by Renee Ryan
She smiled. At him.
Fitz lost the ability to breathe. He felt himself suffocating until he managed to drag in a quick pull of air.
He’d once thought this woman beautiful when her hair was perfectly coiffed and she was clothed in fashionable attire. But Gigi had never been more appealing than in this moment. The sight of that ridiculous mobcap resting at an awkward angle atop her head and the long, poorly dyed strands of hair escaping to curl around her cheek was the most mesmerizing he’d ever seen.
As he continued staring into Gigi’s pretty eyes, he felt a sudden sense of release. For that single moment, he was free. Free of his burdens and thoughts of what might have been.
Gigi smiled down at the children. “We’ve been inside entirely too long. Who wants to go to the roof garden and get some fresh air?”
All three chimed in at once. “Me!”
Gigi laughed.
The smallest of the little girls ran to Fitz and took his hand. “Will you come with us, Prince? Say yes.”
He hesitated, not sure he wanted to extend this torture.
“Please? Oh, please, will you?”
How was he supposed to refuse such an ardent request? He bent over to speak to the child eye to eye. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The child twirled away in a series of dizzying spins. “Prince is coming with us.”
“Perhaps Prince”—Gigi shot Fitz a wry look—“would be so kind as to help you into your coat.”
“Prince would be delighted.”
He caught Gigi’s smile before she turned to assist the other little girls into their coats.
As they wound their way through the darkened auditorium and up the carpeted stairs to the roof garden, Fitz’s chest felt odd. His pulse quickened in his veins. His throat tightened. All because this woman, whom he’d known most his life, had morphed into a stranger. One who fascinated him beyond reason.
The transformation had nothing to do with the clothes she wore, or the change in her hair color, and everything to do with the woman herself.
No longer proud and defiant, she was softer, kinder, and more Gigi than Georgina Wentworth had ever been.
Had her experience with Dixon changed her so completely?
Or was the transformation something that had occurred in Fitz?
He took Fern’s hand and guided her through the doorway. Gigi escorted the other two children. The wind had died down since Fitz had left the Harvard Club, but the air still had a bite to it. The sky was a hard, brittle blue, the fat orange sun halfway toward the western horizon.
The children didn’t seem to mind the cold. They hurried off to play a game of hide-and-go-seek. He and Gigi watched the game in companionable silence. The moment was strangely easy, almost tender. Fitz decided to keep silent in hopes of extending the glorious experience.
Fern rushed up to Gigi. “Did you see where they went?”
Gigi laughed, the sound almost musical. “You know I can’t tell you. You have to find them on your own.”
Undeterred by the gentle scolding, the child came to stand directly in front of Fitz. “What about you, Prince?” She planted her hands firmly on her hips in a display of profound little-girl frustration. “Did you see where they went?”
He shook his head.
“But you’re the handsome Prince. You’re supposed to know everything.”
Charmed by the little girl, he nearly told her what she wanted to know. But he caught Gigi shaking her head at him.
“I’ll give you a hint.”
Ignoring Gigi’s impatient snort, he leaned over and met the child at eye level. “They’re hiding somewhere on the roof.”
Fern stared at him for several long moments, then grinned. “You’re funny, Prince.”
A second later, she ran off to search for her friends.
“You have an admirer, Prince.” Gigi angled her body toward his. “Imagine I said that last part without sarcasm.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re being very kind to the girls.”
“They’re adorable and sweet and think I’m a handsome prince. I don’t know any man who wouldn’t find himself charmed.”
“There are some.” She sounded sad and beaten.
Just how badly had Dixon treated her?
A protective instinct shuddered through Fitz, and one thought rose above the others warring in his mind. I want to fight Gigi’s battles.
It was too late to protect her from Dixon. The damage had been done. But it wasn’t too late to secure a better future for her. An odd sensation filled Fitz’s chest, something good and noble. But he was no prince. And he certainly couldn’t ride in on a white steed and save Gigi from her dragons. You have reasons for keeping your distance, he reminded himself.
Ignoring the silent warning, he moved closer, a mere inch, no more.
The wind kicked up, tugging a tendril of her hair free from its knot. Fitz reached up and tucked the strand behind her ear.
She drew in a shaky breath.
The world paused, and then . . .
Squeals and shrieks of happiness filled the air as Fern found the first of her two friends. Still, Fitz stared at Gigi. Her beauty was stronger, purer in the bold sunlight.
Her eyes, those amazing silver-blue eyes, stole his breath. She stole his breath. She always would, Fitz realized with a sudden jolt.
Alarmed at the direction of his thoughts, Fitz knew he needed to gain some perspective. It would help if he could look away from her startling face.
He continued holding her gaze.
Her very presence soothed him. She made the weight of his burdens seem . . . somehow . . . less.
Something wonderful and lasting was gathering in his heart, something life altering. He wanted—needed—to pull Gigi into his arms. He wanted to tell her his plan to restore her to her family. But not here. Not now.
“Will you allow me to escort you home, once the children’s mothers come for them and your time is once again your own?”
