Sleep turned out to be an elusive beast that night.

Amid her tossing, turning, and replaying various scenes from her enchanted summer, Amanda recalled one of Vivienne’s killjoy remarks. It had been delivered four years ago, when Amanda’s friendship with Rob grew into something more.

“Enjoy your moment, my dear,” Vivienne had said, “but remember this: If a woman wants a man badly enough, she can usually get him to sleep with her. Whether she can get him to love her is a completely different story.”

Kes had loved her. And not just in the reasonable, merit-based way in which she’d loved Rob. Kes’s love was passionate and unrelenting. No one had loved her like that before.

No one had loved her, period.

Unlike the more suitable men, unlike Patrick and even her wonderful Rob, Kes knew her—really knew her—and still loved her. In image and in essence. In bed, in the company of other people, and in every trivial moment of daily life.

Who needed a suitable man when you had a man who felt that way about you? A man who was well aware of your flaws and weaknesses and still wanted to be with you. Wasn’t that the best kind of suitable? Actually, it was better than suitable. It was a rare blessing to be with a man who cherished you for who you were.

Indelicate—and candid.

Emotionally unintelligent—and never a bore.

Vain—and constitutionally incapable of hypocrisy.

Imperfect.

Amanda gave up trying to fall asleep, pulled a sweater over her pj’s, and wandered into the living room. There, she grabbed her phone from the charging pad and curled up in her roomy armchair. She absently turned and flipped the phone between her fingers.

God, she missed him. Did he miss her, too? Did he think of her sometimes, or had Clara’s striking beauty driven Amanda out of his heart?

On an impulse, she unlocked her phone and began to type.

* * *

Amanda.

Kes caught a glimpse of a slender blonde at the other end of the bar, and his world came to a standstill. He watched her back for a moment and then elbowed his way in her direction.

Please let her be Amanda!

But as he got close enough to catch a whiff of her heavy perfume, he knew the woman wasn’t Amanda. He approached her anyway, just to be sure.

The blonde surveyed him with interest.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you were someone else.”

He gave her an awkward smile and walked away.

Shit, shit, shit.

Déjà vu flooded his mind, as powerful as it was unpleasant. This exact situation had happened last week. In fact, it had happened five times over the last two months. On two separate occasions, each of the women he’d taken for Amanda came over a few minutes later, a seductive smile in her eyes. Both of them thought it had been his pick-up line. He nearly ended up sleeping with one of them but bailed at the last moment. It had felt too wrong.

Kes pulled out his phone and read Amanda’s text again. It had arrived several hours ago, and he could hardly focus on anything else ever since. He kept staring at the words she’d written and rereading the parts in all caps.

I MISS YOU SO MUCH.

So she wasn’t seeing that guy from the restaurant, Patrick. She wasn’t seeing anyone—she was missing him, the glitch. Did she miss him more than he missed her? Did she miss him enough to set all her objections aside? Enough to recognize how great they were together?

YOU ARE THE JOY OF MY LIFE.

Sweet Sara la Kali, those words. They messed with his brain and his free will. They pushed him to jump on the first plane to Paris, knock on Amanda’s door, and remind her just how much of a joy he was.

And then what?

Would she still tell him she didn’t see how they could have a lasting relationship? Did she still believe they belonged in different worlds? What if she’d written her message on a whim, in a lonely moment when her bed seemed too empty, or out of jealousy?

Everything she’d done during their Parisian summer—including a candlelit, hand-holding dinner with another man—pointed to the absence of deeper feelings. And yet, here he was, seeing her in strangers and wishing Clara had been more like her.

The young Gitane had followed him to Vegas, claiming they were almost engaged. He showed her the main attractions and then sent her back to France two days later with instructions to tell everyone she hadn’t found him. Clara had returned to her parents heartbroken, but still a virgin.

Silly, besotted kid.

Oh, and Marco had some serious explaining to do about giving her his number and helping her fund the trip.

What was he thinking?

Kes finished his wine and stepped out onto the crowded Las Vegas Boulevard, his mind stuck on the last line of Amanda’s text.

COME BACK TO ME!

By the time he reached his hotel, the entreaty had morphed into “Come home to me.”

Home?

As he kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed, a revelation struck him. He, Kes Moreno, now had one of those. It beckoned him from far away, and he responded to its call. For the first time in his life, he felt he belonged. It was disturbing . . . and yet deeply satisfying.

I have a home now.

His home wasn’t a country or a house.

It was a snooty, irresistible gadji named Amanda.

* * *