Playboy Prince, Single Dad (Love Is Priceless Book 4)

by Holly Rayner

  “You can come sit over here,” he says quietly, and by his tone I know that he knows why I’ve chosen such a distant seat.

  “I’m okay,” I say.

  “Does it have to be like this?” he asks.

  “Like what?”

  “You know like what. Can’t we even sit on a plane together?” He hesitates. “Do you hate me?”

  “Of course I don’t hate you.” I don’t think I could ever hate him.

  “But you’re angry with me.”

  “I…not very much, no.”

  “But some?”

  “You keep trying to control everything,” I burst out, knowing how ungrateful I must sound. “I can’t keep doing this, Tomas. You should have let me take the commercial flight home. I don’t know what you think is going to happen now that we’re stuck together for the next nine hours, but it isn’t going to change anything. It’s too late.”

  He leans forward. “You have feelings for me. Don’t you?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.” I don’t want to admit to it. But at this point, it would be silly to pretend. We both know where things stand.

  “Then why are you leaving?” he asks.

  “You couldn’t have asked me this stuff yesterday?”

  “I should have. I know that.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because…” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Because I’m a mess, Emma. You know I am. I meet girls at parties and business functions, girls who aren’t serious, girls I don’t care about. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when I meet someone I do care about. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I don’t know what the right questions to ask are. I know I should have said something to you this week. But I’ve been trying to figure out what that something is.”

  “It shouldn’t be this hard,” I say quietly.

  “Would it have mattered?” he asks. “Is there anything I could have said?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. I couldn’t convince myself to give Tomas a chance. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I couldn’t have been convinced. Maybe he could have done it. “I don’t know what you could have said,” I say.

  “Why are you so determined not to trust me?” he asks.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I think every time we get close, you run.”

  I run?

  “Who’s the one who spent all week hiding in his study because he didn’t know what to say?” I ask. “You said it yourself. You were afraid to talk to me.”

  “You don’t want to talk to me either,” he points out. “You also admitted it. You’d rather be on a cramped commercial flight than here with me. Just look at yourself. You couldn’t get any farther away from me without jumping out of the plane.”

  “That’s the problem,” I tell him. “Don’t you see it? We have these…these feelings for each other, but neither of us can overcome whatever’s holding us back. We shouldn’t be this afraid of each other. It’s never going to work.”

  “What if we could get past that fear?”

  “I don’t think we can. Can you?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” he asks. “I’m flying with you, alone. I’m talking to you.”

  “You waited as long as you possibly could.”

  “But I did it.” He fixes me with his impossible gaze. “Meet me halfway.”

  I want to. I feel like my soul is shattering. How can I be throwing this away?

  But he’ll only hurt me. He doesn’t know how to be with someone he cares about. He just said so. And I don’t know how to allow someone to care about me. We both need someone who’s better at this, someone with more experience. I love him, but we’re not a good fit.

  I’m about to say so when a sudden downward jolt sends my stomach into my throat. “What was that?”

  “We’re descending,” Tomas says, looking out the window.

  “What?” That doesn’t make sense. “We’ve only been airborne for about an hour. How can we be landing already?”

  Tomas says nothing, just leans against the side of the plane and gazes out the window.

  “Is there some kind of problem with the plane?” I ask anxiously.

  “No,” he says. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  There’s not an ounce of surprise in his voice.

  “Did you know we would be landing early?” I ask.

  He hesitates before he speaks. “Will you trust me, Emma?” he asks earnestly. “I know you find me difficult to put your faith in, and I don’t blame you. But for the next few hours, will you try to trust me?”

  “A few hours? Tomas, what’s going on?”

  He crosses the plane to sit beside me, and when he takes my hand, I don’t pull away. I know I should. I know I’m letting my walls down again, letting him back in. I know it’s the very thing I wanted to avoid and the whole reason I’m leaving. And yet, when he looks at me like that, I can’t help it.

  “Trust me,” he says quietly. “One more day. One more chance, and then I’ll let you go forever. Please.”

  I should tell him no.

  I should tell him to order this plane back up to cruising altitude, and to take me home.

  “Okay,” I say, my voice so hoarse it’s almost a whisper. “One more.”

  A crackle of static fills the cabin, and then I hear the captain’s voice.

  “Please take your seats and secure your seat belts,” he says. “Now landing in Paris, France.”

  Chapter 18

  Emma

  “Paris?” I say dumbly. “I thought your meeting was in New York.”

  “There is no meeting,” Tomas says. “I made it up.”

  “You lied to me?”

  “Would you have let me come with you any other way?”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.

  I stare out the window of the plane, watching Paris grow from the size of a postage stamp to that of a postcard, until finally it’s all around us, big enough to swallow us. The wheels strike the ground with a soft thump, and I’m aware of the plane’s acceleration, throwing me forward in my seat. The seat belt catches me and digs into my hips.