He spoke the question with perfect politeness. Where had the fun Prince gone? Lost, Fitz decided, in this woman’s gaze.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. We don’t have anything more to say—”
“I have something new I wish to discuss.”
“We can talk here.”
“It requires privacy.”
Puzzlement sprang into her gaze, followed by a healthy dose of suspicion. “What are you up to now?”
“Nothing nefarious, I promise.” He nearly reached for her hand but thought better of it. “I have an idea for a business venture I’d like to run by you.”
“You wish to consult me on a . . . business matter?”
Coming out of her mouth, it did sound odd. “You’ll understand once I explain the essential elements of my plan.”
He had her. He saw her capitulation in the way she leaned slightly forward.
“Let me walk you home,” he said.
“I suppose if we headed out in the same direction around the same time, it would be quite natural to speak to one another.”
He grinned. “Quite natural.”
“Prince!” A hard yank on his pant leg accompanied the new nickname. “Prince, you are not listening to me.”
Duly chastised, he looked down at the little girl attempting to gain his attention. Fern’s face was scrunched into an adorable scowl. Affection enveloped him at the sweet picture she made.
“I apologize.” He crouched down to her height. “I’m listening now.”
“You and Miss Sally have to take a turn.”
Not sure what the child meant, Fitz angled his head.
The little girl shook her head at him, as if he was a big, dumb man who needed female guidance. “Miss Sally has to hide from you. And you”—she poked him in the center of his chest—“have to go seek her.”
No, Fitz thought, Gigi would not hide from him. Never again.
Never.
Again.
Up to the point of sending Fern and the other two girls back into their mothers’ care, Gigi had successfully put Fitz’s request to walk her home out of her mind.
She had not thought of it when she’d “hidden” from him on the roof garden.
She had not thought of it when he’d “found” her behind a large potted plant.
She definitely hadn’t thought about it when he’d leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek, and took a moment to whisper, “I’ve found you.”
Fitz had given her a very fierce look, silently daring her to try—just try—to get away from him.
The world had swung away then, everything suddenly out of focus.
Caught completely off guard by his ferocity—when was Fitz ever that passionate about anything outside a boardroom?—Gigi had been unable to tear her gaze from his. She’d been unable to move at all. She’d been overwhelmed and short of breath, and her heart had pounded as though she’d been running very hard for a very, very long time.
But now that she was back in her makeshift nursery, she couldn’t think of anything else but Fitz and their upcoming walk.
The man himself soon arrived. Gigi fought to steady her heartbeat. But . . . oh, my.
There he stood, in all his handsome, prince-like glory, hat literally in hand, overcoat slung over his arm, shoulder propped against the doorjamb. He didn’t look boring or unemotional or bland. He looked a little dangerous, and so different from Christopher Fitzpatrick the financier. Gigi didn’t know what to do with him. Except a part of her knew exactly what to do with this man.
She soaked up the sight of him, drank in every glorious inch of his tall, lean, muscular body.
He gave her a long appraising look in return.
Gigi’s mind raced back to the roof garden, to the moment when his lips had pressed against her cheek.
Her heart stumbled. She tried to remain cool and unaffected under his bold scrutiny. She really, really tried. But the lump in her throat was as big as a baseball, and her heart pounded out an erratic staccato against her ribs.
“Ready to go home?”
Fitz’s tone, though quiet, carried an unmistakable hint of intimacy. His words held far more meaning than anyone listening would realize. Ready to go home? Yes. Yes, she wanted to go home. With him. She wanted to leave right now.
She couldn’t, of course, not yet.
“I’m nearly ready. I just have to tidy up a bit.”
And yet, she remained frozen to the spot.
Why did this new Fitz affect her so?
She knew why. Of course she knew.
The way he carried himself—calm, relaxed, full of confidence mixed with a hint of stoicism. And loneliness. The loneliness was what called to her.
A wry chuckle tumbled out of him. “So, we’re back to awkward pauses and staring.”
She laughed. “Apparently, it’s what we do in each other’s company these days.”
“So it would seem.”
Smiling broadly—oh, what a smile—he pushed away from the door and paced toward her.
Her mouth went dry as dust. She couldn’t seem to move her feet. Why couldn’t she move? Not more than a few days ago, Gigi and Fitz had hovered in a similar life-altering moment. She hadn’t been ready for a change in their relationship then. Was she now?
A series of flutters took flight in her stomach. Yet in a nice, calm, rational voice she said, “I’ll only be a moment.”
Oh, look at her. So cool, so in control, a woman who knew her own mind. It was quite the act. Esmeralda would approve of her performance.
“Let me help.” When she started to argue, he insisted, “We’ll get the job done in half the time.”
Efficient. The man was efficient to a fault.
They tackled the task in silence. Oddly attuned to one another, they moved in flawless harmony, as if they could read each other’s next move.
Gigi told herself it didn’t matter that they worked so well together. But it did matter. Their effortless camaraderie made her think of the future, of happy endings and princes rescuing damsels in distress.
There was no use denying the truth any longer. Gigi still wanted the fairy tale, and it was all because of Fitz.
