Giving in to the playfulness of the decision, Emily whispered in excitement, “I’m going to Paris.”
Leaning against the side of the car waiting for Emily, Asher checked his messages. He answered several emails regarding a variety of projects. When he read an email from one of his men in Trundaie he decided to add a work component to his trip to Europe. He’d spend some time with Emily in Paris, then let her explore the city a bit on her own while he flew over to Trundaie, and then fly back with her when he’d completed his business. Things were working out perfectly.
His phone rang. Surprisingly, it was his brother, Ian. There weren’t many subjects on which he and Ian saw eye to eye, so they didn’t speak often. Usually Ian was the harbinger of family news. Hopefully it wouldn’t interfere with the closest thing to a vacation Asher had taken in a decade. “Ian.”
“Asher, Andrew called this morning. He’ll be in Boston near the end of April on a one-week leave. Mom wants everyone to stay over while he’s there.”
“I’m flying over to Europe today. I have a lot going on right now. I’ll be there if I can be.”
“This is important. You know how she gets around this time of year.”
Asher wasn’t willing to reopen the topic of why. More harshly than intended, he growled, “I’ll be there if I can.”
“Make it happen,” Ian said in a tone that reminded Asher of their father, which wasn’t surprising since Ian was Dale Barrington’s clone. Hopefully his political career fared better. “Hey, Mom told me to suggest you bring your girlfriend with you. I didn’t realize you had just one or that any of them would be the type Mom would like, but she’s talked about this one so much I am curious about her. Emily something. She sounds nice. What the hell is she doing with you?”
Asher glanced hopefully at the door of Emily’s house. Any reason for ending the call then would have been welcome. “Do me a favor and explain to Mom that she’s looking for fire where there isn’t even smoke.” It was a lie, but a necessary one. The less his family knew about Emily the better, especially if wedding bells were already ringing in his mother’s head. He never introduced the women he dated to his family, and he wasn’t about to start with Emily. He couldn’t explain how he felt about Emily to himself; he wasn’t about to try with anyone else.
“I’m not explaining anything. If dreaming about you getting married keeps her mind off the past, I’ll help her pick names for your fucking kids.”
“Thanks,” Asher said sarcastically. He understood Ian’s stance, but he wasn’t about to encourage it. Most of the time their mother was upbeat and active. During April of every year for the last twenty-seven years, though, she’d teetered on depression. As young children, he and his siblings had been afraid of the depth of her grief. As adults they understood her pain was from a loss that had an anniversary. “Tell her I’ll be there.”
“Should I say you’re bringing anyone with you?”
“No, because I’m not,” Asher said and hung up on his brother as soon as he saw Emily exit the door of her home. She shot him a tentative smile he found adorable, considering how intimately they knew each other. He pushed off the side of the car and met her halfway up her path. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
She searched his face before answering. “Yes and no.”
She didn’t volunteer more, and he didn’t push her to explain. He walked her back to the car and helped her in before walking around to his side. Once they were on a main road and headed toward his home, he took her hand in his and laid it on his thigh. It was a simple touch but one that elicited a strong reaction in him. She belonged with him, to him. He wasn’t normally a possessive man, but that was the only way he could describe how he felt around her. Although he’d read her background check, it only skimmed the surface of what he wanted to know. “You’ve never mentioned family beyond your mother and grandfather.”
Emily’s hand clenched on his thigh, then relaxed. “I don’t have any.”
“What about your father?” Asher asked. He didn’t like to think of her without a network of family. Although his family drove him crazy most of the time, they would be there for him if he needed them.
Emily pushed a wayward curl back into her ponytail. “My mother met him during the one year she went to college. She said they loved each other very much but his family didn’t approve of her. They saw her as a burden. They couldn’t have known her at all because she wasn’t—not one day of her life.”
The idea of any man tossing Emily and her mother aside filled Asher with an anger that had no outlet, so he kept it where he kept the rest of his emotions, locked deep inside. “Did you ever meet him?”
Emily’s hand shook slightly below his. “I thought about it once. I have his name, and I considered tracking him down, but I decided not to. If he loved my mother at all, he did a poor job of it. Why would I think he’d make a good father?”
The touch of sadness in her voice moved him in a way not much else did. He was a man of action who allowed himself very little time for deep reflection. In some ways, he and his brother Andrew were more similar than either liked to admit. When the then eighteen-year-old Andrew had announced he had joined the Marines, not many people in their circle had understood why he would choose to risk his life when he could have safely lived off his trust fund. Asher had understood. There had been a feeling of quiet desperation in their home when they were young that none of them acknowledged, but each of them overcame in their own way. Asher and Andrew had each gone to battle: Asher in the business world and Andrew on actual battlefields. Normally discussing family issues brought Asher back to a time when he’d had less control over his life, and therefore, he avoided those topics with his friends and most definitely with his female companions.
It was different with Emily. He felt her sadness as if it were his own, and it confused him. It took listening to her talk about her museum and her family for him to realize how little he cared about anything outside of work. He loved his family, but he didn’t go out of his way to see them. He was too busy. “Your father might not know you exist.”
