He organized her toothbrush and soon they were wrapped together in bed. She was curled up against him, her head on his shoulder. “You know what makes me sad?”
“What?”
“She seemed so nice. Claudia. That’s her name. I have a half sister named Claudia. I met her tonight and she seems very nice. And she will never know about me. What if we might have been friends? What if one day one of us needs a kidney and we’d be a perfect match but instead we’ll spend the rest of our lives on dialysis because we can’t know about each other?”
He stroked her hair, knowing it was best to let her talk.
“I don’t know her birthday or who her friends are, if she really prefers Italian designers or she’s just being patriotic. I’ve never met any of her boyfriends. She’s getting married, and I’ve never even met any of her boyfriends.” She sighed. “I always wanted a sister.”
He thought of his own family, the noise, the fights, the tricks they used to play on each other, the way his mother would wonder aloud what she’d ever done to be cursed with four hellions. He wouldn’t have traded it for anything. He’d have to introduce Kimi to them. If she wanted to experience family, she could do worse. Except of course she wouldn’t be likely to be around his family any time soon.
“Do you think they’ll leave?”
She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, a furrow between her brows. “I don’t see how they can. What excuse could he give? She’s come to check out wedding clothes. Her fiancé is arriving tomorrow. They can’t just up and go.” She blew out a breath. “It’s a nightmare.”
He kissed her. “You’ve got a week. Maybe he’ll get a clue. You’ll work it out.”
She reached up and nipped his jaw with her teeth. “I think I’ll work you out.”
So, she didn’t feel like talking. When her hands started moving over his chest, teasing their way down his belly, he decided he didn’t feel much like talking anyway.
10
KIMI SLIPPED into her hotel the next morning with her gaze focused on the bank of elevators. She’d be in her room in a few minutes and no one would ever know she’d strolled in the front door of her hotel in the middle of the morning wearing last night’s clothes. Well, Brewster Peacock probably would. The man had spies everywhere. Her only consolation was that there was bound to be juicier gossip this week than that she’d pulled an all-nighter.
She made it halfway across the lobby before hearing words that made her stomach plunge into freefall. “Mademoiselle Renton.”
There was no point in pretending she hadn’t heard him. She turned slowly and found her father rising slowly from one of the armchairs and folding this morning’s newspaper.
He looked her up and down slowly and a flicker of distaste crossed his narrow, aristocratic face as he took in the cocktail dress, slightly creased from having been thrown to the floor in a fit of passion, the minimal makeup since she’d only had a few essentials in her purse. Her hair was hopeless, so she’d pinned it into a messy knot on top of her head. Her entire appearance screamed morning after and the way he looked at her made her feel like a tramp, which infuriated her. She was the daughter of a prominent feminist. She embraced her sexuality and would not be made to feel like a slut for the same behavior that would get a man praised for being such a stud.
“Monsieur,” she said coolly.
“I have been waiting for you. I thought we might have breakfast.”
“Thank you, but I’ve already eaten breakfast.” Some devil prompted her to add, “With my lover.”
It was almost worth it to see his nostrils flare. She thought he was going to say something stupid and chauvinistic and was almost sorry when he mastered the impulse.
“Perhaps you would join me in a cup of coffee then?”
“All right.” But she’d be damned if she’d sit there drinking coffee at eleven in the morning wearing a creased cocktail dress. “I’ll need twenty minutes to change.”
He inclined his head. “I will wait for you in the restaurant.” He indicted the ornate hotel dining room.
She took the elevator up to her room. What did he want with her? Why was he here? She opened the double wardrobe and pondered her options while she dragged off her clothes. Luckily, she’d already showered.
A quick glance at her watch showed she had seventeen minutes until she’d said she’d rejoin the man whose sperm had had a big impact on her life. Even if he’d given her not much more, she had to remember she was grateful for that. But not grateful enough to be chased out of Paris—which she suspected was his purpose in showing up unannounced at her hotel.
Kimi strolled into the restaurant exactly nineteen minutes after she had told her father to expect her in twenty minutes. She was wearing a blowsy Stella McCartney top and black Prada slacks with her Chanel flats. She had redone her hair into a sleek twist and her makeup was flawless. She liked to spend at least an hour on her appearance, but this wasn’t the first time she’d turned herself out in under twenty minutes still managing to look well groomed.
She caught sight of him immediately. He was settled at a small table toward the back of the restaurant where it was relatively empty and there was little chance of any conversation being overheard. She experienced a rush of conflicting emotions as she studied him. Giovanni Ferrarro looked exactly like what he was: an Italian statesman, minor royalty, a well-to-do family man. Of course, being Italian, and a certain age, he also looked like a man with secrets, such as the daughter he did not publicly acknowledge.
He held a French newspaper in front of him, and his other hand held a coffee cup. As he raised the cup to his lips he glanced up toward the doorway and their gazes connected. He lowered the cup slowly and rose, stepping around the table to pull her chair out himself. She walked forward, thanked him and sat and then he returned to his chair.