Once they were outside the theater and heading in the direction of Esmeralda’s town house, Gigi risked a glance in the man’s direction. Her thoughts scrambled, circling one another like a cast of hawks swooping in for the same prey. She longed for so much, unable to define exactly what she wanted. The man strolling beside her was at the heart of the shocking sensation.
He wanted her advice. He wasn’t here to tell her what to do or how to do it.
“You wished to run a business concern by me?”
“I’m seriously thinking about purchasing the theater.”
His confession surprised her. “I can’t imagine why.”
He lifted his face to the sky. “It’s a small, risky venture, I admit. But sometimes those end up the most profitable.”
Somehow, Gigi doubted making a profit was behind his decision. Something else was driving him. As she waited for him to continue, the grind of wagon wheels rang in the distance. A baby wailed. A dog barked. A vendor shouted out about his wares.
“Do you hear that?” she asked when he continued to stare up at the sky.
Fitz cut a glance in her direction. “Hear what?”
“The sounds of the city.” She swept her hand in a wide arc. “It’s almost musical how each mingles with the other.”
He slowed his pace and then stopped altogether. He looked down at her. The man had quite a piercing stare. “There she is.”
“Who?”
“The woman with the heart of a composer and the romantic ideals of a poet.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“On the contrary. I find the way you see the world charming.” Eyes filled with quiet affection, he reached out and brought her hand to his lips.
The gesture was so unexpected, so sweet and gentle that Gigi’s stomach dipped. She sighed, wanting this moment to last forever.
“It’s one of the things I admire most about you,” he said, continuing to cradle her hand in his.
Fitz admired her?
Gigi couldn’t ask for more. Wouldn’t ask for more than this one perfect moment with a man who admired her. Fitz admired her. Gigi didn’t quite know how to respond.
She thought of her love of music, of poetry, of the Psalms, especially the ones penned by King David, and how she’d felt closest to the Lord when lost in the arts. Nathanial had stolen that from her. He’d wrecked her appreciation for what she’d once loved. She could no longer enjoy Shakespeare’s sonnets, any of Byron’s work or Emily Dickinson’s, and that was . . .
Her own fault.
Nathanial hadn’t stolen anything from Gigi that she hadn’t willingly handed over.
The woman Fitz admired was in the past. An innocent. Gigi wasn’t that person anymore. Letting herself forget that point, even for a second, was a mistake.
Nonetheless, whereas Nathanial had only taken, Fitz had given her something back.
“Thank you, Fitz. Thank you for reminding me of a part of my former self I’d nearly let die.”
Tenderness moved in his gaze. “You’re welcome.”
They resumed walking.
Gigi slipped a covert glance at him from beneath her lowered lashes. Fitz’s strong profile brought complicated emotions blazing to the surface. She forgot to wear her hard-earned outward control. Something had to be terribly wrong, because she wasn’t supposed to feel this comfortable.
This connected.
She’d lost her balance. All because Fitz had reminded her of the woman she’d once been.
What is this? What’s happening between us?
Gigi had to get back on even footing with this man. She searched her brain for something to say. “Tell me why you want to buy the Summer Garden.”
Still holding her hand, he guided her down an unfamiliar lane. The path led to a small public p
ark. Fitz directed her toward a thicket of evergreens. The ring of trees shut out the rest of the world.
As Fitz led her to the secluded area, their feet left indentations in the wet, muddy ground.
He stopped beneath a leafy pine tree with several low-hanging branches. He let go of her hand, reached up and plucked a stem free. His gaze turned dark and turbulent as he twirled the twig in his gloved palm.
“You do realize, Fitz, that you have the look.”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “What look?”
“Whenever something is troubling you, a groove shows up right . . . there.” She pointed to a spot in the middle of his forehead. “It’s been a quirk of yours since we were children.”
A strangled laugh rumbled out of his chest. “You always did know me better than I knew myself.”
A mild glumness took hold of her. Gigi didn’t know Fitz, not nearly as well as she wished.
“Let’s sit. Over there.” She gestured to the bench on the edge of the isolated copse.
For an endless moment, he stared down at her. He stood frozen for so long that Gigi thought he might turn down her offer and stalk off.
But then, in one furious burst of motion, he threw down the twig and headed toward the bench. She had to break into a trot to keep up with him. Much to her relief, he slowed and then sat. With his gloved hand, he patted the empty space beside him.
She sat as well, falling into a companionable silence as they both stared up at the sky. Thick clouds had moved in since their time on the roof with the children, turning the sky a dingy gray. The afternoon air was scented with a hint of pine and snow.
Gigi treasured brisk walks in the city. Her favorite time of year was when fat, languid flakes of snow tumbled from the sky. Sometimes, when she was feeling especially comfortable in her new life, she loved the blanketed anonymity, loved living in a city where no one knew her as Gigi Wentworth.
“Do you really wish to purchase the theater?”
“Yes, no. Yes.” He shrugged. “Possibly.”
“That’s incredibly unclear.”
“I can’t stop thinking about the children. Or, more accurately”—he reached up and caught a wisp of Gigi’s hair, wound it around his finger, then let it go—“about their mothers and the situation they have found themselves in, with no one to watch their daughters on a regular basis.”