Chapter 18
Breaking Out
The curtains remained drawn, so there was no telling what time it was. Evelyn had woken at some point and stumbled into the shower. Beads of moisture spattered over the tile told her Lucian had done the same. She’d slept so deeply she hadn’t heard him wake. Once the filth—what could be washed away—from the day before was cleansed from her skin, she climbed back into bed and slept.
Her dreams were a cruel kaleidoscope of her past. Distilled images of Pearl in places she’d never been. Every dream ended the same. Her mother’s face turning to her, mouth gaping, eyes unblinking, and Evelyn woke up choking on dust that wasn’t there.
They were her dreams. Her nightmares were worse. In her nightmares Lucian didn’t wake up. His eyes were dull and flat. She couldn’t get to him. She ran, but her legs were anchored with muscles made of wet sand. In one dream she caught up to him, but it was too late, he was tying off his arm and she observed helplessly, screaming, as the fluid flushed through the needle into his veins.
Each time she thought she could save him, and each time she was either too weak or too late. It was such a dream that woke her up. She curled into herself, sobbing softly into the pillows.
“Hey.” Lucian’s voice was a whisper in the dark. It curled around her like a caress and chased away the confusing cobwebs of sleep. He eased her to her back and kissed her softly. “It’s okay.”
He drew her close and soothed her, brushing his palm over her back and calming her tears. Would he be mortified to know she wasn’t crying over Pearl, but over her irrational fears of losing him? She was a bad daughter.
His mouth teased over hers and he looked at her with those beautiful dark eyes. “Better?”
She nodded.
“Some deliveries came for you while you slept. Dugan brought them up.”
Had he been up and about? She assumed he only showered. “Deliveries of what?”
“How about you use the bathroom and then come see. I have bagels and some French toast. It’s probably cold by now. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
She gripped his arm and he frowned. She needed to make sure he understood. “Lucian?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Evelyn.”
He didn’t get it. Seeing him fall made her realize just how much she needed him. This was different than before. This was irrevocable. This was to the depths of her soul, with a thread tying her to him that sewed her so tight she nearly puckered inside out. This was forever.
She’d show him. She’d show him and eventually he’d understand, everything had changed.
When she emerged from the bathroom, she hobbled to the common area. Her ankle was a constant reminder of everything that happened the day before. The scent of flowers had her breathing deeply. She turned the corner and gasped. Arrangements of stunning blooms and sprays covered every surface. “What is all this?”
“Your friends are sending their condolences.”
“I . . . I don’t have any friends.”
He gave her a strange look, lips pulled to the side and his brows bending in a sort of question mark. “Sure you do. Don’t be silly. Eat something and I’ll help you read the cards. A lot of them are in cursive.”
“Because they don’t know I can’t read, because they don’t know me. Lucian, who sent all this and why?”
His head tilted like he didn’t understand her confusion. “They’re from people who care about you, Evelyn. These cards were written with one thought. They all hope you’re doing okay. There wasn’t room for thoughts about script or anything else. Trust me, they were all sent out of love.”
Lucian was the only person to ever give her flowers. Now she was being bombarded with them. The sentiment was unfamiliar and slightly embarrassing. She didn’t want people to worry about her.
He brushed a hand over her knee peeking through the slit in her robe. Her fingers picked at the French toast as he plucked a card from a spray of yellow roses. There were still flecks of dirt under her nails and she lost her appetite.
“This one is from Antoinette and Shamus. Evelyn, it is with great sympathy for your loss that our heavy hearts are quiet today. May the love of those closest to you hold you tight and get you through.”
He plucked up another card from a vase of tulips. “This is from Dugan. Ms. Evelyn, It is only because you are so brave that I know you will get through this difficult time. Have the courage to cry and know that you are loved by many. If there’s anything I may do to help, I’m always near. D.”
Her lips trembled. They were from friends. Friends she never realized she had. Lucian read one card after another. There were flowers from Seth, Lucian’s assistant; Patrice and the girls at the salon; Raphael and the others who worked in the kitchen of the hotel; Tamara, her old general manager; Nick, from Clemons; Parker; Isadora; Dr. Sheffield; Jason, her tutor; several people Lucian introduced her to at events; and even one bouquet from Slade Bishop. She never felt so much affection and care.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “This is . . . incredible. How did they all know?”
“You’ve been sleeping for nearly two days. I had to let people know where I was and that I’d be unavailable for some time.”
“Why?”
“Evelyn, you just lost your mother. There’s no way I’d leave you at a time like this.”
“Lucian, where is Pearl? Dugan said—”
“Don’t worry about the details. A private service is scheduled for tomorrow. The arrangements are handled. I don’t want you to stress about any of that.”
“What kind of service? Like a funeral?” Her people didn’t have funerals. If they were lucky, someone identified them at the county morgue.
“Of course.”
More flowers came throughout the day. Evelyn remained quiet. She felt like an outsider looking in. The dragon had finally swallowed Pearl whole and Evelyn, selfishly, existed without purpose.
A nagging urge for motion teased at her nerves all day. She should be moving, thinking, going, but all she could manage was breathing. They watched a movie and when Lucian’s wrist started bothering him, she forced him to take the prescribed pain medicine Dr. Sheffield had provided. He was a terrible patient.
Her head rested upon his shoulder as he softly twirled the ends of her hair. Her foot was elevated on a delicate little pillow, and suddenly it was all funny. A jagged giggle escaped her throat and turned into a hiccup, which evolved to a full-on belly laugh.
Lucian twisted as much as his bruised ribs would allow and gave her a questioning look. “You okay?”
Covering her face with her palms, her skin heated. Why was she laughing? “I’m sorry. I know it isn’t funny. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
His expression slowly lifted with cautious concern. She was losing it. Her sides ached as giggles prattled from her mouth like champagne bubbles rising to the top. Sighing, she tried to get hold of herself, but the sigh burst into more inappropriate laughter.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing. Look at us. We’re a mess and my mom’s funeral is tomorrow. I think . . . I’m nervous.”
“Don’t apologize. Sometimes we just need to laugh. What are you nervous about?”
“I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. I don’t know what to do now.”
His brow knit. Soft purple flesh darkened and she sobered. He was hurt. Her laughter fell away like autumn leaves lost in the wind. She was hysterical.
“No one expects you to do anything, Evelyn. We all just want to see you get through this.”
“And then what?” she scoffed. “Then what, Lucian? I’ve never allowed myself to truly think outside of protecting Pearl. I’ve never left the city other than to visit the estate with you. I’ve never thought more than a day or two ahead. I don’t know how to let go of the weight that’s been on my shoulders since I was born.”
His dark eyes blinked as though he were contemplating her outburst. Soft, sooty lashes, too pretty for a man, guarded those dark eyes that saw so much in her when the rest of the world merely looked through her. “Do you remember when I told you about the time I went to the circus?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me a memory from your childhood, a time that you were happy.”
She stilled. Images of hardship and empty, faded memories skated through her mind. “I don’t have any.”
“There has to be something,” he said quietly, waiting for her to offer up some vivid recollection of happier times.
She wanted to give him that. Needed to ease his mind before that sympathetic look in his eyes turned to pity. Should she make something up? He’d know if she were lying.
The truth was, the only happiness she ever felt was linked to him. The first time she slept on a real bed, the first time she ever properly bathed, her first fulfilling meal, all things most people took for granted she had never known until meeting him.
Then she thought of something. “When I was little . . .” she said quietly. “I must have been very young. I could walk and I was talking, so I guess I was around four or five. We were standing in a field, or it looked like a field to me at the time. I don’t really remember what buildings were around. I just remember the sky.”
His head cocked. “Why the sky?”
“It was a faded blue I’d never seen before, dull and cold. I’d never seen it like that before. The air had a strange metallic scent to it, not like the tang of rain or the heaviness before a storm. This was different, lighter. Pearl was there, but she must have been preoccupied because I only recall her presence, nothing about what she was doing.
“There was this unfamiliar current, like a soft whisper that gets your attention faster than any scream. I looked up and the sky was swabbed with white cotton. The clouds were soft but impenetrable, and there was an eddy of gray just above us. I thought if I found a branch long enough I could pop those bloated gray billows. And then something amazing happened.”