A waiter hurried over. Her father was the kind of man who would always have waiters hovering and doormen springing to attention.
“What would you like?” he asked her.
“Un café au lait, s’il vous plaît,” she said to the waiter.
Her father ordered a selection of croissants, breads, cheese and fruit in flawless French.
When the waiter had left, her father said, “You speak French?”
“Yes.” She settled herself more comfortably in her chair. “I also speak Italian.”
His only reaction was a slight raising of his eyebrows.
Her coffee arrived and she sipped it, grateful for something to occupy her hands. She noticed they were trembling slightly and her own vulnerability around this man annoyed her. He must be just as ill at ease as she was, but he was better at hiding his emotions.
“Why did you want to see me?” she asked him.
He smiled slightly. “You look Italian but you have the directness of an American.”
He was a handsome man, her father. His hair was still full and dark brown, though flecked attractively with silver. He had a good mouth. Firm but sensual and, of course, those eyes she saw in the mirror every morning.
Not being American, he seemed in no hurry to answer her question. He held out his hands in a palm-up gesture. “I thought we might have a meal and talk.”
“Talk.”
At that moment the food arrived, so several moments passed before he was forced to reply. She took a croissant, a piece of cheese and a slice of apple for form’s sake. She and Holden had earlier shared an omelet, which they’d eaten in his bed. Besides, even if she hadn’t eaten for days she couldn’t imagine pushing food down her throat when her stomach felt so jumpy.
Finally, he said, “Seeing you last night gave me quite a shock.”
“It was quite a shock for me too.”
He nodded gravely. “I did not realize that you would be quite so much like me.” He picked up a croissant, broke it in half and then put the pieces back on his plate. “Or so strongly resemble my daughter.”
She refused to make the obvious comment. How could her down-to-
earth mother have fallen for this guy? But then he smiled and she realized that he was a very attractive man. Even his voice was appealing. His English was perfect, with just enough accent to be intriguing. Oh, women would notice him all right, but she couldn’t imagine her mother—her strong-willed, feminist mother—falling for him, not even when she was young.
Perhaps his thoughts traveled in the same direction, for he said, “I offered to marry your mother. Did you know that?”
She nodded. “My mother’s always believed in telling me the truth about things.”
“She refused me. Your mother was always so…” He paused as though looking for the correct word in English. “Self-contained. I suppose that was one of the things that attracted me to her in the first place. She was very different from the women I was used to. I was drawn to her boldness and confidence. I was far from home, intoxicated by the ideas and people I discovered at university, and of course, we had no thought of consequences.”
He glanced up at her as though realizing that referring to her as a consequence could hardly be flattering. “I did not love your mother, and she did not love me, but I was still very angry that she refused to marry me. Of course, the same confidence and boldness that attracted me to your mother were the attributes that made her so scornful of marrying a man simply because she was about to have his child.”
“‘A woman without a man is like a fish without bicycle’ is one of my mother’s favorite sayings.”
“I have never understood that aphorism.” He shook his head. “However, I had no choice but to respect your mother’s wishes. I made such arrangements for you as I felt would ensure your future was comfortable, and your mother and I agreed that we would both carry on as though our affair had never happened.” He shrugged as though absolving himself of blame. “I returned to Italy.”
“But the affair did happen. I happened.”
He nodded.
They sat in silence that was not comfortable. She sipped her coffee, thinking, as she’d thought many times before, that he’d given up too easily. It must have been such a relief to him to be able to run back to Europe with a clear conscience, always able to tell himself, “I offered to marry her and she refused me.”
“I wrote to you.”
This time his eyes closed briefly before he nodded again.
“You had your damn lawyer answer my letter.”
“That was—regrettable.”
“Regrettable?” Her voice rose and she had to force herself to lower her tone. “I was fifteen years old. All I wanted was some kind of—acknowledgment, and you had your lawyer write to tell me that contact with you or your family would not be advisable.”
“What would you have had me do? My wife knows nothing of my past indiscretions. My daughters, at that time, were young girls approaching womanhood. Your mother made her choice, Kimberley. And I chose to respect her decision. Now I ask you to respect my decision to protect my family from information that could only hurt them. My wife is devout. While she did not expect me to come to the marriage bed as untouched as she…”
“I would have been a deal breaker.”
His eyes were harder than hers, she thought. Tougher. “I see that you want some apology. I tell you that I did what I thought was right. But I do regret that you have been hurt by my actions.”
“So I’m asking you again, what are you doing here this morning? You asked me to stay away from you and your family and I have. I even lied to your daughter last night since you were having a conniption fit behind her, terrified I might blurt out your terrible secret.”
“When I saw you last night, I was too surprised to think clearly.”
“You didn’t know anything about me, did you?” She thought of how she’d kept up with him, and yet he hadn’t had a clue she was a fashion editor who might be in Paris during fashion week. He hadn’t cared enough to know.