  When the plane has slowed and is taxiing toward its stopping point, I turn to Tomas. “What are we doing in Paris?”

  “You said you would trust me,” he reminds me.

  “I don’t think that means I’m not entitled to some answers,” I say. “I thought I was going home. How am I getting home now?”

  “I’ll still take you to New York,” Tomas assures me. “This is a stopover, that’s all.”

  He gets to his feet, forestalling any more questions from me, and I follow, feeling stupid.

  “You can leave your bag on the plane,” he says. “You’re not going to be needing it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We can always come back if you do need something,” Tomas says. “The plane isn’t going anywhere. Just bring your camera, I think.”

  “Okay,” I agree hesitantly. I grab my camera and sling it around my neck. Against my better judgment, I follow Tomas off the plane.

  Paris is sunny, breezy, and warm. I stop on the tarmac and look around, taking in this new place, even though there’s nothing to see here. A tiny hope kindles within me. I hope we’re going into the city. I hope we’re going to see some of the famous sights of Paris, as long as we’re here.

  Tomas is staring off into the distance. “Ah,” he says after a moment. “The car’s here.”

  Sure enough, a long black car, similar in appearance to the one Karl drove, is pulling onto the tarmac. It stops in front of us. Tomas opens the back door and waves me inside. Thoroughly confused now, I climb in and take a seat.

  Tomas gets in on the other side and speaks to the driver for a moment in German. The driver answers, then pulls away from the plane.

  I watch out the window, looking for Parisian landmarks, but I don’t see anything. Instead of cobbled city streets, we’re driving through miles of gree
n countryside. It’s beautiful, but I don’t know what to make of it. Did we come to Paris just to drive around the countryside? I could have done that in upstate New York. What is Tomas planning?

  Finally, I can’t take it any longer. “You have to tell me what’s going on,” I insist. “It’s not a matter of trust. I’m dying of curiosity here.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat, they say.”

  “So put me out of my misery.”

  He smiles slightly. “All right,” he says. “The truth is that I couldn’t let you leave Europe without seeing the thing you wanted most.”

  “The thing I wanted most?” I think back. When did I ever imply that I wanted to see the plains of France?

  “I had planned to draw it out,” he says. “I would have brought you here eventually. Probably a year from now. I would have liked things to be better, more stable, between us before making the trip. I would have liked to make it a romantic adventure. But now I can see that I’m out of time. It’s now or never.”

  “I don’t understand,” I admit.

  “Do you not recognize where we are?”

  “I’ve never been here before,” I point out. “And all the pictures I’ve ever seen of France have had some architecture in them. There’s always been some way to orient myself. But here…we’re in the middle of nowhere. I don’t recognize anything.”

  Tomas’s smile spreads. “You’ll know soon enough,” he says. “You’ll recognize it when you see it.”

  “I’ll recognize what?”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.”

  “Tomas.”

  He shakes his head, still grinning, and mimes locking his lips with a key.

  The car winds its way through the countryside. Looking out the window, I see miles of fruit orchards spread over rolling hills. They’re beautiful, and I have to admit I’m glad to be here and to have the chance to see this. But I still don’t understand. There was no need to come to France for orchards. There are orchards in Luxembourg. I used up an entire memory card one morning when the light was right, wandering around taking pictures of the fruit that dangled from the trees.

  “Here we are,” Tomas says, pointing out his own window.

  I turn.

  My jaw drops.

  I would know that building, that immaculate architecture, anywhere. I’ve seen it thousands of times, from dozens of different angles, in pictures.

  “The Château de Villandry.”

  “I knew you’d always wanted to see it,” Tomas says quietly. The smile is gone from his face now, and his eyes are searching my face, waiting for my reaction.

  “I told you that the day we met,” I whisper. “I forgot we’d even talked about it.”

  “I didn’t forget,” Tomas says.

  I stare as we drive through the perfectly groomed gardens up to the house itself. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Of course, I have seen it before, many times, in movies and in pictures, but seeing it in real life is different. It feels surreal, as if I’ve stepped into a painting. Being here has been a fantasy of mine for so long that it’s hard to believe it could really be happening.

  The car stops, and Tomas opens his door.

  “We’re getting out?” I’m awestruck.

  “Of course we’re getting out,” Tomas says with a little laugh. “We didn’t come all this way to stay in the car. Don’t you want to see it up close?”

  More than anything. I jump out of the car and stare up at the beautiful building. The massive stone turret that used to belong to King Philip’s fortress. The long walls and peaked roofs that make up the new addition to the Château.

  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I say.

  I look over at Tomas. He’s not looking at the building. He’s looking at me.

  There’s a long moment, filled with an impossible, tangible tension, during which I meet his gaze and neither of us blinks. It feels like the world is rearranging itself around us, like all the pieces that don’t fit are aligning themselves in new ways. It’s as if the Château de Villandry possesses some kind of magic, some ethereal power that’s bringing me closer to Tomas than I’ve ever been.