“What?”
“Soft, drifting flakes began to fall from the sky. It was like God was sprinkling the world with sifted sugar. What I saw as ominous suddenly became enchanted. I watched them fall, each one taking a slow journey down to Earth, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It wasn’t rain. It wasn’t ash. It smelled pure and looked so pretty. I should’ve been scared, but I wasn’t. When one landed on my arm I gasped. Ice in the shape of a star. I called my mom, but it melted before she saw.
“I was too young to conceive how something so small and delicate could amount to something so . . . consuming. I realized, over time, that snow was like a blanket of white death for people without shelter, but in that moment it was just magic being sprinkled from the sky.”
They were silent for a long moment. “You’ve never left the city.” It was a statement. He knew she hadn’t other than their short trips to his country home. “I want to show you things, Evelyn. I want to see that look in your eyes like when you saw your first snowfall. I want to be there for all your firsts.”
“You have been,” she whispered.
He nodded. “I want to be there for all of them. There are so many more.”
“I haven’t done much. I could never stray far because Pearl always pulled me back. She was the anchor I carried. It’s scary letting her go. Sad, like a balloon cut from its string. I’m afraid I’ll just float away.”
His fingers twined with hers. “I won’t let you.”
She snuggled into his side. The movie was over and neither of them seemed to care. He had a nick on his knuckle from the fall. She lifted his strong hand and kissed it. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
She thought about the snow. It was the first peaceful memory she’d had in days. After several quiet minutes, Lucian asked, “If you could go anywhere, see anything, what would you want to see?”
Her world had always been so small, the mote in the eye of a giant. Lucian’s world was limitless. He was the giant.
She wanted to experience everything, but never dared to hope for more than she was due. Perhaps she was owed something great. “I’d like to see the ocean.”
He smiled. “Then that’s where we’ll start. I think we need to get away for a while. Your lessons will be here when you return.”
For the first time she agreed with him. Her lessons would be there. She could take a break and return to her education. “What about your job?”
“That’s the glory of being the boss. I can leave whenever I want. Tomorrow, after the funeral, we’ll run away, just the two of us. And we won’t stop until the ocean’s at our toes.”
Something warm unfurled inside of her. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was hope. But it was comforting and exciting and big. It was the tingle she felt in her heart whenever she was around Lucian.
***
It seemed appropriate that it rained the day Evelyn said good-bye to her mother. Tears from heaven clung to the tinted glass of the limo as they drove out of the city. Evelyn hadn’t asked where they were going. She hadn’t said much of anything since waking up that morning.
Funerals were something she’d only seen from afar, cars snaking through crowded city streets, people dressed in colors of mourning. She wasn’t sure why people celebrated death, or perhaps they were celebrating life. Pearl hadn’t lived a life of greatness and she hoped it would all be over soon.
Lucian seemed to think this was something she needed. Maybe he was right. Her world was small, filled with only a handful of people. Pearl had been there from the beginning, and losing her was like saying good-bye to a part of herself.
When they arrived at the estate, Evelyn was confused. Lucian didn’t offer explanations. He simply held her hand and gave her a comforting squeeze from time to time.
Dugan parked the car and greeted them with a somber nod. Other cars lined the long drive, and she hesitated when she realized they wouldn’t be alone. Lucian’s strength enveloped her as he guided her into the house.
Lucy, dressed in her maid’s uniform, but with a black armband, opened the door and softly whispered her condolences. Evelyn’s shoes clicked over the marble tile and the silence struck her as odd. She knew they weren’t alone.
Beneath her sleeveless black wrap dress, her skin prickled. She didn’t want to see Pearl again. Her mother’s lifeless eyes had haunted her for days, and Evelyn just wanted to forget. They approached a set of French pocket doors that led to another den, and Lucian turned to her.
“Are you ready?”
She hadn’t known what to expect so there was no way to prepare. She nodded and he slid the doors open; the soft whisper of aged wood and gears wasn’t loud enough to bring her back to earth.
She turned and sucked in a breath. In front of the large paned window was a polished coffin. The wood was dark and glossy. Brushed pewter rails ran along the trim. Her eyes devoured the detail of the casket so as not to see the body lying inside. There was no one else in the room.
He took her hand and helped her cross the threshold. With each step, her world closed in. The walls fell away and her vision shimmered. Where was Pearl?
They stopped walking and she realized it was because she was crying. Lucian gave her a few moments and then, drawn, like a butterfly to a bloom, she stepped closer to see the woman before her. No, it was not Pearl. It was her mother.
Gone were the lines of time and marks of tension in her face. Her skin appeared slightly flushed, vibrant in a way that Evelyn didn’t recognize. Her hair was done and her lips held a serene pose. Her fingers were clean, and wrapped in her palm was a beaded crucifix more valuable than anything her mother had ever held.
Evelyn’s lips parted as she took in this image of the woman who raised her. She was dressed in a divine pink suit. An ivory blanket covered her feet. She looked like a sleeping angel. She looked . . . peaceful.
Her fingers trembled as she slowly reached to touch her. A gasp echoed in her ears as the coldness beneath her fingers penetrated her foggy mind. She looked so young. This was how she should have appeared in life, Evelyn decided. It was astounding, how happy seeing her mother this way made her. Never before had she seen Pearl at rest, she realized.
For as difficult as Evelyn’s life had been, Pearl’s was as well. She’d fought every day against a monster no one else could see. The monster had won, but perhaps this was Pearl’s victory. Rest. Eternal, uninterrupted rest.
“There is an ancient Chinese belief,” Lucian said quietly. “That when dragons collide, pearls fall from the sky.”
A dragon had destroyed her mother, and now she looked like a fallen angel. “Thank you for doing this for me,” she whispered through tears.
He squeezed her hand. “If you’re ready, the others will join us.”
Again, she wasn’t sure what to expect. She nodded silently.
Lucian left her with her mother and opened the pocket doors. Isadora was the first to enter. She stepped into the room with ethereal grace and came to Evelyn’s side. Her kiss was soft upon her cheek and her hands warm.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Evelyn.”
Evelyn nodded. Isadora’s perfect long fingers grazed Pearl’s hands, and she watched in awe as Lucian’s sister shut her eyes as though praying for a woman she never met. It was strange, seeing someone mourn for Pearl, but that is what they all did.
One by one, guests entered the den and paid their condolences. Toni, Jamie, Parker, Nick, the girls from the salon . . . it was surreal to see these people in Lucian’s private home. There were no rivalries or politics in those moments, only grace.
After everyone came through to offer his or her sympathy, Isadora returned. She whispered to Lucian and then came up to Evelyn and smiled sadly. “When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting in the hall.”
Ready for what? Evelyn looked to Lucian as Isadora turned away and quietly shut the doors. “It’s time to say good-bye,” he said softly.
Something protested inside her. It was a little girl waiting for her mom, the one who never gave up hoping she’d someday come around. Blinking back tears, she soothed the child who lived in her heart and finally admitted this was how it had to be.
Leaning over the casket, her lips pressed into her mother’s cool cheek. “I love you, Momma. I always will.”
Lucian walked her to the doors and Isadora waited quietly. “I’ll be with you soon. Go with my sister,” he said.
She didn’t want to part from him, but allowed Isadora to take her hand and lead her away. They walked through the house and came to the back door, facing the gardens and pool.
“Here, put these on,” Isadora said, handing her a pair of dainty black flats.
Evelyn did as she was told and followed Lucian’s sister out into the balmy air. The rain had stopped and the sun gave breath to the ground as it steamed. The earth was soggy beneath her feet as they stepped off the cobblestone path.
In the distance, over a knoll of emerald blades of grass, she spotted the silhouettes of people waiting. There was a willow tree luffing in the stiff breeze, and the heavy scent of lilacs filled the air. Isadora held her hand as they climbed the hill.
When they reached the top, she realized where they were. Beneath the tree stood a stone carved with angels. She couldn’t read the engraved writing, but knew the grave belonged to Lucian’s mother. This was where Pearl would forever rest.
The somber faces of those who’d come into the den smiled softly, but not everyone was there. The men were all absent except for one she didn’t recognize. From somewhere in the distance pipes began to play, and her heart raced with unsure expectancy.
