“I don’t understand.”
“I told him last night. He hasn’t even had twenty-four hours to process I lost our baby,” she whispered in a strained voice.
“Oh, Sugar,” he murmured. “You okay?”
She nodded, then shrugged.
“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” He straightened, his tone turning sharp. “He’s not blaming you, is he?”
She started to speak but the door opened, and the twins raced out of the room, followed by their nanny.
“I need to go. I can’t see him right now.” She hurried down the hallway in the opposite direction.
Roman leaned against the wall feeling as if his world had caved in. The night before he’d been in shock, but it became reality when the twins hugged him.
He should have had a fifteen year old daughter.
Pain roared through him, and it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
The door opened, and he turned his back, not wanting anyone to see his tears.
“You better not be blaming my Gigi for the accident, you sonuvabitch,” Daniel said. “Can’t you just leave her alone? How could you make her feel the accident was her fault? It’s not enough that she has to see you now, be reminded of the hell she went through, but you blame her?” He grabbed Roman’s arm.
Roman twisted around to shake him off. “No!”
Daniel fell back a step. His eyes widened.
“I would never blame Genevieve. She told me about the accident. The fact she almost died . . . with our child--” He broke off, a sob forcing its way out of his chest. He sank to the dressmaker’s platform, holding himself as if to ward off killing blows. He couldn’t bare himself like this in front of anyone, and he tried to contain the raw emotion.
Daniel’s hand reached out, hesitated. “Crap.” He sat down and wrapped an arm around Roman’s shoulders. “It’s okay. You need to grieve. You need to let go.”
At Daniel’s words, the dam broke, and a sob ripped from his chest. All the years of loneliness poured out of him, all the heartache he’d suffered being separated from the one person he had ever really loved.
The one person who now couldn’t give him the children he wanted so much.
The tears slowly subsided, and embarrassment filled him to have been so emotional in front of this man who already hated him.
Daniel removed his arm and handed him a handkerchief.
Roman took it, not meeting his eyes. “Merci.”
“It’s a lot to absorb, I know,” Daniel said, his voice catching.
“You were there with her, weren’t you?”
Daniel nodded. “I was her emergency contact. When they called me . . .” He shuddered. “I was terrified I’d lose her. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. She’s closer than a sister could be.”
Roman rubbed a hand through his hair, weary, drained. “Thank you for being there for her. It’s killing me I never knew, that I was not there for her.”
“I understand now what happened, but I have to tell you, she was heartbroken. Between losing the baby, and you, I didn’t think she’d ever come out of it. She was just a shell for over a year. It didn’t help she had to go straight from her own recovery to caring for her dad.”
“I vow to spend the rest of my life taking care of her. If I could make it up to her, I would.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whatever she needs, I’ll make sure she has it.”
“You can’t just throw money at her,” Daniel snapped.
“That’s not what I mean. I want to take care of her.”
“She’s not going to accept charity.”
“I do not think of her as a charity case. I cannot explain right now. I must think.”
“And here I was just startin’ to like you.” Daniel narrowed his eyes.
Roman quirked his left brow. “Are you going to hit me again?”
Daniel grinned, his face reddening. “Sorry about that, old man. Truce?” He held a hand out.
Roman gripped it, and they shook hands. “Truce.”
Daniel shifted away from him and stood up, facing the mirror. He straightened his shirt, tugged on the cuffs.
Looking away, Roman stared at the cold marble floor, his thoughts cascading, tumbling.
“You love her?”
His voice was quiet, but Roman heard the heat beneath the words. He looked up and met Daniel’s stare in the mirror. “I care for her deeply, but I can’t talk about this with you.”
“Just don’t hurt her. That’s all I ask.”
“That’s the last thing I want.” He refused to look away until Daniel turned around and crossed to the door, closing it quietly behind him. The bond he felt now with her friend was tenuous, but it was a beginning. They both cared for her.
Now what do I do? I want children, but I want them with Genevieve.
He stood up and walked out of the ballroom, more than ready to go home and be alone. On his way to the front door, he nearly ran into Genevieve pushing a cart holding a tower of pink cupcakes.
“Do you need help?”
She avoided his eyes. “Could you please open the Salon door?”
He opened the door and helped her roll the cart over the threshold. “Pretty cupcakes.”
“Thanks. Do you want one? I have plenty of extra. They’re pink champagne.”
“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry,” he said.
She looked up at him, searching his face. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, not meeting her eyes. “I’m fine. I must leave—”
Her phone chimed and she snatched it up off the cart. She looked at the screen and her shoulders slumped.
