Love Redesigned

by Collins, Sloane B.

  “Is that why I heard you crying last night?”

  Her ankle turned on the uneven cobbles, and he steadied her, holding her upright until she regained her footing. He tucked her arm beneath his elbow to help her to the dance floor. “What?”

  He shrugged. “I went to your room to check on you, and I heard you crying. I figured you’re entitled to one good cry, but that’s it.”

  Daniel swung her onto the dance floor and she moved easily into his arms. They danced well together, but her heart wasn’t in it, so she just went through the motions, grateful he was leading.

  He twirled her around, and she put a hand to her head. Better lay off the wine the rest of the night.

  She tried hard not to search the crowd for him, but couldn’t help it. There, at the other end of the dance floor. Daniel led her into a turn, but she swiveled her head to see who Roman was dancing with. He turned his partner, caught her eye.

  She jerked her head around, and winced at the sudden crick in her neck. See? That’s what you get for being nosey, trying to see who he’s with. Focus on your partner.

  One song led into the next, and Daniel kept her on the floor dancing. She sighed, resting her chin on his shoulder. Inevitably, she found Roman again, just as he led a young woman to the edge of the floor after a dance. No sooner had he stopped than another took her place.

  Roman led the pretty girl into a dance. He laughed at something she said and glanced up, meeting Genevieve’s eye. The smile slid from his face, and if she hadn’t known better, she’d say he looked at her with longing.

  That should be me in his arms. The thought startled her.

  Daniel executed another turn, and she closed her eyes, sighing at the sadness in her heart. She didn’t want to hate Roman forever. He was a good man—he’d been good to her so long ago, and she could tell he loved his cousin and nieces.

  Another week to get through the wedding. She needed closure—they needed closure.

  She opened her eyes again, looked around the crowd of people. Nowhere to be found. Good. So why did her heart drop a little when she didn’t see him?

  “May I have this dance?”

  She looked to her right, and Roman stood there, waiting.

  Daniel stiffened, his eyes cut to hers. He opened his mouth, and curled his fist.

  In the interest of keeping peace so no blood would be shed at her cousin’s party, she cut him off. “Yes.”

  Daniel protested. “You don’t want to do this.”

  Roman took a step toward him.

  She put her hand in Roman’s. “It’s just a dance.”

  Daniel stepped away, and she could tell he was ticked off. And she would hear about it later, she was sure.

  Roman pulled her into his arms. She fit perfectly, just as she had so many years ago. The music slowed, and he pulled her closer, feeling her resistance. He lowered his head slightly, pressing his cheek to her hair.

  Her shiver trembled through his body. It was heaven . . . and hell . . . having her in his arms again.

  Why was he doing this? He needed to stay far away from her. But he wanted to know why she had lied to him. The whole evening, he had known where she was every moment, watched her with Daniel. They danced well together, and he’d seethed, seeing how close they were. She was like a beacon in the royal blue cocktail dress, her blonde hair falling in sexy waves around her shoulders.

  He scanned the crowd. Daniel sat at a table talking to Connie Sue. It was now or never.

  He danced her in an ever-widening circle, toward the nearest alley. As soon as they were abreast of it, he stepped off the dance floor.

  She pulled back.

  He held tight to her hand. “Please, I need to speak to you. In private.”

  Hesitating, she looked around for Daniel, he assumed. She finally nodded her assent.

  He led her to the little alley, made sure no one else lingered. He kept a space between them, but held her hands, afraid she would dart away from him.

  “I must apologize for my behavior earlier today. I have not been able to get you out of my mind since yesterday. Will you forgive me?” He’d been miserable all day, feeling like the biggest cad. He’d never stepped between a married couple, even if the press said he did. He had a code of honor, and he couldn’t live with himself for doing it today. “S’il vous plaît? Please.”

  She remained silent, staring at him. What was going through her mind? Would she forgive him?

  “You are married, and it is not right for me to behave this way. Please forgive me.”

  He looked into her olive green eyes, leaned his forehead against hers. Tried so hard not to kiss her.

  “I—I’m . . . I’m not married.”

  He raised his head. Surely he hadn’t heard right. “Pardón?”

  “I’m. Not. Married.”

  Not married? Relief swept through him, and his heart felt lighter. The heavy weight of regret fell away from him. He stared at her in the faint light spilling in from the party. “Then who is . . .”

  “Shh.”

  They stared at each other. The emotions played across her face—she’d always been so expressive. He could almost see her thoughts as she battled within herself. He just hoped they were both the victor.

  She pulled her hands from his, and disappointment seeped through him. But she stepped closer, surprising him. She rested her hands on his chest.

  He couldn’t help it, he had to touch her. He lifted one of her hands to cup against his cheek. He turned his head slightly and kissed her palm. A shudder slid through her, echoed in his own body.

