by Jennie Lucas
“Buona sera, bella.”
With an intake of breath, Emma turned to see Cesare on the sidewalk, looking devastatingly handsome in a long black coat.
“You’re on time,” she stammered.
“Of course.”
“You’re never on time.”
“I am always on time when it matters to me.”
Her cheeks turned hot. Feeling awkward, she looked right and left. “Where’s your car?”
Cesare came closer. “It’s a beautiful night. I gave my driver the night off.” He tilted his head. “Why are you waiting on the sidewalk? I would have come to get you.”
“I didn’t want to start World War III.”
He snorted. “I don’t hold any grudge against Bouchard.”
She looked at him steadily. “He holds one against you. The things he has said...”
His eyes narrowed. “On second thought, perhaps you are right to separate us. I am starting to resent the way he’s taken possession of something that should belong only to me.”
Emma trembled at the anger in his dark eyes. He meant Sam. He had to mean Sam.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said huskily.
“Oh. Thanks,” she said, suddenly shy. Cesare looked even more handsome than she remembered, and cripes, was that a tuxedo beneath his black coat? “So do you.” Her cheeks flamed. “Er, handsome, I mean. Not that it matters,” she added hastily, “because we’re just going out to talk about our son....”
She stopped talking as he took her hand in his own. She felt the warmth of his palm against hers. He glanced at her high-heeled shoes. “Do you mind walking a few blocks?”
In this moment, it was hard for Emma to remember what pain felt like. Wordlessly she shook her head.
He smiled, an impossibly devastating smile, and her heart twisted in her chest. “Too bad. I would have offered to carry you.”
Carry her? Against his chest? Her mouth went dry. She tried to think of a snappy comeback but her brain suddenly wasn’t working quite right. His smile increased.
Still holding her hand, he led her across the street and up the narrow, charming rue de Monttessuy. The Eiffel Tower loomed large, directly ahead of them. But it wasn’t that world-famous sight that consumed her.
She glanced down at Cesare’s hand as they walked up the quiet street, past the brasseries and shops. He held her hand as if she were precious and he never wanted to let her go.
“Is something wrong, cara?”
Emma realized she’d stopped on the sidewalk right in front of the boulangerie. “Um...”
He pulled her closer, looking down at her with dark intense eyes as his lips curved. “Perhaps you want me to carry you, after all?”
She swallowed.
Yes.
No.
She took a deep breath of air, scented with warm, buttery croissants and crusty baguettes, and reminded herself she wasn’t in London anymore. She didn’t love Cesare. She’d left that love behind her. He had no power over her here. None.
“Absolutely none,” she whispered aloud.
Moving closer, he stroked her cheek. “None?”
She pulled away from him, trembling. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you care.”
“I do.”
She shook her head, fighting tears. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but you—”
“Just dinner, Emma,” he said quietly. “And a discussion.”
“Nothing more?”
He gave her a lopsided grin that tugged at her heart. “Would I lie?”
“No,” she sighed.
He pulled her across the Avenue de la Bourdonnais, which was still busy with early-evening traffic. They walked down the charming tree-lined street into the Champ de Mars, to the base of the Eiffel Tower. She exhaled when she saw the long lines of tourists. In spite of all his promises, she still almost feared Cesare might try something. Not seduce her, surely?
No, why would he?
Unless it was a cold-blooded calculation on his part. Unless he thought he could overwhelm her with sensuality until she was so crazy she agreed to give up custody of Sam. Her hands tightened at her sides. He wouldn’t even get a single kiss out of her if he tried. And the next time he contacted her, she really would have a lawyer....
“Elevator or stairs?” he asked, smiling.
Tilting her head back to look up the length of the tower, Emma had a sudden image of tripping on the stairs in her high heels, and Cesare sweeping her up into his arms. She could almost imagine how it would feel to cling to him, her arms around his body, her cheek against his chest.
“Elevator,” she said quickly.
They went to a private elevator at the south pillar of the Eiffel Tower. There was no queue here. Strange, she thought. She’d heard this restaurant was really popular.
She was even more shocked when the elevator opened with a ding on the second platform of the Eiffel Tower, and they walked into a beautiful restaurant...
And found it empty.
Emma stopped cold. With an intake of breath, she looked at Cesare accusingly. “Where is everyone?”
He shrugged, managing to look guilty and innocent at the same time. “What do you mean?”
She looked over all the empty tables and chairs of the modern restaurant, with its spectacular views of Paris from all sides. “No one is here!”
Coming behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders.
“We are here.”
Slowly he pulled off her coat, then handed it to a host who discreetly appeared. Cesare’s eyes never left hers as he removed his own coat, revealing his well-cut tuxedo. Emma shivered beneath his gaze for reasons that had nothing to do with being cold. As he led her to a table by the window, the one with the best view, she felt suddenly hot, as if she’d been lying beneath the sun. No, worse. As if she’d been standing on it.
They sat down, and a waiter brought them a bottle of wine. Emma glanced at the tables behind them and saw they were all covered with vases of long-stemmed roses.