Cresting the hill, several figures came into view, suited black silhouettes of strength. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Lucian. Behind him were Shamus, Parker, Nick, and Slade. They were carrying her mother’s casket.
When they reached the top, the casket was placed within a nest of flowers, and Lucian relieved Isadora of her duties. His hand curled around hers as he stepped close. The man she hadn’t recognized began to speak.
“God our Father, Your power brings us birth, Your providence guides our lives, and by Your command, we return to dust . . .”
Evelyn listened but did not hear what was being said. The sense of losing someone she never had was peculiar and difficult to comprehend. Relief that this was where she would always be, only a short walk away from where she sometimes slept, struck her like an unfamiliar comfort that eased the unending search her life had been conditioned to perform. She’d be safe, blanketed in the belly of the earth, a garden for flowers to grow. There’d be no time, only peace. And for the first time ever, Evelyn let her worries for her mother go.
A rose was placed in her hand. Lucian led her to the casket. She could read the word engraved in the plaque. It simply said Pearl. There was a solitary white mollusk embedded in the pewter above her name. It was breathtaking.
They placed their flowers on the casket and walked away in silence. The scent of lilacs imprinted on her mind. They were Lucian’s mother’s favorite, and every year her mother would now share in their beauty, as they’d come to bloom. Strange that Pearl had been gifted the same standard of rest as a woman like Mrs. Patras.
The guests didn’t return to the house with them. Evelyn had no concept of time. A meal was set for only the two of them on the terrace in the gardens. Her fingers picked at her food, but no taste touched her tongue. Lucian watched her but said very little.
He was right. She needed this closure and embraced the sad peace that came in its wake. Losing Pearl was like breaking away from who she had always been. She was a tired balloon cut from its string, floating on to places untold. But Lucian would be there with her, always, making sure she never floated alone.
***
The limo pulled onto the airstrip, and Evelyn’s face went numb. The jet was the size of a two-story house. “This is yours?”
He smirked as he gazed at his oversized toy. “All mine.”
Her stomach flipped and continued to teeter. He wasn’t kidding when he said he would be showing her many firsts. In a few minutes she would be leaving earth and rocketing through the sky at God knew how many miles an hour.
As they stepped onto the tarmac, the pavement was hot beneath her sandals. Dugan loaded their luggage on a cart, and Lucian clasped her hand. “Ready?”
Evelyn hesitated. Birds flew. People walked. These were the facts of life. “Um . . .”
Taking her other hand, he drew her close and kissed her softly. “It will be fine, Evelyn. My pilot has over thirty years’ experience under his belt, and I not only trust him with my life, I trust him with yours.”
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so intimidating if it weren’t so large of a jet. How did a thousand tons of metal just float through the air? She licked her lips nervously. She could do this. This was her first big step—well, more of a leap—in her plan to experience new things. The world was her oyster. Whatever that meant.
They climbed the steep set of stairs jutting out of the belly of the plane, and she gaped at the luxury awaiting them on the inside. Butter-colored leather and polished wood dominated the cylindrical space. Windows were adorned with dainty navy blue curtains. Seats were arranged aesthetically for conversation or dining.
Cool air pumped into the cabin. She’d seen the inside of an airplane on television. This was not a plane. This was a flying mansion.
“Our room’s back here,” Lucian said, carrying their smaller bags through the door.
She followed him. Yup, it was an actual bedroom. Against a wall, the king-size bed was made up with soft accent pillows. Two swivel chairs sat adjacent on the other wall, with a small glass table in between.
“Watch this,” he said, smirking like a young boy. He really did love his toys. He typed in a code on a small hidden panel, and the wall began to move. She jumped back and stared in awe as blue sky came into view.
The wall literally extended and lowered, forming a balcony on the side of the plane. Great. A plane with collapsible walls. It didn’t make her feel safer.
“Come see,” he said, taking her hand.
Reluctantly she followed. It was disorienting, being so high. The limo seemed to have shrunk. She stepped back in the plane and he chuckled.
“Can you close it back up now?”
He sighed at having his fun spoiled. After pressing a few buttons, gears shifted and the wall rose, locking back into place.
“Is it locked?” she asked nervously.
“Yes, Evelyn. Relax. Let’s have a drink.”
They returned to the main area of the plane, and a flight attendant waited behind the bar. “Good afternoon, Mr. Patras. Can I get you a drink before takeoff?”
As Lucian ordered their beverages, Evelyn settled into a large upholstered chair. There was a long couch, but the chair seemed safer. Her fingers located the seat belt and buckled it, pulling the strap as tight as it would go.
Lucian tsked as he handed her a cool glass of something pink and fruity. “Are you planning on staying buckled the entire flight?”
“No,” she sassed. “Only for the parts when we’re in the air.”
He shook his head, but a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Drink your cocktail. It will calm your nerves.”
The alcohol went right to her head, and soon they were speeding down the runway. Her heart dropped into her ass as they left the ground, and she may have whimpered a few times. She also may have punctured the leather armrest with her fingernails. The sense of hurtling upward eventually evened out and she breathed again. Captain Hertkorn’s voice announced they were traveling at speeds Evelyn didn’t want to contemplate, and Lucian unbuckled his belt.
“Would you like another drink?”
She glanced at her glass, about to decline, and was shocked to see it was empty. “Okay.”
He pressed a button and the flight attendant returned. Where had she gone? Their drinks were replenished, and as Evelyn sipped her second fruity cocktail, she embraced its settling effects.
Lucian’s fingers traced over the back of her hand. “Come in the back with me.”
Her eyes widened. That would require unbuckling her seat belt. “I’d rather stay here.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Lucian, I’m a turbulent sneeze away from wetting myself. I suggest you let me stay in my seat.”
He reached over and clicked the button on her buckle. Her breath caught. Leaning in, he swept her hair off of her shoulder and slowly kissed her neck. “Nothing will go wrong. The captain will let us know if things are going to get bumpy. Now, come with me. I have great plans for the next hour, great, distracting plans.”
She rose on shaky legs and he led her to the bedroom. Her eyes immediately darted to the fall-away wall. Safety hazard! She jumped when his palm settled on her shoulders, tickling her skin beneath the straps of her tank top. His casted arm banded around her waist and tugged her close. He was already hard.
Warm kisses poured over her shoulders. He cupped her breasts through her shirt and slowly reached lower to undo the buttons of her jean skirt. “Your legs look amazing in this skirt. I’m going to start at your feet and kiss all the way to your sweet, pink pussy.”
Before her skirt fell to the ground, he clasped his palm over the denim and gripped the V of her sex. Her heart raced. She leaned her backside into his arousal and he growled in her ear. It didn’t take long for her to be thoroughly distracted.
***
Evelyn rolled to her back and sucked in a deep breath. Her body tingled from coming so many times. Lucian, who had indeed kissed every square inch of her legs and then some, toyed with her bare breasts. It was the first time they’d slept together since the accident, and they both seemed to have some pent-up energy to get out. The edge, at least, was off.
He reached to the floor and found his pocket watch. She laughed. “Are you timing yourself?”
He pinched her nipple. “No, smartass. I want to show you something.”
“Please don’t let it be another collapsible wall.”
He rolled to his side. When he grunted, likely from putting too much pressure on his ribs, she quickly sat up.
“I’m fine.” He eased off the bed and she had the urge to check his injuries, but he stayed her with an arrogant look that claimed he was invincible. “Here, put this on.”
He handed her a robe and she drew back, her face scrunching up in revulsion. “Why do you have two robes?”
He frowned and glanced at the robe, then back at her. Making a sound in the back of his throat, he said, “Because I ordered this one for you. Don’t be ridiculous, Evelyn. I have people who handle my planning to the last detail. This trip’s for you, for us. Nothing I give you will ever be secondhand.”
She relaxed, chastising herself for letting jealousy get the best of her for a moment. Her arms slipped into the wide kimono silk sleeves, and she tied the band under her breasts, then helped Lucian tie his since the cast kept getting in his way. He was impatient with his injuries. It was going to be a long few weeks.
He led her to the cabin and pointed to a small window. “Look.”