Emily’s expression hardened. “Then shame on him. If he never cared enough to look in on my mother to make sure she was okay after he left her, then he doesn’t deserve to know about me.”
It was a harder stance than he would have imagined Emily taking on any topic, especially one of family. The way she passed judgment on her father left him feeling unsettled. Emily had strong ideas when it came to what was important to her and often her beliefs were in direct opposition with how he lived his life. “I would have thought you’d advocate forgiveness for all.”
Emily gave him an odd look. “Then I guess you don’t know me very well.”
He laced his fingers with hers. They were quiet for a moment and her comment hung in the air. He was used to women trying to impress or flirt outrageously with him. More often than not they talked about fashion or the latest gossip. Emily wasn’t like that. She was . . . real, and it took some getting used to.
Emily was the first to break the silence. “What about you? You’re the oldest of six? It’s hard to imagine you with your family.”
He raised an eyebrow as he asked, “Why is that?”
Emily waved her free hand in the air. “I’ve probably watched too much television. When I imagine a big family, I picture everyone sitting around an enormous table and teasing each other mercilessly.” She looked him over. “Laughing.”
“You don’t think I’m funny?” he asked with a straight face.
Emily met his eyes and said, “Tell me a joke and I’ll let you know.”
That was a part of Emily he enjoyed. She pushed him beyond his norm. Asher wasn’t known for his humor, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge either. “What makes every snowman smile?”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Snowblowers.”
Emily’s expression remained as serious as his then she burst out laughing. “That is the lamest joke I’
ve ever heard.”
Asher remembered thinking the same thing when Andrew had told it to him. “One of my brothers considers himself a connoisseur of one-liners, and his time in the Marines has only added to his repertoire.”
“Are you close to your brothers?”
“Not very,” Asher said, and in that moment the admission wasn’t one he was proud of. From the outside his family looked as close to perfect as any family could. His parents were still happily married. Each of his siblings had done well in their chosen careers. They hardly fought. They weren’t a big enough part of each other’s lives to have anything to argue about. It was his parents who pulled them back together again and again. Without his parents, Asher was reasonably certain interactions with his brothers and sisters would be nearly non-existent.
“Tell me about them,” Emily requested as if she could sense the conflict within him.
If anyone else had asked, Asher would have changed the subject, but he didn’t. The rest of the drive to the plane flew by as he fielded questions from Emily about his family. He usually kept his private life just that—private, but Emily’s interest was sincere, and he found himself sharing stories with her unlike he’d ever done with others.
He and Emily were settled into their seats on the plane when she started tapping the tips of her fingers and said, “Don’t help me. Let’s see if I can do this. It’s you, then Grant, Ian, Andrew, Lance, and Kenzi. Am I right?”
“You’ve got it.”
“Thank God your mother finally had that girl or you might have been one of a dozen.”
Asher frowned. “Why do you say that?”
Emily shrugged. “Five boys then a girl. I’m just guessing, but it makes sense that she’d stop there.”
“That wasn’t why my parents didn’t have more children.” As soon as he’d said it, he regretted it. He knew why his mother fought depression every year and why his family was quietly dysfunctional, but he preferred not to think about it. There was no avoiding returning to Boston, though, for the week his mother was planning. A week of collectively pretending they didn’t know why they were gathered. Shit.
Sensing his mood change, Emily laid a hand on his arm. He expected her to ask the question he had no intention of answering, but she didn’t. She simply gave him a long steady look, then asked, “What do you call two jalapeños having sex?”
He shrugged. Talking about his family had soured his mood. If he were alone he would have shaken it off by diving into work. For just a moment he felt trapped.
With an absolutely serious expression, Emily finished the joke. “Fucking hot.”
A chuckle started deep in Asher’s chest. How does she know what I need when we barely know each other? He didn’t understand how he and Emily connected as they did, but they did. His mood lifted. He unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her into his lap. “That’s worse than mine.”
Emily wrapped her arms around his neck. “In your opinion.”
He nuzzled her neck. This is what he’d sought—the sweet escape of her touch. When he was with her, everything else faded in importance and he was just a man spending time with his woman. “Do you always have to have the last word?”
Emily ran her hand through the back of his hair and with an impish smile on her face replied, “Yes. What are you going to do about it?”
That’s all it took for Asher’s cock to leap to full attention. He stood and carried Emily into the plane’s bedroom and tossed her onto the bed. “I know one way to keep you quiet.”
Emily rolled onto her stomach and purred playfully, “Only one? Now that’s disappointing.”
Asher laughed. He stripped off his shirt and crawled onto the bed beside her.
Challenge accepted.
Chapter Eight
‡
Two weeks later, dressed only in one of Asher’s shirts, Emily sipped her morning coffee and tucked her feet beneath her on the linen couch of his 7th Arrondissement apartment with a sigh of contentment. The floor-to-ceiling window across from her was closed due to the chill of the morning air, but it framed a stunning view of the Eiffel tower. She had just finished checking her emails and was enjoying a few moments of quiet.