“Roses?” she said. Her lips curled humorlessly. “To go along with the watch you gave me? The finishing touch on the parting-gift extravaganza for one-night stands?”
“I should think it’s obvious,” he drawled, pouring wine into her glass, “you’re not a one-night stand.”
“A two-night stand, then.”
He looked at her without speaking. Her cheeks burned.
“I won’t let you talk me into signing custody away,” she said hoarsely. “Or seduce me into it, either.”
He gave a low laugh. “Ah, you really do think I’m a coldhearted bastard.” He held out her glass, filled with wine a deeper red than roses. “That’s not what I want.”
“Then, what?”
He just looked at her with his dark eyes. Emma’s heart started pounding.
Her hand shook as she reached out for the glass. She realized she was in trouble. Really, really big trouble.
He held up his own wine. “A toast.”
“To what?”
“To you, cara,” he murmured.
He clinked her glass and then drank deeply. She looked down at the glass and muttered, “Should I wonder if this is poisoned?”
He gave a low laugh. “No poison, I promise.”
“Then, what?” she whispered.
Cesare’s dark eyebrow quirked. “How many times must I say it? I want to have dinner. And talk.” He picked up the menu. “What looks good?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Not hungry? With a menu like this? There’s steak—lobster...”
“Will you just stop torturing me with all this romantic nonsense and tell me why you’ve brought me here?”
He tilted his head, looking at her across the table, before he gave a low laugh. “It’s the roses, isn’t it? Too much?”
“I’m not one of your foolish little starlets getting tossed out after breakfast, sobbing to stay.” She narr
owed her eyes. “You never try this hard. You never have to. So it must be leading up to something. Tell me what it is.”
Cesare leaned forward across the candlelit table, his dark eyes intense. Her whole body was taut as she leaned toward him, straining to hear. He parted his sensual lips.
“Later,” he whispered, then relaxed back in his chair as if he had not a care in the world. He took another sip of wine and looked out the huge wall of windows overlooking the lights of Paris, twinkling in the twilight.
Emma glared in helpless fury. He clearly was determined to take his own sweet time, to make her squirm. Fine. Grabbing her glass, she took a big gulp of the wine. Since she’d moved to Paris, she’d grown to appreciate wine more. This was a red, full-bodied Merlot that was equal parts delicious and expensive. Setting down her glass, she looked around them.
“This restaurant is kind of famous. It’s hard to even get reservations here. How on earth did you manage to get the whole place?”
He gave a low laugh. “I pulled some strings.”
“Strings?”
“It wasn’t easy.”
“For you,” she said darkly, “everything is easy.”
“Not everything.” He looked at her across the table. His eyes seemed black as a midnight sea. Then he looked past her. Turning around, she saw the waiter approaching their table.
“Monsieur?” the man asked respectfully. “May I take your order?”
“Yes. To start, I’d like...” Cesare rattled off a list that included endives, foie gras, black truffle sauce, venison and some kind of strange rose-flavored gelatin. It all sounded very fancy to Emma, and not terribly appetizing.
“And for madame?”
Both men looked at her expectantly.
Emma sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t much care for French food.”
The waiter did a double take. So did Cesare. The scandalized looks on both male faces was almost funny. Emma stifled a laugh.
“Of course you like French food,” Cesare said. “Everyone does. Even people who hate Paris love the food.”
“I love Paris,” she said. “Just not the food.”
“I can give madame some suggestions from the menu...” the waiter tried.
She shook her head. “Sorry. I’ve lived here for almost a year. Trust me, I’ve tried everything.” She looked at him. “What I would really like is a cheeseburger. With French fries. Frites,” she amended quickly, as if that would make her order sound more gourmet, which of course it didn’t.
The waiter continued to stare at her with a mix of consternation and bewilderment. In for a penny, in for a pound....
“And ketchup.” She handed him the menu with a sweet smile. “Lots and lots of ketchup. Merci.”
The waiter left, shaking his head and muttering to himself.
But Cesare gave a low laugh. “Nice.”
“Shouldn’t I order what I want?” she said defensively.
“Of course you should. Of course a nice American girl, on a romantic night out at the Eiffel Tower, would order a cheeseburger with ketchup.”
“Romantic night?” she said with a surge of panic. He gave her an inscrutable smile. To hide her confusion, she looked out the window. “I can still enjoy the view.”
“Me, too,” he said quietly, and he wasn’t looking at the window. A tingle of awareness went up and down Emma’s body.
“This is my first time inside the Eiffel Tower,” she said, trying to fill the space between them. She gave an awkward laugh. “I could never be bothered to wait in the lines.”
“Doesn’t Bouchard ever give you time off?”
She glanced at him with a snicker. “You’re one to talk.”
He had the grace to look discomfited. “I was a difficult boss.”
“That,” she said succinctly, “is an understatement.”
“I must have been an awful employer.”
“A monster,” she agreed.
“You never even got to see inside the British Museum.” He had a hangdog look, like a puppy expecting to be kicked. “Or take a picture of Big Ben.”