She hesitated, trying very hard to forget she was in a glorified tin can careening through the clouds. He gave her a stern look, telling her to just do it, and she eased toward the little window.
Between wisps of cotton candy clouds she saw a floor of cerulean blue and gasped. “Is that—”
“The ocean.”
“It’s so . . . blue.”
“The closer to the Caribbean, the more blue it gets. Next time you see it, your toes will be in it.”
Her face split with a genuine smile. She turned and kissed him, hugging him hard enough to make him grunt. “Sorry. I keep forgetting about your ribs.”
***
The landing was a little rough, but Lucian argued it was smooth. Bottom line, she was a terrible air traveler and hoped they wouldn’t be flying too much on their trip.
A limo awaited them, and she suffered a bit of homesickness for Dugan. The chauffeur, a tall man with skin the color of molasses, took their carry-on bags and introduced himself as Clarence.
The air was thick with humidity. Evelyn’s hair curled against her neck in tight little sweaty coils. Luckily, the limo was cooled and there were bottles of water chilled and waiting for them inside.
“Where are we going?” she asked once they were in the limo.
“You’ll see. Here, I want you to put this on.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black sash from her robe. Fun things always followed whenever Lucian blindfolded her, so she scooted close as he tied the sash over her hair.
“Can you see?”
“Nope.”
“Good.”
The drive took only a few minutes. They were soon exiting the vehicle, and she was again breathing the liquid air of Florida. Lucian carefully guided her steps. Their path changed from pavement to planks.
“I’m going to let go of you for a second. Stay still.”
She heard the tinkling of bells and people talking in the distance. Then there was a strange licking sound. They were by water. She breathed deep, tasting the salt air on her lips. “When can I open my eyes?”
“Not yet. Take my hand and step carefully.”
She had the sense of falling for a split second, but then her feet found purchase. Lucian led her up a somewhat steep and shaky slope, and her body teetered.
Another man greeted them, and Lucian made introductions. She couldn’t see whomever they were talking to, but she imagined him with tanned, sun-kissed skin. Moisture gathered in a slick tear that pooled between her breasts, and the sun heated her shoulders. She could sense each bit of cool shade they walked through.
The man eventually excused himself, and Lucian’s arms wrapped around her. “I can smell it,” she whispered, as the weight of his chin rested on her shoulder.
His voice was gravelly, relaxed, and she imagined him smiling. “What does it smell like?”
Breathing deep, she said, “Nothing I’ve ever smelled before. It’s wide-open, massive. The air tastes crisp, briny.”
His lips pressed to the sensitive curve of her neck. “So does your skin. Tell me what it sounds like.”
Her ears tuned out the distant chatter and soft rocking of boats. They were definitely on a boat, she decided, which was also a new experience. “It sounds . . . like secrets, deep, dark, and whispered.”
His fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, tracing soft swirls over the skin of her belly. He was arousing her with the slightest caress. His breath alone, as it echoed over the shell of her ear, was erotic. The balmy heat was moist, misting salt water over her sun-heated cheeks. She sighed and tilted her head back.
Strong fingers guided her hands to a railing and held them in place. She jumped at the roar of an engine. She amended her image of a boat to a big boat. “Do you own this boat?”
“I must insist you use the proper nautical terms so as not to offend my manhood. We’re on a yacht and yes, it’s mine.”
“Another toy,” she commented.
He nudged her backside with his hips. “I love my toys.”
The yacht moved and she swayed, her fingers tightening over the rail. “How much further?”
“Only a few minutes longer. Hold on tight.”
Her body lurched into his broad form, but she didn’t panic as badly as she did on the jet. So long as she was in his arms she was fine. Her hair whipped back as the yacht picked up speed. Moisture tickled her lips, and the temperate breeze went from stagnant to refreshing. Excitement, bottled up inside of her, came rushing out in bubbles of laughter. She was speeding over the ocean.
It was too overwhelming to speak. When the yacht slowed, there was more rocking, jostling, and eventually the motor was cut. A thrill of anticipation spiked up in her belly, tickling her smile with uncontainable joy.
“We’re here,” he whispered, lifting her arms from the rail.
Various voices called to Lucian, but he didn’t stop to talk to anyone for more than a second or two as she was blindly ushered away. His hand repetitively squeezed her fingers and she could tell he was excited too. They walked down a slope and onto another planked surface. It was quieter there than where they’d departed from.
Soft ripples made delicate splashing sounds. Waves sloshed at a soothing pace. She wanted to borrow their rhythm. It was hypnotic. Her and Lucian’s footsteps clanked along the planked path.
Lucian stopped and she halted. “Give me your foot.” He removed her sandal. “And the other one. Now step.”
She gasped as her feet sunk into soft sand. It was hot. Why hadn’t she expected that? Chills raced up her spine, puckering her skin in strange places. Her entire body responded to the unique sensation beneath her feet. Her toes wiggled and she laughed.
“It’s so soft.”
“Come on. There’s more.”
Treading through sand was different than walking over a smooth surface. Her leg muscles tingled with each step. He tugged her arm, cutting off the slack of his lead, and she abruptly stopped.
“Ready?”
She grinned. She could hear how close they were, feel the open breeze. “Ready.”
He took both her hands in his. Her fingers squeezed and brushed over the coarse plaster of his casted wrist. He pulled her forward and she sucked in a deep breath.
Cool water lapped at her toes, engulfing her bare feet, then licked at her ankles. He removed her blindfold, and light seeped through her lashes, causing a white glow. “Open your eyes, Evelyn.”
Her lashes flickered. It was . . . incredible. There was no world on the other side of the horizon, only impressive sea and endless sky. The sun hung like a burning piece of fruit in the clouds. She’d never seen anything so impressive.
“Oh, Lucian . . .” She shook her head. “It’s magnificent.”
“Not nearly as magnificent as your expression right now.”
They stood staring at the ocean for a long while. Eventually, they stripped off their clothes and waded into the surf. Lucian assured her their privacy was secure, as the crew had already departed the island on a smaller craft.
White, salty kisses marked her skin. Tiny urchins raced under the glass surface. Lucian could only wade out so far because of his cast, but he laughed as she dove under the waves. Euphoria surrounded her as much as the weightless water. She was a mermaid, falling through the silky waves and piercing the surface, her body buoyant and free.
Once she was sufficiently waterlogged, they lounged in the sand, the sun drying their skin. Imprints of broken shells and grit beveled her thighs. She leaned into Lucian and kissed him long and slow.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Of all the things you’ve ever given me, I think this is my favorite.”
He smiled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. As he looked out to the horizon, his eyes crinkled and she knew he was happy. So was she.
***
The house was amazing. White cotton-covered windows waved gossamer sails rather than screens, and doors were never closed. They spent their days walking the private beach, making love wherever they pleased, and napping in hammocks under the shade of the tall palm trees. Lucian carved a coconut and she sipped the milk right from the fuzzy shell. It was a magical escape, better than the pages of any book read to her before. This fantasy was reality.
On the morning it rained, they remained tucked away in the bungalow, wrapped in their own slice of heaven. She recollected tales of Robinson Crusoe and whispered remembered adventures to Lucian as the soft rain pelted the open sills. His fingers never left her.
Languid days folded into unforgettable nights. The world was far away, and the untouchable sanctuary they’d found was catalogued in her mind as the sweetest fairy tale she’d ever known.
One evening, after making love in the surf as the sun bowed brilliantly behind the horizon, they rested on the cool sand, wrapped only in a blanket of stars. Uncountable white stars winked through the inky canopy of night, and she considered never returning to the city again.
“We could live here?” she whispered in his ear, her fingers slowly combing through his sea-scented hair.
“We could,” he agreed on a contented sigh.
“Would you miss the city?”
“So long as I was with you, there isn’t much I could miss.”
She smiled softly. “Sweet talker.”
They curled closer as the breeze chilled their skin. Soft ripples of the never-ending waves whispered over the sand beneath the hushed motion of the palms.
“Lucian?”
“Yes.”
“What’s going to happen with your deal? With Parker?”
He sighed and she waited as his eyes took in the fathomless sky. “When life announces its fleeting presence, things are sometimes thrown into perspective.” His hand coasted over her shoulder, its weight a comforting presence. “I spoke to Parker the day after we found Pearl. He said, when you lost it after I fell, he realized the way you loved me would never equal anything he could make you feel for him. It was never about force with us, Evelyn. It was always about surrender.