He smiled, a touch sadly. “Self-protection, if you like. No. I chose to think of you as your mother’s daughter. It was…easier for me.”
“Until you got a big fat shock last night.”
“At first I thought perhaps the likeness was merely a coincidence. But when I asked someone who you were, and they said Kimberley Renton, then of course I knew.”
“Google.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I kept up with you on Google. I’ve seen pictures of you and your wife at social events, I know that you sit on the board of several large Italian companies. I know how many times you’ve come to New York on business.” Those had always been the tough times, when he was there in her hometown and she knew he wouldn’t even try to see her.
“Perhaps I will ask Google about you when I get back to my hotel.”
“What Google will tell you is that I’m a fashion editor, and covering couture week is one of the most important events on my calendar.” She drilled him with the toughest look she had in stock. “I am not leaving Paris.”
“My dear, you misunderstand me. The reason I came here today is to ask you if—there is any possibility that you and I might get to know each other.”
She’d wanted that for so long. And now…“What about Claudia?”
He glanced up sharply, then dropped his gaze to the plate. “Claudia has a great deal on her mind at the moment with her approaching wedding. Perhaps this is not the best time to reveal such information.”
“Leave the skeleton in the family cupboard, huh?” So, he wanted to get to know her, but still keep her a secret from the rest of his family.
“Claudia’s fiancé arrives today. They will be very busy. I thought perhaps you and I might spend some time together.”
And she knew in that moment that it wouldn’t be enough. She wasn’t a confused teenager anymore. She was a grown woman. If her biological father wanted her in his life, he was going to have to share his life with her. All of it. So, she shook her head slowly. “This is a working trip for me. I doubt I’ll have much free time.”
“All right. Perhaps we could get to know each other a little now.”
“Sure. What do you want to know? Let’s see. I graduated from Wellesley with a degree in modern languages and a minor in writing. I wanted to go to fashion college, but Mother talked me out of it. In retrospect, she was probably right. I’m twenty-eight, no husbands or kids, I live in a tiny apartment on the Upper East Side, which I bought with my trust fund. Thank you very much. I love clothes, traveling and Audrey Hepburn movies and I’m allergic to pineapple.”
He nodded gravely. “You had that from me. I am also allergic to pineapple.” He smiled at her and she could imagine her mother falling for his charm almost thirty years ago. “Fortunately, I detest pineapple.”
She felt her lips twitch. “Me too.”
“This man I saw you with last night, he is what you Americans would call your boyfriend?”
“No. I met him four days ago.” She broke off a piece of croissant, then reached for a scoop of raspberry jam. “Mmm. You have to try these jams. They are amazing.”
She could feel disapproval coming off the man across from her in waves and it gave her an oddly euphoric feeling. It probably was delayed adolescent rebellion. She’d never had a father express disapproval over her lifestyle before.
“Are you certain such behavior is wise?”
“You sound like a father. Are you going to take him aside and ask him what his intentions are?”
There was a pause.
“I didn’t think so.”
11
BY NOW, HOLDEN was used to seeing the couture set outdo each other every night; still he knew he was in for something special tonight.
There was definite competition to see who could stage the most elaborate events. Tonight, Daniel LeSerge was presenting hats. Hats. And for this the company had ponied up huge cash, and pulled whatever strings needed to be pulled, to stage the fashion show at the Musée d’Orsay.
The best thing about having the event in one of the most famous art galleries in the world,
as far as Holden was concerned, was that security would be so tight. They wouldn’t want the Van Goghs and Monets getting stolen, so the place would be crawling with security, both uniformed and plainclothes. All the same, he planned to keep his eyes open.
No fancy dresses were going missing on his watch, not if he could help it.
Kimi picked him up in her hired car and went through the usual routine where she checked him out carefully, making sure the creases in the pants she’d told him to wear were sharp, his shoes tied, before nodding her approval. “Can I kiss you now or will I mess up your makeup?”
She twinkled at him. “You would definitely mess up my makeup.” And she reached up on her toes and put her mouth against his. He was careful not to yank her against him, shove his hands in her hair or make any of the other moves instinct encouraged him to make. Still, even the brief contact set him on fire and had him anticipating getting her back to his room—or her suite—later.
Once in the limo, he took her hand, figuring he couldn’t do much to her manicure and finding he couldn’t be close to her and not want to touch her in some way.
“How did you enjoy your day off?” He’d spent the day going over building plans for all the big shows, including the Musée d’Orsay, and studying security, which was extensive and tight, but every net has holes in it. The trick was to find them and patch them before anything slipped through the gap.
She turned her head and looked out the window. Then she turned back. “It was really weird. My father was waiting for me when I got back this morning.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t think he knew himself what he wanted.” She blew out a breath. “He said he’d like to spend some time with me and get to know me, but also made it clear I wouldn’t be introduced to Claudia or any of his family.”
He swallowed the crude epithet that wanted to pop out of his mouth and kept his voice neutral. “What did you say?”
In the darkness, her eyes glowed. “I told him I was too busy.”
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