She squelched an involuntary laugh, covering it with a cough. Then sighed.
“Perhaps you weren’t entirely to blame,” she admitted.
He brightened. “I wasn’t?”
“I blamed you for not having time to tour London. I swore Paris would be different. But even though Alain has bent over backward to be the most amazing employer I could possibly imagine...”
Cesare’s expression darkened.
“...I still haven’t seen much of the city. At first, I was overwhelmed by a new job in a new city. Then I had the baby, and, well...if I have extra time, I don’t tour a museum any more than I go on a date. I collapse in a stupor on the couch.” She sighed, spreading her arms. “So it seems I’m full of excuses. I could have climbed the Eiffel Tower before now, and brought Sam with me, if I’d made it a priority. Instead I haven’t been willing to wait in line or pay the money.”
“What if I promised you’d never have to do either, seeing the sights of London?”
She tried to laugh it off. “What, there’s no line to see the Crown Jewels anymore?” she said lightly. “It’s a free ride for all on the London Eye?”
He took another sip of his wine, then put it back down on the table. His dark eyes met hers. “I want you both to come back to London with me.”
She set her jaw. She’d been afraid he’d say that. “There’s no way I’m leaving my job to move back to London with you. Your interest in Sam will never last.”
“You have to know I can’t abandon him, now I know. Especially not in Bouchard’s house.”
“I thought you said you didn’t bear Alain any grudge.”
“I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let him raise my son.” The votive candle on the table left flickering shadows on the hard lines of his handsome face. He said quietly, “Bouchard wants you for himself, Emma.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said uncomfortably, then recalled her own recent concerns on that front. “And anyway, I don’t see him that way.”
“He wants you. And he already knows that taking care of Sam is the way to your heart.” His voice was low. Behind him, she could see the sparkling lights of Paris in the night. “As you yourself said—Sam deserves a father.”
“Yes, he does,” she said over the lump in her throat. “An actual father who’ll love him and kiss his bruises and tuck him in at night. A father he can count on.” Looking up at him, she whispered, “We both know you’re not that man.”
“How do you know?”
The raw emotion in Cesare’s voice made her eyes widen. She shook her head.
“You said yourself you don’t want a child. You have no idea what it means to be a parent....”
“You’re wrong. I do know. Even though I’m new at being a father, I was once a son.” He looked away. “We had no money, just an old house falling down around us. But we were happy. My parents loved each other. And they loved me.”
She swallowed. “I’ve never heard you talk about them before.”
“There’s not much to tell.” His lips twisted down at the edge. “When I was twelve, my mother got sick. My father had to watch her slowly die. He couldn’t face life without her, so after her funeral, he went drinking alone on the lake at night. The empty boat floated to shore. His body was found the next day.”
“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her heart in her throat. “How could he do that—leave you?”
“I got over it.” He shrugged, his only sign of emotion the slight tightening of his jaw. “I was sent to a great-uncle in New York. He was strict, but tried his best to raise me. I learned English. Learned about the hotel business. Learned I liked hard numbers, profit and loss. Numbers made sense. They could be added, subtracted, controlled. Unlike love, which disappears like mist as soon as you think it’s in your arms.”
His wife. He was still brokenhearted over his loss of her. Emma fought back tears as she said, �
��Love makes life worth living.”
His lips twisted sardonically. “You say that, even after you wasted so many years trying to get love from your stepmother, like blood from a stone? All those years trying and failing, with nothing but grief to show for it.”
Pain caught at her heart.
“I’m sorry,” Cesare said, looking at her. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No. You’re right.” Blinking back tears, she shook her head. “But others have loved me. My parents. My mother died when I was four, even younger than you were. Ovarian cancer. Just like...” She stopped herself. Just like I almost did, she’d almost said.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s all right. It was a long time ago. And my father was an amazing man. After my mom died, it was just the two of us. He gave me my work ethic, my sense of honor, everything.” She pressed her lips together. “Then he fell in love with a coworker at his factory....”
“Cruel stepmother, huh?”
“She was never cruel.” She sobered. “At least not at first. I was glad to see my father happy, but I started to feel like I was in their way. An outsider interrupting their honeymoon.” She glanced up at the waiter, who’d just brought their meals. He set the cheeseburger and fries before her with the same flourish he used on Cesare’s venison and risotto with black truffle sauce. It must have been hard for him, she thought, so she gave him a grateful smile. “Merci.”
“So you left home?” Cesare prompted after the waiter left.
“Well.” She dipped a fry into a ramekin of ketchup, then chewed it thoughtfully. It was hot and salty and delicious. She licked her lips, then her fingers. “At sixteen, I fell head over heels for a boy.”
Cesare seemed uninterested in his own food as he listened with his complete attention. “A boy.”
“The captain of the high school football team.” She gave a smile. “Which in Texas can be a big deal. I was flattered by his attention. I fell hard. A few kisses, and I was convinced it was love. He talked me into going all the way.”
“But you didn’t.” Taking a bite of his food, he grinned at her. “I know you didn’t.”