“There’s an old saying, that if you love something, you must let it go. He said he could never let you go completely, but he cares for you enough to let you be happy.”
“You make me happy,” she whispered.
His lips pressed into her temple. “I’m glad, because, for as much as I love you, I don’t believe I could ever let you go. My only choice is to keep you happy for the rest of your life so you never want to leave.”
She remembered that horrible afternoon when she’d thought she lost it all. “He made me go with you. He said you needed me and I was so afraid, but he made me go.”
“As brave as I pretend to be, Evelyn, I’m glad he did. Seeing you in that house before all hell broke loose, knowing your mother was gone, I was terrified. All I’ve ever known is how to lead. I’ve always protected those I loved, because my father never did. But when I fell, I was helpless. My last thought was you. Being helpless to protect you is my greatest fear. I can only protect you when you’re safely by my side. Not having you there is the worst torture I’ve ever known.
“In my mind, when he insisted you go to me, he surrendered. Men are made of pride. That wasn’t easy for him, but it was the right thing to do and in doing so, he earned my respect. That’s something Parker Hughes never had before.”
“But what about what he’s doing with the company you want?”
He chuckled. “I have a hundred companies, Evelyn. There’s only one of you. He can have them all if that’s what it takes.”
She sat up, her hair pooling over his chest as she looked into his eyes. “But you put a year into that deal.”
“And it will be a great boon to your friend. He’ll get the security he’s been searching for, the confidence he never had, and I’ll get the rest of my life with you. Sometimes victory is won by surrendering something great. And in surrender, we unburden ourselves so clarity can come through. We’re all just men hiding behind curtains and impressive toys, Evelyn. He can have whatever trinket validates his struggles, but he’ll never have your heart. That’s mine. I’ll surrender everything, except for you.”
She kissed him. Her heart overflowed with emotions there were no words for. As the chill of night subsided and their skin heated, he carried her to the bungalow and they made slow, sweet love. His proclamation that he’d sacrifice all in order to hold on to her heart was the most selfless vow she’d ever been given.
Every doubt she’d ever harbored, every condition she’d ever entertained, it all fell away as he showed her how much she truly meant to him. She had no riches to give, no companies to sacrifice or grand gestures to measure how much he meant to her. All she ever had, the one coveted part of her soul she protected above all else, was her heart. But it no longer felt like hers. She’d given it to him long ago and she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he would protect it above all else. Always.
They stayed on the island for seven days and seven nights. By the time they left they were both a warm shade of brown, toasted and freckled in a way she’d never been before. Her body and mind was so relaxed, the anxiety she suffered on the flight there was absent as she boarded the plane.
“I’m sad to leave,” she said staring out at the runway just before takeoff.
“We can come back whenever you’d like.”
“Tomorrow?”
He laughed. “Tomorrow I suspect you’ll be in love with our next destination.”
Her mouth pulled into a smile. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Their second flight was much longer than the first. When they exited the plane, she had no idea where they were. It was chilly and the air smelled of fresh rain and wood; gone was the briny trace of ocean. When their new chauffeur greeted them, Evelyn couldn’t understand him. He spoke to her several times before she realized he was speaking a very heavily accented English, interspersed with expressions she’d never heard before.
“I can barely understand him,” she whispered to Lucian.
“You’ll get used to it. All Irishmen have thick accents, but your ears will adjust.”
“We’re in Ireland?”
“What better place to show you the breadth and scope of the mountains? Welcome to Carlingford.”
Ireland was stunning. There were so many novel shades of green. The locals were lovely. They made new friends every night, laughing over pints at various local pubs. She laughed harder than she ever remembered laughing in her life. Lucian was at ease and she adored this freer side of him.
There was never time to be hung over, because before she knew it she was drinking again. Beer did funny things to her. It made her fearless.
One evening they were at a small pub, and the locals took turns singing. None were particularly good, but it was all in fun, until Lucian insisted she give it a shot, that is.
“I am not going up there.”
“Have you ever sung in public?” he asked, brow arched in challenge.
“I’ve never sung, period.”
“Well, this entire trip is about trying new things. What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know any songs.”
“That’s not true,” he argued.
She honestly didn’t know any songs well enough to sing. “Uh, yeah, it is.”
He shook his head and stood, a devilish gleam in his eye. He approached the three-man band and whispered something to them. The men discussed and nodded in unison.
Lucian went to the microphone and said, “I’m here with a beautiful woman tonight, but she’s being a little shy. You see, I promised her I’d help her experience everything she never tried before. It just so happens she’s never sung. She knows a song, but may need some help. Who’s up to helping her?”
The rowdy patrons cheered and lifted their mugs in the air. There was no hiding from their enthusiastic calls. Slowly she rose, shooting him a glare that promised retribution, and went to the stage. When Lucian tried to step down, she dug her fingernails into his arm. “Oh, no. You’re not leaving me.”
The man on the guitar began to play. She panicked when she didn’t recognize the song. She knew she wouldn’t!
Suddenly a man with a strange drum joined, and twinges of familiar rhythms flickered in her brain. She recognized it . . . sort of.
“Shall we start you off, lass?” the guitar player shouted. She nodded and he grinned. When he sang, it only took a moment for her to place the song. “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip.”
Her mind prickled with recognition as her shoulders began to bob slowly to the cheery beat. It was her favorite television show! She jumped in, belting out the line about the mighty sailing mate and the brave skipper from that three hour tour.
The audience echoed back the chorus. “A three-hour tour!”
The music picked up and so did her energy. It was a rush, singing like that. The next verse was sung with much more verve. By the time they were calling out the characters, everyone was shouting along.
She grabbed the microphone and tugged on Lucian. “The millionaire . . .”
He tugged her back, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he stared into her. “And his wife . . .”
Heat pooled in her belly, full of excitement, at that look of promise in his gaze. A smile tugged at her lips, and her voice fell away as she stood suspended in his arms, paralyzed by his potent stare. The patrons finished the drunken rendition on their own. Slowly, he leaned down to press his warm lips to hers, and everyone else fell away.
As the last verse was sung, she was dipped back and kissed properly, in front of the entire crowd. “Here on Gilligan’s Isle!” They burst into applause and she blushed furiously.
After that night, Lucian never made mention of wives or marriage or anything else pertaining to wedding rings and the like. She was surprisingly disappointed, but still having the time of her life.
On their last night in Ireland, she watched the sun set over the mountains of Carlingford. Blushing clouds settled over the peaks as the sky faded from vibrant shades of burnt sienna to deep violet. She’d miss the simplicity of Ireland, but was anxious to see where Lucian would take her next.
As she suspected, life and work called on Lucian even as oceans separated him from the city of Folsom. He’d started using their quiet mornings to tend to business that couldn’t wait for their return. She didn’t mind, because he also set her up with an iPad that had an interesting program that let her videoconference with Jason.
Their online lessons were not as long, but just enough to keep her mind sharp. Jason would go over some examples, holding a notepad in front of the screen, and then she would complete her assignment in the workbook she packed. Lucian looked over her work and was impressed with how quickly she was learning.
Evelyn was surprised that they didn’t return to the jet when they left Ireland. They took a boat called a ferry, and then a train. She’d seen trains before, but never rode on one. Their next stop was England, and it was the most magical of all.
There were castles and villages hundreds of years old. It was as humbling as the ocean. Where the sea made her feel small in the presence of such unstoppable motion, England made her feel ordinary, lost in some span of countless time. Such emotions might not appeal to others, but they certainly appealed to her.
Her entire life, she only wanted to be ordinary. Lost among so much history made her feel exactly that. Ordinary. It also made her realize how fleeting their time on this earth was. Urgency rushed at her, tucked like a secret in those many still moments they found in England, and she wanted to embrace life and all of its greatness.
They’d taken a tour to Stonehenge, and it was there that she found something she never knew she wanted.
Her gaze locked on the impressive structures, wonder filling her as she tried to imagine the strong hands that had once placed them there, hands that belonged to hearts that loved and minds that held memories of their own.