  She slid her arms around his neck, twining her fingers in his hair. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He bent to her, but kept the space of a whisper between their lips, giving her the chance to pull back in case she changed her mind. Please. Don’t change your mind.

  He advanced, slowly, breathing her sultry scent in. He touched her lips, gentle at first. But she was a drug, an addiction. He sipped at her silken lips, hunger gnawing at him, urging him to take it farther.

  She deepened the kiss herself, tilting her head, and met his sweeping tongue. He tasted wine, and her own unique flavor. My Genevieve.

  He slid his hands down her back, molding her to his body, bringing her softness flush against him.

  She made a sound, almost a mewl, and it heated his blood, filled him with a longing so acute he ached.

  He’d searched for someone who could make him forget her, but no one had ever come close. He’d earned a reputation as a ladies man due to all the dating, one he regretted. No other woman had ever touched his heart like she had.

  Lightning ratcheted through him. He wanted to take her here, now. Sink into her sweet body and relieve the ache he’d felt for so long.

  A voice sounded over the loudspeaker, calling his name. He groaned, not wanting to end this kiss. Not now, not after fifteen years without her.

  He’d craved her touch, her taste, for so long. She was an addiction, the one who had finally returned to him after too damn many years.

  He pulled back and had to concentrate on breathing, reigning in his desire. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes glassy. She licked her lips, as if still savoring his taste.

  “It is time to light the lanterns.”

  “Huh?” Her eyes seemed to clear, and sought his, questioning. “What are you talking about?” She bit her lower lip, in just the way that used to drive him crazy when she was puzzled about something.

  “It is a tradition here to light lanterns and send them to the sky in honor of the bride and groom’s upcoming wedding. As best man, I must lead the villagers in this.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. “I want to see that!”

  He pulled away from her reluctantly, tried to rega
in his equilibrium. She’d rocked his entire foundation, and his world had shifted on its axis. Everything he’d built the last fifteen years suddenly didn’t matter any longer. Nothing mattered but her. But what could they have now? Even if she wasn’t married now, she’d still left him for someone else. He hadn’t been enough for her.

  He led her to the mouth of the alley, but paused when she stopped.

  He looked down at her in the light spilling toward them from the square. She ran her hands through her hair. God help him, he wanted to taste her again.

  “Wait. Please, may we spend time together tomorrow? I think we should talk.” He waited for her answer, hoped she did not feel him trembling like a schoolboy.

  “Yes, I think it would be good. We need to clear the air.”

  “Merci. I will pick you up in the morning. We can drive through the countryside. I would like to show you where I grew up.”

  Her lips curved into a smile. “I’d like that very much.”

  He led her back to the square. They stopped to pick up their own lanterns, and he showed her how to light them. Soon, everyone held lanterns, ready to light the sky.

  Roman stepped to the microphone and toasted the beaming couple.

  The music began again, a romantic ballad. Francois led Constance out to the middle of the crowd, and swept her into a waltz.

  One by one, the lanterns were released to float up into the sky. Soon the night was lit up, and he heard her sigh.

  He looked down at her smiling face.

  “Isn’t it romantic?” she whispered.

  He nodded, thinking she had never looked more beautiful. He clasped her fingers, tucked her close against his side. She squeezed his hand in return, and his heart soared. Right now she was the only thing anchoring him to the ground, otherwise he would follow the lanterns into the sky.

  Chapter 8

  Genevieve’s nerves warred with the anticipation of seeing Roman again. Now that she’d seen him, her goal was to get through this week unscathed. She needed to remain focused, get home, and hopefully get her business up and running.

  Why did I kiss him? She’d tossed and turned for hours after getting home, reliving the kiss, and the way he made her feel. She could only blame the wine she had imbibed to steady her nerves. It had loosened her inhibitions when it came to him. That had to be it. Too much wine.

  But you didn’t drink that much, so try again, sister. The thought drifted through her mind, and she squashed it.

  She lightly touched her lips, remembering the feel of his. It had felt so good, so right. Thank heavens it had been time to light the lanterns, and things had gone no further between them.

  She needed to keep her resolve firm and not let him kiss her any more.

  He’s a danger to my heart.

  She was not going to be another one in his string of flings. Not now. Not again. But they needed to clear the air, so they wouldn’t spend their time bickering and thereby ruining the wedding.

  I just want to know how he could have replaced me so fast when I left. Especially with her. He must not have felt the same way I did.

  She waited on the front steps of the chateau. It was lovely here, and a small part of her envied Connie Sue for getting to live in this magnificent place. The gardens bordering the estate and winery were extensive, flowers giving way to grapevines growing in neat, soldierly rows. She’d even seen a vegetable garden near the larger kitchen, and Francois told her they tried to be as sustainable as they could.

  A breeze ruffled her hair, and she looked up at the sky. Clouds obscured the mid-morning sun, and it looked like it might rain again.