“Problem?”
“No . . . well yes, actually. I’m still waiting on the bank to let me know if they’ve approved my loan application.”
“Are you buying a house?”
“No, I need financing for the building I’ve had my eye on. This is the third bank I’ve tried, and I’m almost to the point of desperation. I made special cakes for each one so they can see exactly what I want to use the money for. This one said I might not hear until the end of the month.” She tossed the phone down on the cart and began setting up the cupcake tower.
He was drained, and all she could think of was money? “I’ll leave you to your work. Au revoir.”
The pressure kept building in his chest and he needed to get out of there. He opened the front door to see Patrice walking up the steps.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Francois’ mother invited me.”
He’d almost forgotten they were friends.
“When did your little American come back into your life?” Her lip curled, and the lines of time were evident on her face.
“She is here for the wedding. Her cousin is the bride, and she’s making the cakes.”
Her lip curled. “Oh, she’s the one? I did not realize.” She moved closer to him and touched his arm. “Just between you and me, Francois’ mother is very worried the cakes will be in poor taste. When he told her they were hiring an unknown, she decided to have a contingency plan in case they are disastrous.”
His eyes narrowed. “I have sampled some of Genevieve’s pastries, and they are divine. Tell my aunt there will be no need for a backup.”
“I’m sure that’s not all you’ve sampled,” she said, contempt dripping from her voice. “She is trying to get into your good graces, if not your bed, to secure financing for her little business.”
He looked at her, startled.
“Oh, yes. I heard the little baker was trying to start her business. That is why Constance and Francois decided to take a chance on her. I just hope she does not let them down. There will
be many important people at the wedding who could make or break her. Just keep it in mind.”
He loomed over her, clenching his fists.
She flinched, stepping back.
“You know nothing about her. And I’ll tell you something else. You stay away from her, and you better stay away from me. I was grateful to you for helping me start my career, but you’ve interfered and intruded where you are not welcome.”
She ran a hand down his arm. “She is not worthy of you, or your status. I only want what’s best for you, and for your career.”
He looked at her slim hand on his arm, wanted to hurl her though the window. It was her fault he and Genevieve had lost their child. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, say anything to her. He flung her hand off him, and strode down the steps. Yanking open the door, he got in his car, slammed the door. He glanced up at her as he put the car in gear, and noticed her pale face. I hope I never see her again.
Driving down the lane to the road, doubts assailed him. His heart ached, and echoes of his father’s voice berating his drawings filled his mind. “You’ll never be good enough. Who would want your designs? You need to make a real living. But then maybe you take after your mother, and you’ll never amount to anything.”
The shower for Connie Sue was drawing to a close, and Genevieve slipped out after the cupcake tower had been decimated. Pleased they had been devoured by the chattering women, and received rave reviews, she was relieved to escape. Directions from Francois in hand, she pointed the rental car toward Roman’s house. She hadn’t even taken time to change out of her little black dress and high heels.
Reaching his house and heading up the path, she soothed a hand over her stomach, hoping her nerves would settle down. Something was bothering him. He’d been so distant earlier in the afternoon when she talked to him in the hall, and she wanted to help if she could.
But she needed to be careful. No more sex. She couldn’t handle getting in any deeper, not when she had so much at stake back home.
She knocked on the door and waited, and the scent of wisteria drifted to her with the breeze. A moment later he opened the door.
The butterflies kicked up double-time, and she swallowed hard. He stood in the doorway, so outrageously sexy. It wasn’t fair a man could look that way—dangerous, brooding, wearing just a white t-shirt, jeans and bare feet. She wanted to jump him right then and there.
“Bonsoir.”
“Oh, um, hi,” she said, stumbling over the words. “I just wanted to check on you.”
He cocked his head and stared at her.
What is he thinking? Does he not want me here?
He rubbed the back of his neck, but opened the door wider. “Come in. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He led her into a room she hadn’t seen last time, his study. Built-in bookshelves painted sage green to blend in lined the wall opposite the arched doorway. Two leather wing chairs flanked a bay window overlooking the small lake behind his house. A bottle of whiskey and a glass sat on the large wooden desk. Music played softly from the stereo in the corner.
Roman gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs, and he bent to pull books out of one of the boxes on the floor. “I’m still unpacking, so I hope you don’t mind if I continue.”
His tone was cold, and the vibe around him said ‘stay away.’
Books filled the shelves, and there were a number of awards on three shelves. He had done really well for himself over the years.