“Do you think this is magic?” she asked, taking in the open space untouched by passing time.
“The stones?” Lucian asked.
“No. All of it.” Her hand swept out over the encompassing distance. Waves of green rolled over the hillsides. There was so much immeasurable beauty and nature. It was so different than the structures she’d grown up under in the city. The impressive skyscrapers of Folsom, crafted by visionaries and demigods, paled in comparison to this impressive creation.
This openness was God’s work, and no man could ever encompass such magnificence. Perhaps that was why these stones were so notable. They didn’t try to overcompensate or compete with what already existed. They simply rested humbly in the presence of the greatness that already was.
“No, not magic, traces of history left untouched.”
“Do you believe in God, Lucian?”
He took a long while to answer. “I believe there’s something that created all this. But I’m not sure if I believe in a being that watches over us.”
Her gaze went to the clouds rolling in the distance. “I actually spent a lot of time in churches. Sometimes, going to church was the only way to keep warm. People think every religion’s different, but if you really listen, they’re all teaching the same thing.”
“What are they teaching?”
“Be kind. Be good. Be humble.”
His arm draped over her shoulder. He pulled her close and kissed her temple. “You humble me, Evelyn.” He squeezed her shoulder.
***
They’d been traveling for three weeks. The mansion in England was breathtaking. She found Lucian reviewing travel plans the evening before they departed, and she knocked softly on the study door. “Lucian?”
He grinned, plucking his reading glasses from his nose. “I thought you were in bed.”
“I was.” She slipped into the room and he pulled her onto his lap. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Something on your mind?”
“Are we returning to the States tomorrow?”
“Yes, but not to Folsom.” She wrung her fingers and he stilled her hands. “Did you want to see something else before we left?”
She took a deep breath. He’d showed her so much while in Europe, but there was one place he never mentioned and one person she’d like to meet. “I thought it would be nice to visit Paris.”
He stiffened. “Just Paris?”
She turned in his lap and gripped his face with gentle hands, her eyes pleading. “He’s your father, Lucian. You said he was ill the last time you visited. We’re in Europe. Why not just make the trip?”
His expression was unreadable. When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’d like to meet him.”
“You’ll be disappointed.”
“I might surprise you. My expectation of parents is astoundingly low.”
He laughed without humor. “My father isn’t a nice man.”
“Maybe he’s changed.”
“He hasn’t.”
She sighed. “Lucian, there is so much I wish I could have showed Pearl. Those moments to wish are over now. Don’t let them slip away from you too. It isn’t him you’ll be punishing. You’ll be the one outliving him and it will be your regret to bear, not his. Let me meet your father.”
His chest rose as he drew in a slow breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to stay more than a day.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
As his lips banished her grin, his hands slithered under her robe. She giggled and pressed her thighs together. “Open for me,” he commanded against her lips.
Her thighs slowly parted and his fingers slipped inside her heat. She arched, hands tightening over his shoulders. His mouth trailed down the narrow column of her throat and found her breasts. Soon they were naked on the floor, equally satisfied and breathing heavily, all thoughts of the days to come vanishing in the presence of their priceless now.
***
Lucian was acting strange as the limo rode through the streets of France. She’d never seen him behave that way before. It took her longer than it should have to realize he was nervous. She wanted to put him at ease.
“You have a hotel here, right?” she asked, hoping to distract him.
“Yes.”
“Does it look the same as the one in Folsom?”
“It’s bigger.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you have a penthouse you keep there?”
“No. I rarely come to France anymore.”
She was silent. Her mind worked to think of a neutral topic. “Have you spoken to your sisters?”
“No. I should probably call.”
“Do you think Jamie and Toni will get married?” she blurted.
He squinted at her. “Are you trying to stress me out?”
“No, just asking.”
His legs shifted in his seat as he fidgeted with his tie. It was the first time since they left the States that he’d dressed up. It was a show of power.
“I don’t know,” he said after a long contemplative moment.
She frowned. “Don’t know what?”
“About Shamus and Antoinette. I don’t see it, but then again, my sister always seems to get what she wants, and she’s always wanted Shamus.”
He picked up her hand and his finger brushed over the knuckle of her ring finger. She wondered if he’d ever propose again. “We haven’t played chess in a while,” she said, remembering how he’d asked her.
“The last time I played, I lost.”
“Perhaps you should try again.”
“Perhaps.”
The limo turned onto a rounded stone driveway, and an old mansion came into view. He sucked in a deep breath and sat more stiffly. “Brace yourself. Claudette will likely squeeze the life out of us.”
“Who’s Claudette?”
“My father’s maid.”
The car slowed to a stop and the chauffeur opened the door. Evelyn climbed out and stretched. Lucian paid the driver and took their bags. They climbed the stone steps and he rang the bell.
A female voice sang a French greeting and the door opened. If this was Claudette, Evelyn loved her on the spot. She was short, round, soft and gray haired. Her face drooped, eyes wide, as her mouth fell open. “Lucian!”
“Hello, Claudette.”
“What . . . what are you doing here?” Her accent was thick.
“This is Evelyn Keats. We were in England and decided to visit.”
Claudette stared at Evelyn and back at Lucian. She rapidly shot off words in French that sounded as if she were praying. “My goodness, you have a woman!”
Lucian smiled. The maid trilled and lunged, her arms gobbling him up in a hug. Her small form somehow engulfed his towering body, and Evelyn grinned. He laughed and the maid released him. “What is this?” she demanded, pointing to his cast.
“That’s nothing, a small accident. It will be coming off in another week or two.”
She tsked and suddenly Evelyn’s face was being pinched between chubby fingers that smelled of pastry. “And let me look at you, mademoiselle. Oh, you are quite lovely. You must be charming too, to capture garçon’s heart.”
As the maid threw her arms around her, Evelyn whimpered. They were relieved of their bags and bustled into the house. “Your father is resting. Shall I wake him or would you like to settle in first?”
“We’ll settle in upstairs first.”
“Oui,” she said. “You can use the room you stayed in last time. Will that do, garçon?”
“That will be fine,” said Lucian, his voice level.
The maid’s speech volleyed between French and English, sometimes using both languages in one sentence. It was overwhelming. When Lucian switched to French, something inside of Evelyn quivered.
As they carried their bags up the stairs, she admired the banister. The house was old, like Lucian’s home in Carlingford, and Evelyn was strangely homesick for Ireland. Who would’ve thought she’d ever have a right to such emotions when she never had a home?
She followed Lucian down a wide hall and he opened the door to a bedroom. The furniture was made of thick, dark wood. The smaller pieces perched on ball-and-claw feet. The bed was adorned in dark velvet drapes pulled back at the four posts, and a chair and ottoman sat in front of the empty fireplace.
He placed their things on the bed. There wasn’t much. Lucian had the majority of their clothes delivered to the jet. “You know,” she said, shutting the door. “It’s very sexy when you speak French.”
He quirked an eyebrow and looked at her over his shoulder. “N’est-ce pas?”
She smiled. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“Alors peut-être que vous pourriez enlever vos vêtements.”
Her body reacted, coiling and heating low in her belly. She laughed. “What did you say?”
He removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. “I said, ‘is that so?’ Then I said, ‘Perhaps it would help if you took off your clothes.’” His fingers plucked at the light cardigan she wore over her dress.
Her lips pulled to the side, hiding her smile. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I usually am,” he whispered, pulling off the cardigan and dropping it to the floor.
***
Evelyn’s fingers went numb as they walked to the den. Lucian knocked briskly and opened the doors. Evelyn took a deep breath and followed him in.
Lucian’s father, a tall and remarkably handsome older man, stood. “I could barely believe my ears when Claudette told me you were here. And with a woman no less.”
“Hello, Christos. This is Evelyn Keats.”
Christos Patras nodded with little evidence of affection towards his son. His hair was white as silver fox fur. He turned to Evelyn, and she watched his unapologetic, dark eyes move over her appraisingly. “Keats. That isn’t a name I’m familiar with.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Patras. And no, my name doesn’t mean much.”
“Who are your parents?”
“Dad.” Lucian’s tone was sharp and warning.