Asher was in the apartment’s office starting his day as he had every day since they’d arrived—by working until noon. Emily didn’t mind because it gave her time to answer her own business emails as well as cultivate the new connections she’d made in Paris. She paid bills, contacted artists and collection owners to discuss potential donations, and worked with Mr. Riggins to finalize the long list of what needed to be completed before the museum opened. She didn’t want to think about how empty her bank account would be when the project was finished. She preferred to focus on the amount of work she was getting done despite being far away.
Even if it had put her behind schedule, the trip would have been worth it. The trip she’d thought would last a couple days had stretched into two glorious weeks. Asher had brought joy back to her life. Celeste had been right. Her museum was important to her, but she wanted this, too. She wanted to be young, happy, and free.
There was no better way to describe what the trip had meant to her. She hadn’t known what to expect when she and Asher had taken what had started off as a sexual relationship and brought it to the city of love, but he continually amazed her with his attentiveness and thoughtfulness. Their grand tour of the city had begun with the Louvre, where Asher had delighted her by taking her to their tactile exhibit. It was hard not to fall a little bit in love with him because it was obvious he’d planned the trip to please her. They’d spent many afternoons walking through other museums or strolling along the Seine. They ate in restaurants with stunning views and even better food. They ran late to tours and dinner reservations when a simple touch or look had them stripping off each other’s clothing with an urgency that showed no sign of abating.
Emily was tingling and alive, and not just sexually.
Paris was more than living up to its artistic reputation. Emily closed her eyes and basked in the memories of where Asher had taken her. Oh, yes, the Musée National Rodin. The artist himself had lived a troubled life, but his artwork set a standard few had attained. Her knowledge of his works had been mostly through academic study, but photographs of the experience offered little compared to seeing his sculptures in person. Being in the same room as many of the sculptures that had inspired her was indescribably moving. At the Musée Paul-Belmondo, Emily tried and failed to find the words to express her admiration for the neoclassical, smooth lines of the sculptures. Belmondo was one of her idols, and she was brought to tears of happiness when she discovered a room on the first floor of the museum where visitors were encouraged to touch the replicas of his works. The fact that Asher had shared the experience with her made it that much more meaningful. He was a self-proclaimed art novice, but there were times when he would look at a painting and compare it to what he’d seen in her mother’s work or hers, and he would be spot on with his assessment of technique. It was no wonder Asher had become so successful in business. He was brilliant even when taken out of his element.
Just when Emily had thought Asher could not outdo the day before, he had taken her to Le Musée Valentin Haüy, a museum that honored the founder of Europe’s first school for the blind. Haüy had dedicated his life to the idea that the blind could learn to read with raised letters, and his ideas paved the way for Barbier, who created a system of raised dots, and Braille, who modified and perfected the system. Asher had set up a tour by the curator, and Emily was able to examine some of the world’s first devices for communication for the blind. Her time in Paris brought a deeper awareness of the importance of what she was trying to do in her community: highlight possibilities rather than what had once been called disabilities.
Emily felt herself falling for Asher, and it scared her. Although he had spent every day with her, it was impossible not to ask herself what would happen when they returned home. She didn’t doubt that Asher cared for her. He’d
filled the last two weeks with immeasurable pleasure, in and out of bed, but there was an invisible wall between them. They avoided discussing the future, the fate of her museum, and how they felt about one another.
No matter how perfect their time together was, they were building a relationship on the uncertain foundation of denial. More than once she’d wanted to ask Asher if he’d canceled his plans for his site in New Hampshire, but she didn’t for the sole reason that she didn’t want to know if he hadn’t. She wasn’t ready for her time in Paris to end, and despite the last two weeks, she knew what she had with Asher was fragile. One word. One wrong step and reality would come stomping in to end it. Thankfully, Celeste seemed to understand that. Emily called her every couple days to update her, and they celebrated the wonder of Paris without Celeste asking the questions Emily had no answers for.
A glance at the clock on the wall revealed it was past noon. She closed the laptop beside her, stood, and stretched. As a rule, she didn’t bother Asher while he was working, but the news had predicted warmer than normal weather, and she was comfortable enough in the city to go for a walk by herself if he had to work longer that day.
Emily hesitated at the door of Asher’s office before knocking. He was speaking to someone and his tone was angry. Emily knew she shouldn’t, but she stood there silently and listened.
Asher’s voice boomed through the closed door. “Not possible this late in the game. We’ve invested too much over there. We have governments all over the region watching to see how we do. I don’t have to tell you what a gamble this kind of expansion is. We succeed now, we cement our place in the global market. We fail, we might as well start looking for a domestic bailout.”
Emily clasped her hands together in front of her. Is he talking about Welchton? How could expanding into New Hampshire help him on the global level? He lowered his voice, and she couldn’t understand most of what he was saying, but she did clearly hear him say, “I’ll handle this myself.”
Always Mine (The Barrington Billionaires, Book 1) Page 8