“Can I help you unpack?”
“No, you relax. You’ve had a busy few days. Besides, you are too dressed up.”
She stood up, too restless to sit still, and wandered to a large drafting table tucked away in a small alcove. Sketches were scattered across the table, and more lined a wall covered in corkboard. She examined the drawings, in awe of his talent for designing women’s clothing.
Eartha Kitt’s sultry tones filled the room. The song took her back in time to a night she’d taken dinner to Roman at the workroom in the Design district. They’d been together about two months at the time.
She walked in to the workroom and found him hunched over the drawing table, pencil in hand. Music filled the room, and she recognized his favorite song. His whole concentration was focused on the papers spread over the desk. She loved watching him work. He put his whole heart into what he did, and he was working so hard to be noticed and taken seriously as a designer. He’d make it one day, no doubt about it.
Setting the picnic basket on a small table, she pulled the sandwiches out and set them on plates, added the pickles and olives he loved at the side. She poured hot tea from the thermos into a white mug. He’d want coffee, but as it late as it was, he didn’t need the caffeine.
Walking to the drawing table, she put a hand on his shoulder.
His head whipped toward her. A grin split his face. “What a nice surprise! What are you doing here?”
“I figured you might be hungry by now.” She brought the other hand up and massaged both shoulders, feeling the tension relax. She loved his shoulders, so strong, capable of carrying the weight of the world on them.
“What time is it?”
She looked at her watch. “After nine. Come on and eat. I’ve got it all set up.” She pointed across the room at the table.
He glanced at the table, and his eyes widened. “I never heard you come in.”
“I didn’t want to bother you until it was ready to go.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re merveilleux . . . wonderful, you know that?”
She kissed him, then pulled back to lead him to the table.
But he stopped her, kissed her again, his lips coaxing a breathless response from her. “What did you bring me to eat?” he murmured.
Her brain fogged, and she had to think a minute. “Um, sandwiches.”
He kissed along her jawline to her ear. “So they’ll keep for a little while?”
She leaned back and looked at him.
His eyes were heavy, and now focused only on her. Oh boy.
Her body tingled, remembering the break he’d taken from work that long ago night. She looked up to see him watching her, felt her face flush. “Is this your next collection?”
“Oui. Fall Fashion Week in Paris will be here in a few short months, so we must begin sewing as soon as the wedding is over with.”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you something last night. I remember you as the young man I was with for five months, but I don’t know the man you are today. Last night at the banquet, I listened to people talk about you and your career . . . you’re a famous designer, and you’ve come so far. You worked hard, and your determination paid off. You’ve got an amazing amount of talent, and so much vision.”
He leaned against the desk, cold and aloof.
“I just wanted you to know how incredibly proud of you I am. I’ll leave you alone now so you can finish unpacking.”
She started toward the doorway, but his voice stopped her.
“Isn’t this where you ask me for money?”
She whirled around. “What?”
“Isn’t that what you came here for?”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“Maybe you feel it’s owed to you for your suffering?”
She flinched, stepped back from his harsh words and cold anger. Nausea rose, and she fought the urge to throw up. “How could you say that to me? I came here tonight to see if you were okay. You took care of me last night, and I know you were upset today. I saw you with Melly and Bella in the ballroom earlier this afternoon.”
He stepped toward her, but she backed away, holding her hands up to ward him off.
“And another thing. I want to start my business on my own. I
don’t want money from anyone but a bank. This is my business, my life. You don’t have to worry that I want anything from you.” She hurried toward the door.
I’ve been such an idiot. Why did I get involved with him again?
She reached the door and turned the handle.
His hand slammed against it so it wouldn’t open.
“Forgive me. I jumped to conclusions, and I apologize.”
His hands gripped her shoulders but she jerked away from him.
“Why would you think I wanted money from you?”
This time he succeeded in turning her around to face him. Looking guilty, he said, “I should not have said those things. As I was leaving the chateau, I ran into Patrice. She spewed her venom before I could get away from her.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I noticed her at the shower and stayed far away from her. What exactly did she say to you?”
He glanced at her, and red crept across his face. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have listened to her. I was raw after Daniel—”
“Daniel what?”
“Nothing. Never mind,” he said, abrupt. “Did she eat any of your cupcakes?”
“She did. Three. Although I know it pained her. I think she tried one just so she could trash it, but then liked them. I wanted to add something extra just for her . . . like arsenic.”
He laughed, and although she was still pissed at him, she was relieved she could lighten his mood.
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