His father waved him off. “Calm down, Lucian. I’m only curious. This is a long way from Folsom. I imagine you’d only bring a woman here if she meant something to you.” He turned back to Evelyn. “Are you in love with my son or his money?”
She bristled. His question was rude and took her by surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“We may be a continent away, but we still get the news from home. I’ve seen your picture. I’ve read the stories. I’ve never been one for beating around the bush, so I figured I’d give you the courtesy of answering for yourself.”
“That’s just it, Mr. Patras, the only person I answer for, and to, is myself. If you want to know my intentions, I suggest you take the time to get to know me and make a decision on your own. That’s the kind of man you are anyway. Am I correct? Words only hold a small value next to your instinct.”
Lucian sniggered.
“She’s feisty,” Mr. Patras said to his son. “You’ll have your hands full.”
Lucian said something in French. His father’s brows lifted and he replied quickly, also using French.
Lucian looked his father in the eye and simply said, “Oui.”
She cleared her throat and mumbled to Lucian. “Not sexy anymore. What did you just say about me?”
He didn’t answer, and now his father was really studying her. “I see,” Mr. Patras said. “Well then, the pleasure is all mine, Ms. Keats.”
He shook her hand and she hated that he might feel her fingers trembling. “You can call me Evelyn.”
“And you may call me Christos. Shall we have coffee?”
They settled into soft upholstered chairs that were too dainty and feminine for both men. Claudette brought in a tray of biscuits, and coffee in a polished silver kettle. She smiled sweetly at Evelyn and quickly bustled out of the room.
“So tell me, Evelyn, are the stories true? Did my son take advantage of you?”
She stilled, her biscuit suspended between her mouth and her tiny plate. “What?”
“You’ve read the rags, haven’t you? Your age is a mystery. And then there was one rumor that you had a child in grade school. Are you a mother?”
“Christos, stop with the inquisition.”
“I don’t read the tabloids,” she said, hiding her discomfort.
“Good girl,” Christos commented, sounding so much like Lucian. “And the child? Are you a mother?”
“No. I have no family.”
“How very . . . simplistic for you.”
Lucian ran a hand over her knee. “Only you would see it that way,” he said with dry acceptance.
“Indeed. So what brings you to Europe?”
“Lucian wanted to show me the mountains.”
“Evelyn’s never been outside of Folsom.”
Christos cocked his head. “Really?”
The questions were growing tedious. She decided to put an end to them so that she could actually get to know Lucian’s father and perhaps show Lucian something new. They only had a short time in France.
Placing her plate on the table, she faced the older man. “Christos, I also don’t beat around the bush, so here’s the truth of the matter. I have nothing. I’ve never had anything beside a name. Your family’s financial situation overwhelms me. I’m not capable of measuring such wealth and, while I’m a realist enough to know it’s impressive, it’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I just lost my mother, who happened to be the only parent I ever had. She disappointed me more than she ever made me proud, and I hate that I was never lucky enough—in my entire life—to have a conversation with her not weighted with resentment or necessity.”
He was silent for a long moment. After clearing his throat, he said, “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”
“Thank you.”
He sighed. “You’re a smart girl.”
“Smart enough to know that no amount of poverty or wealth erases a child’s desire for a parent’s approval, their friendship, and love. It takes effort, and one person’s determination isn’t always enough. Your son is one of the most resolute men I’ve ever met, but even he doesn’t have the power to fix your relationship unless you want to fix it as well.”
Both men wore expressions of discomfort and averted their gazes. She stood. “I’m suddenly tired. Why don’t you stay and talk with your father for a bit while I lay down, Lucian?”
“Evelyn.” Lucian’s tone was laced with warning.
She kissed him and whispered, “I never had a dad. I’d like to know what that feels like.”
His eyes narrowed and she turned away, quickly leaving the room. Her heart raced as she slid the doors closed, waiting for him to storm after her, but he never did. She paused on the other side of the door and listened as the rumblings of words finally came. Sighing with a smile, she turned and stilled.
A woman with dark black hair and striking eyes watched her from a few feet away. She asked something in French and Evelyn shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t speak French.”
“You are the woman who brought Lucian here?”
“Yes. I’m Evelyn.”
She held out her dainty hand. “Bonjour, Evelyn. I am Tibet.”
Ah, the mistress. She shook her hand. “Thank you for letting us stay.”
“Christos’s children are always welcome here, although they never come. It is a surprise to see Lucian twice in only a few months. He spoke to me about you during his last visit.”
That took her by surprise. “He . . . he did?”
She gestured to a door and Evelyn followed her. It was a room completely made of glass. The garden blooms created a whimsical splash of color on the walls. “I told him I knew he was in love.” They settled into wicker chairs cushioned with floral pillows. “He did not deny it. I told him not to waste time. His heart was clearly in the States.”
Was that what sent him back to Folsom before the supposed thirty days had passed? “I’m glad you told him that.”
“I also told him we fall in love with people who resemble our parents. I asked who you were most like, his mother or father.”
“I never met Lucian’s mother, and I only just met his father.” It was a strange comparison to make, but she was suddenly curious of the answer.
Tibet smiled sadly. Her fingers laced over her crossed legs as her gaze drifted. “She was a lovely woman, the kind of woman who was difficult to look at, because she was always so perfectly put together. But most of her beauty was inside. She had a grace about her that could not be mimicked. She was serene, angelic, and delicate.”
And this woman destroyed that woman’s family. Evelyn imagined Lucian’s mother and then looked at Tibet. She was dark, beautiful, and quietly dangerous, reminding Evelyn of a black widow spider, nothing like the description of Lucian’s mom. On the other hand, neither was she.
“She doesn’t sound like me.”
She smiled. “Then you are like Christos.”
Why did she have to be like either of them? “I don’t think so.”
“Really? Christos is brave. He has more fortitude in him than any person I know. No challenge is enough to make him quit without trying. Yet he is terrified of love. He resents having people close to him, because they become liabilities.”
She was speechless. That was her. Was that what drew Lucian to her? Was she a supplement for the unattainable love of his father? She frowned. “I’m not all that brave.”
Tibet tilted her head and studied her, a knowing smile on her painted red lips. “The tabloids can be quite harsh at times, but there is also some truth behind them. The media likes to paint the Patras family as better than everyone else. I know what it feels like to come up short in their comparisons.”
She resented being put in the same category as the woman who broke up a family. “I don’t waste my time with their assumptions.”
“Eventually you will come out with a statement.”
“Lucian says that’s up to me.”
“And what do you plan to say?”
This woman was indeed a spider. Evelyn didn’t appreciate the sticky sense of being caught in a web. She stood. “I haven’t decided yet. You read the tabloids. You’ll have to wait with the rest of the gossipmongers.”
Tibet stood and caught her arm. “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”
Evelyn stared down at the woman’s hand curling softly around her wrist. Lucian loved his mother and that made it difficult to care for Tibet. They’d definitely gotten off on the wrong foot. She stepped back, cutting all physical contact.
“I think you want to protect Christos the same way I want to protect Lucian. If Christos considers the people he loves a liability, and sees Lucian as a threat, it only proves that he loves his son. I’m glad. But they both have to own their mistakes for anything to change. Your husband taught Lucian everything he knows about being cold and calculating. We won’t stay long. He can either make this right or continue on the way things have always been. I asked Lucian to come here, but if I was wrong and he gets hurt, I’ll never push him toward his father again.”
A door slammed and they both winced. Tibet sighed. “Christos wants to love, but he doesn’t know how.”
“Does anyone? Excuse me.”
Evelyn left the garden room and knocked softly on the doors that led to the den. “Yes?”
It was Christos. She slid the doors open and sighed at the sight of his haggard expression. Lucian was gone.
“I suspect you’ll be leaving shortly,” he said.
She entered the room and settled into a chair. “You fought?”
He sighed. “It’s the only way we know.”
“Why?”
“Because that is the way it’s always been.”
Looking down at her knees peeking past the hem of her dress, she thought. “You know, my entire life, I never heard my mother say she loved me. I wasn’t quite sure what love was. I saw it as an obligation of attachment. When I met Lucian and, for the first time, actually fell in love, I hated it. It was inconvenient and messy and changed me in ways I wasn’t comfortable with.