  Shake it off, Emma. You made your decision.

  “Do you want to start by walking around the gardens?” he asks me quietly.

  I nod.

  Tomas starts moving his hand toward me, hesitates for a second, and then reaches out and takes my hand in his.

  I should pull away.

  I don’t pull away.

  I let him lead me, instead, off the path and into the maze. We move toward the fountain in the center, guided by the mirthful, trickling sound. I can’t believe I’m actually here, walking through the hedge maze at the Château de Villandry. I can’t believe how much like the pictures I’ve been seeing all my life it really is.

  I can’t believe I’m letting Tomas von Meyer hold my hand.

  I really should pull away.

  “Go ahead and take pictures,” Tomas says. “That’s why I brought you here. You said you’d always wanted to do a photo shoot in these gardens. Now’s your chance.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t believe you remember what I said all those months ago,” I tell him. “I can hardly remember it myself.”

  He stops walking for a moment. “Emma,” he says, “I’ve felt more awake in every moment I’ve spent with you than I have at any other time in my life. I remember everything you’ve ever said to me. I remember everything that’s ever happened between us. They’re the sharpest memories I have.”

  I can’t look at him. My stomach is fluttering wildly, full of fear and anxiety and something else I can’t identify. I start walking again, pulling him along with me.

  “Are you going to take pictures?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure if I can,” I admit.

  “Why not?” He looks worried. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I say. “But now that I’m here…I don’t know. It feels like anything I might capture on film couldn’t possibly live up to this moment.”

  What I don’t tell him—what I can’t possibly tell him—is that it’s not just the beautiful house and gardens that are making this so overpowering for me. How could a photograph capture the feeling of his hand in mine? How could an image convey the way it feels to realize that he was really listening to me on the day we met, that he held my words in his mind all this time?

  “I know what you mean,” Tomas says.

  “Do you?” Does he really?

  “I mean, I think you should take the pictures,” he says. “Your pictures are spellbinding, Emma, truly.”

  I flush, but I grin nonetheless. I raise my camera, square it carefully, and take a shot of the fountain in the middle of the maze.

  He nods. “But I understand your feeling about not being able to capture this. It’s a little too big to be contained in a photo, somehow.”

  That’s exactly how it feels. Without thinking about it beforehand, I squeeze his hand in mine.

  “I feel like I could stay here in this maze for days,” Tomas says quietly. “I feel like I’d be happy to get lost here and spend a week searching for the way out.”

  “Why?”

  He turns to face me, his other hand catching mine.

  “Because I would be with you,” he says simply.

  I forget how to breathe.

  “I could spend days and weeks and months with you,” he says. “Just walking. Just talking.”

  “Tomas, don’t—” I try to pull away.

  He grips my hands more tightly. “Don’t run away, Emma. Not this time. Please. Please let me talk. One more chance, remember? You agreed to it.”

  I’m terrified.

  “You’re shaking,” he says quietly.

  I can’t speak.

  He leads me over to a marble bench beside a fountain and guides me down to sit.

  “It’s all right,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to ask you for
anything. I’m just going to tell you how I feel. Okay?”

  I nod.

  “Emma, we got off on the wrong foot from the start,” he says. “I know what you thought of me. You’ve made it clear. You thought I was a playboy, that I was only after you for—for one thing.” He takes a deep breath, shuddering a little, his eyes closed. “And it was understandable that you thought that. Given my reputation online, of course, and the way I treated you when we first met—”

  “You didn’t treat me badly,” I object.

  “Maybe not. But I came on too strong. I pushed too hard. I can understand why you believed, after that, that all I cared about was getting you into bed.”

  “It was when you didn’t call,” I say. “When you didn’t answer my texts. That was what sealed it. You hadn’t gotten what you wanted, so you’d decided to give up on me.”

  “No. Not ever.”

  “I know you said you were just feeling rejected—”

  “I was.”

  “But how could I trust a man who had never heard the word no before?”

  He closes his eyes. “It’s bad. I know. If I could go back and change my history somehow, change my own dating experiences, I would. I would invite a thousand rejections from other women if it meant we could be together.”

  “Would you really?” Something is stirring in me. I think that, at long last, the little shred of doubt that protects me from men who use me and break my heart is starting to crumble. For better or worse, I’m opening up to him.

  “I really would,” he said. “I would give up every woman in my past. Except for Lara’s mother, of course—”

  “No one would ever ask that of you,” I assure him.

  “But the rest mean absolutely nothing. My reputation as a playboy is an annoyance to me, not a point of pride. I’d gladly be rid of it to have a woman I actually loved by my side.” His hands slide from my hands up my arms, stopping at my shoulders, drawing me closer. “A woman like you.”

  I close my eyes.

  “You’re not the only one with a past,” I whisper.