was Camille. “Oh thank god, you’re alright!”

  “I saved her,” came Richie’s weak voice as he struggled to get up.

  “Camille!?” Amanda gaped. “Can someone please tell me what the heck is going on here!?”

  *****

  “I wasn’t sure it was her, at first!” Camille sobbed as Amanda paced back and forth in the living room. “She had scratch marks all over her hands the night you were attacked at the museum, but that meant nothing. Sophie would sometimes hurt herself. I only got suspicious when she kept mentioning the MNHN. And I wondered why she was so eager to fly to Australia. She wanted to get away.

  “Then we retrieved this,” she handed over a series of black and white photographs. “It’s from a security camera in Montemartre. The pictures are grainy, but I’m sure she’s responsible for Arnaud’s car. S
he must have followed you. So I asked Guillaume to get the police report about your first attack. You described a red parka to them.” Camille shook her head. “That’s when I knew.”

  Amanda still had a hard time understanding it all. “But how did you know to come here?”

  Camille shuddered. “She killed her nurse. Sylvie found the body. Forgive me, Amanda. I should have sent her away sooner. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

  EPILOGUE

  Arnaud nervously approached the bed. “Are you ok, Amanda?”

  She was exhausted and sore, but she smiled as she held the bundle out to him. His eyes were brimming with tears as he picked up his son with trembling hands. “What should we call him, Mme. du Lac?”

  Amanda was still getting used to her new name, but she was liking it quickly. Still, something this potentially explosive had to be handled with tact. So she took a deep breath. “Richard.”

  Arnaud groaned.

  “He did save me, remember?”

  Arnaud gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t refuse her anything. “So long as we pronounce it the French way, not with the English ‘chah’ sound.”

  She blinked at him with wide eyes.

  “Argh! Fine! His name is Rishard Sorensen du Lac. And to make sure, I want it spelled with an s and an h! I refuse to leave this hospital without that in writing. Understood!? Ooh, non, non, non, don’t cry, Rishard. Don’t cry. Daddy’s not mad, shhhh...”

  Camille beamed as she stood in the doorway, not wanting to intrude, just yet. “You know, Savitri, I can die now.”

  “What!? Why ever would you say such a thing, you old dingbat? I refuse to babysit that brat on my own when it gets old enough to start walking!”

  But the old woman only had ecstatic eyes for the newborn being cradled in his father’s arms. “Because our family’s future is now secure.”

  “Good!” Savitri huffed. “So make sure you live long enough to do your share of babysitting because I meant what I said.”