“I denied my feelings, but he insisted the absence of words didn’t negate the truth of sentiment. I didn’t come around until I thought I lost him.” Her mind tracked back to those horrible nights she spent crying for him, hating how much he could hurt her. “He was right. I loved him. Saying so didn’t make the feelings any more true, and bottling them up did nothing to diminish how I felt.”
Christos watched her as she spoke. The resemblance between him and Lucian was perhaps what made her comfortable speaking to him so candidly. She went on.
“My mother was sick from the time I was born. Drugs. She was the only influence I ever had. There was plenty about her that I hated, but also plenty I adored. She taught me what not to be as much as she showed me how to survive. When you aren’t given certain things, it’s difficult to miss them. But after meeting Lucian, every time he told me he loved me, I realized, more than any object of value, that was what I wanted most. Love. I finally understood how starved I was for such tenderness. I wanted to hear those words from my mom, to just once know what it felt like to hear that she cared for me the way he did. I never did.”
“I see why Lucian cares for you. You’re a very intelligent young lady,” Christos said, and she lowered her gaze to hide the heat rising under her cheeks. His voice grew soft, barely audible. “I was not a good father.”
She gave him a moment for his words to settle in. There was no need to comment. The truth is what it is. She was glad when he went on.
“I’m proud of the man Lucian’s become, but if I told him that, he’d make some snide comment, discrediting the truth of my words.”
“We all have defense mechanisms. Nobody wants to be rejected, but love means putting yourself out there. Someone has to take the first step.”
“I suppose that should be me,” Christos commented, his dark eyes meeting hers.
“He loves you. I know he does. If he didn’t, the distance between you wouldn’t bother him so much. Hate does not negate love. Indifference is what you need to fear, but I promise you, Lucian is not indifferent toward you.”
They were quiet for several long minutes. “Do you intend to marry my son?”
If she hadn’t known Lucian as well as she did, she might have been put off by his father’s bluntness. “He has to ask.”
“I think,” Christos said quietly, “it would be a novel experience having a daughter I can talk to.”
She smiled. His compliment was simple and understated, but it gave her a great sense of accomplishment. She met his gaze as if there was an unspoken secret between them. “I think it would be nice to have the same in a parent.”
“That won’t be possible if Lucian forbids it.”
He was right. She wouldn’t speak to him if it meant hurting Lucian. Her first loyalty was to him. “You can make sure he doesn’t.”
They both turned as the door slid open. Lucian appraised the two of them, his eyes narrow and suspicious. “Evelyn. I ordered a car. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
Her heart sunk. “You said we could stay the night.”
Before he could answer, Christos stood. “I’d like to take the two of you to dinner. I know you made other plans, but . . . it would mean a lot to me.”
Lucian’s jaw ticked. She gave him a pleading look. “I’d like to stay.”
His eyes shut and his expression looked pained. “Very well. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
***
Dinner was an experience. The cuisine was much like the fare served at the hotel, being that the head chef at Patras was Parisian. Tibet and Lucian were silent for most of the meal, while Christos and Evelyn held up the majority of the conversation.
Several times she caught Lucian watching them, a perplexed look on his face. They didn’t talk about business. Rather, she spoke of their trip to Ireland and England and how much she loved the island off the coast of Florida.
Christos complimented her often and smiled with natural affection crinkling his eyes. It was a side, she believed, Lucian had never before seen in his father.
The ride home was filled with chatter. She often invited Lucian into the conversation, but he only offered up one-word statements. Tibet also seemed to watch them with a sort of disbelief.
Evelyn saw signs of that stubborn, determined Patras mentality, but compared to Lucian, Christos seemed like a big marshmallow. It was so blatantly obvious to her that this man, like his son, was desperate for the connections they’d denied themselves over the years. She was happy to bridge the gap and took great pride in the building connection she sensed between herself and Lucian’s father.
When they returned to the house, she was still tipsy from dinner and gripped Christos’s arm as their laughter echoed through the foyer.
“She’s a pistol, Lucian. Don’t let her go,” Christos laughed.
Lucian’s expression remained blank. “I don’t intend to.” His unaffected tone sobered them.
Evelyn turned to Christos and said, “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
He smiled, perhaps a bit sad to see it come to an end. “Anytime, my dear.”
She said good night and followed Lucian up to their room. When she shut the door, the tension was palpable. “Are you okay?”
He mumbled something and undid his tie. “You certainly won over my father.”
She stilled. “Does that aggravate you?”
“It will aggravate me when he does something typical and hurts your feelings. I know him. This act he’s putting on now isn’t real.”
“Why? Because it’s incongruent with the man you knew ten years ago? People change, Lucian.”
“Not him.”
She tossed her bag on the chair and stilled his hands over the buttons of his shirt. “Your father loves you, Lucian. He’s trying to show you, and you aren’t giving him the opportunity he needs.”
“Why should I give him anything?”
“Because you love him too, and this void between the two of you hurts.”
He sighed and shut his eyes. His forehead came to rest on hers. “How is it you see the parts of me I’ve spent my whole life successfully hiding?”
“Because I’m like you. Love is scary. But now that I know all the good things it can bring, I’ve changed my position and decided it’s worth the risk. Your father is not the enemy anymore, Lucian. Stop fighting him. Give him a chance before he’s gone. I’d hate to see you haunted with regret.”
His head tilted, and soft lips traced over hers. “I should strangle him for flirting with you.”
She drew back. “He was not flirting with me.”
“Oh yes, he was. It was like you put him under a spell. I only allowed it to go on because it was pissing off Tibet.”
She laughed. “I don’t get her. She’s . . . it’s like she loves your dad, but he’ll never love her back enough, not by her standards at least. And she knows it.”
“She’s got a lot to answer for. She’ll never be more than the woman who hurt my mother. I can tolerate her, but I’ll never see past that scarlet letter.”
Her fingers traced down his throat. “What now?”
The zipper at her back was dragged down and her dress peeled away. “I’m done with the family stuff for a while. Tomorrow we’ll have breakfast before we leave and I’ll make an effort to play nice so long as you remember which Patras you belong to.”
Her fingers brushed over the ridge in his pants. “Hmm, here I thought I belonged to myself. Maybe I need a lesson to remind me—”
His fist gripped her hair and tilted her head back. All words cut off as he pressed his lips to her jaw and nibbled to the soft skin behind her ear. Looking in her eyes, his fingers tightened. “You’re mine, Evelyn. Mine.”
His mouth closed over her in a total act of possession. Her fingers pulled at his shirt until he had her pinned beneath him on the bed.
Her clothes were ripped from her body. He spread her thighs and his eyes dilated, going completely black. “You’re soaked.” He grinned wickedly.
She gazed down at his now-naked body, all sinew and strength. His cock swelled, and with one deep thrust he was driving into her.
That night he took her completely, irrevocably, and she cherished the sensation of being so thoroughly owned.
***
Breakfast was cordial. Lucian made an effort not to close himself off, and Christos delicately tried to incite conversation. It was sort of precious, seeing two intimidating men struggle to become more than enemies. It would take time, but Evelyn was glad they’d made the trip. This was a big step in the right direction.
When their car arrived, Christos hugged her. “Don’t stay away too long, you hear?”
She patted his cheek. “You know you could come to Folsom too.”
Christos looked at Lucian, who was doing a remarkable job of acting like he hadn’t heard her suggestion. His father glanced back at her, “If we reach that point, I’d count it as a win.”
“Time,” she whispered and he nodded. “Thank you for having us.”
“You’re always welcome.”
Saying good-bye to Tibet was sort of like petting a cactus. She could be soft, but she also had the proven ability to draw blood. She doubted the Patras children would ever fully accept her, but their tolerance of her presence in their father’s life was perhaps enough.
As the car pulled away, Lucian rested his hand on her knee. “Do you think you’ll hear from him soon?” she asked.
“I don’t really know what I’d say if he called. This entire trip has been . . . a surprise.”
“Maybe he finally realizes what he’s been missing all those years away from you three.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you regret coming?” she asked, holding her breath.
“You know . . . I did, but now I’m not sure. It made me happy to see you two get along. My dad doesn’t say much as far as praise, but, the way he looked at you, it made me proud. I think he, in a way, was proud of me too.”