  A silver car rolled up the driveway. She recognized the telltale hood ornament: Mercedes. Of course.

  She walked down the steps and reached for the passenger door the same time as he did. Their hands bumped, and she jerked away.

  “Bonjour,” he said, opening the car door. He helped her in, and shut the door. Getting in, he started the engine, and drove smoothly down the driveway.

  She settled into the buttery soft leather seat. “This is a long way from that little beater you used to borrow, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Have you had a chance to look around the property since you arrived?” His voice sounded stilted, distant.

  Is he embarrassed about the kiss last night, too?

  She shook her head. “Not much. I’ve been busy baking and helping Connie Sue. It looks beautiful from what little I have seen.” She blushed, not wanting to allude to their encounter in the potting shed. She was still too raw from the emotions of the day before.

  “It is good the wedding is in a few days, for you are here during the growing season for the grapes and lavender.” He slowed the car and pointed to a field to the right of them.

  Lavender grew profusely in neat rows, as far as the eye could see. She sighed. “Magnificent!”

  Roman drove farther up the road, then pulled off onto a gravel lane. The dark purple blooms lined both sides of the narrow lane, and beyond lay a field of sunflowers. A building came into view, a crumbling ruin of some sort.

  “What is this place?” she asked, thoroughly charmed by the sight.

  Roman got out of the car, and she opened her door and climbed out. He rounded the hood and she caught him frowning at her. Did he expect me to wait for him to open the door?

  “It is the ruins of a Cistercian Abbey. I thought you might like to see it. You were always fascinated by the old buildings in Paris.”

  He remembered. A pang sliced through her stomach.

  “You said once you were born in the wrong time. But if that were the case, I would not have met you.”

  He reached into the back of the car and pulled out a basket. He brushed her arm but stepped away quickly, leading the way to the crumbling abbey.

  “I brought some croissants and coffee, if you’re hungry.” He pulled a cloth out of the basket, opened it, and let it drift down on a clearing in the grass next to the low wall. They sat, and he pulled the croissants out of the basket, handed one to her on a napkin.

  She bit into the croissant, and the buttery flavor tasted so good she moaned.

  He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.

  “There is nothing like a real French croissant, fresh-baked in the morning.” She savored every bite, and was tempted to have another.

  He grinned at her, and bit into his own croissant.

  Sipping the hot coffee, she listened to the silence of the morning. She desperately wanted to ask him why he never called her, never told her himself he had found someone else. They needed to talk, but now, the words wouldn’t come. And she really didn’t want to fight.

  But she was afraid.

  Afraid of herself, and for her dreams.

  He held up the thermos of coffee. “Would you like some more?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She held the cup out toward him, and he put his fingers over hers to steady the cup as he poured.

  “What happened to your hand?” he asked, setting the thermos down. He slid the cup out of her hand and set it down on the low wall, then tilted her hand to look at it closer. His fingers were warm around hers, and he traced the scar at the base of her thumb with the tip of one finger.

  Little sparks of fire filtered up her arm from his touch, and she tried hard not to tremble. “A pan of boiling sugar overturned, and I tried to catch it.”

  “It is a shame to have such lovely skin marred, but it shows the strength you have in doing what you do.” He leaned forward, hesitated over her hand, and kissed the scar. His touch zinged up her arm, warming her insides. Breathless, she wanted to snatch her hand away. Ached to have him do it again.

  Her hands were full of nicks and scars, the hazards of working in a bakery. He traced each one, until she gently pulled her hand awa
y, curling her fingers in.

  It would be too easy to stay here, with him. But Roman being who he was, in high demand by the fashion world, she would never have a life of her own. She was determined not to end up like her mom, where the world revolved around her dad and his needs and demands.

  They enjoyed the peace and quiet. It was as if by mutual agreement, neither one wanted to do or say anything to disturb this truce.

  A drop of water hit her cheek, and she looked just up as the clouds opened. Rain poured down on them, and they hurried to gather up the picnic. They dashed to his car and climbed in out of the rain. The drops hit the car so hard, it sounded as if gunfire had erupted.

  “It looks like our drive will be cut short,” he said, shifting into gear. “Would you like to see my house? It is nearby, so we can dry off. Or I can take you back to the chateau, if you prefer.” He held his breath, hoping she would not want to return to the chateau.

  “You bought a house here?”

  “Oui. I’ve moved back to France recently.”

  “But don’t you live in Milan?”

  “How did you know that?”

  She hesitated.

  “Genevieve?”

  Waiting for an answer, he glanced at her.

  She met his eyes, didn’t say anything.

  He searched her face, waiting for an answer. Why does she hesitate? What is she hiding?

  She blushed, her cheeks turning pink. “Oh, all right. I looked you up online before I bought my airline ticket.” She turned her head away, looked out the window.