Shane hated being asked to leave.

First of all, Pernaud was about as slithery, as oily and manipulative, as a man could be, and he didn’t like the idea of Priscilla being alone with him.

Second of all, he didn’t like it that Priscilla hadn’t introduced him to Pernaud as her husband and wondered if there was a reason for it or if it just hadn’t been an organic addition to the conversation.

Third of all, he was jealous. Oh, man, he was so fucking jealous when he thought of them alone. She and Pernaud had made that baby together, and it ate him up inside to think of her doing the things with Pernaud that Shane and Priscilla had, this past summer, so lovingly experienced together.

He stomped down the stairs of her apartment and sat on the bottom step, feeling increasingly unsettled.

Was it possible that she’d welcome Pernaud back into her life? He was, after all, Kaitlyn’s biological father. What if he managed to convince Priscilla that their daughter deserved her “real” father in her life? What if he managed to wiggle back into her heart?

No.

Just…no.

Oh, God, please no.

His heart ached at the very thought.

He loved Priscilla.

He loved Kaitlyn.

He wasn’t interested in envisioning his life without them.

Glancing up at the apartment door, he forced himself to be calm. She loved him. Shane. Her husband. He was sure of it. He needed to trust her. He needed to trust that although she needed to speak with Pernaud, she would choose him.

Please choose me, he thought, taking a deep breath. Please choose me, because I meant it when I said that I choose you.

It hadn’t taken long for his priorities to shift, but loving Priscilla and Kaitlyn had changed everything about the life plan that Shane had formulated so long ago. Accommodating Priscilla and Kaitlyn into that life plan was imperative now. Yes, he wanted to be successful in business, but he also wanted to be the best husband and father he could be.

And yet, he was jeopardizing their future—and risking Priscilla’s trust in him—by continuing to work for her duplicitous father. Suddenly, more than ever and no matter what he could potentially lose, he needed to sever his ties with Story Imports. He needed to be sure that when he walked back into Priscilla’s apartment in—he glanced at his watch—twenty-three minutes, that he was ready to give her his whole heart and a place of honor in the new and updated plan for his life.

Standing up, he crossed the gravel parking area to open his car door and reached for Alice’s business card in the center console. Staring at it for a long moment, he grabbed his cell phone from his back pocket and dialed her number.

***

Priscilla made a pot of tea and invited Xavier to sit across from her at the dining room table. She didn’t want to be within reach of him. She didn’t want his hands on her body or anywhere else near her person. It made her skin crawl to even be in the same room with him. What the hell had she ever seen in him anyway?

“Why are you really here, Xavier?” she asked in French.

“I made a mistake,” he answered, smiling at her, a grin she used to find charming but that now repelled her. “I missed you.”

“You told me to get an abortion. You said you weren’t interested in changing diapers.”

“I was surprised! You caught me off guard, chérie.”

“You wanted me to kill our baby.”

“I’m sorry!” he barked at her. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“No. Your apology means nothing to me,” she said. “Not to mention, I find it hard to believe that you’d have such a complete shift in your feelings. It doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense is that you are living in a barn, my darling. You’re an heiress.”

“You’ve met my father. It makes perfect sense.”

“My sweet Priscilla…let me hold you. Let me remind you of how good it was for us. I can stay here with you. My divorce will come through soon, and we can—”

“We can what?” she asked.

“Get married. Live in that gorgeous chateau as one,” he said, gesturing loosely in the direction of Forrester. “Raise our sweet child together in luxury.”

It had not escaped her notice that twice Xavier had referred, however subtly, to her family’s wealth. Was that it? Was he here for money?

She cocked her head to the side as she stirred her tea. “How’s business, Xavier?”

“Eh,” he said, taking a sip of his. “The economy is shit. But, chérie, we don’t need to talk about that.”

Oh, yes we do.

“And why are you divorcing Sabine again?”

“She is…” He flinched, looking away from Priscilla, unable to meet her eyes. “We’ve run our course.”

Priscilla nodded at him, then took another sip of tea. “I don’t believe you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you love me. I don’t think you want this baby. I don’t think you’re getting a divorce, or if you are, it isn’t because you’re finished with your wife. I can’t think of any reason you’d come here, but you’ve mentioned my family’s money a couple of times now, so I’m thinking what you’re really here for…is money.”

“Non!” His eyes narrowed as he leaned across the table. “We were good together!”

“You were married to someone else the whole time. We were shit together.” She took a deep breath and released it, telling herself to calm down. “And I’m with someone else now.”

Xavier switched over to English. “Zat one? You make me laugh. He ees a—how you say—so boring. He ees…cardboard.”

“He is ten times the man you will ever be,” she snarled. “And he’s my husband.”

“What?” Xavier’s eyes widened, and he pounded his fist on the table. “Non!”

From his intense reaction, his objective was clear: he’d hoped to marry Priscilla in order to have access to her money.

“You need to go.”

“I will fight you,” he said slyly. “For ze child.”

“You will lose,” she said. “In the United States, the rights of the mother trump the rights of the father.”

He stared at his tea, stirring it slowly. Finally, he sighed, looking up at her, his expression ugly. “Ça va. I’ll go away and never bother you again if you give me some money.”

“And here it is,” she said, clapping slowly. “Finally a little honesty…and the real reason for your visit.”

“You have millions!” he cried. “That’s my baby in your stomach! Give me some money, and I will leave you and the kid alone.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have nothing,” she said. “My trust is unavailable to me until next summer. I might have fifty dollars in my wallet if you—”

He lurched up from his chair, and it fell to the floor behind him, startling her.

“You’re lying! Look at this estate! You have millions. I need money, and you have it. Even Sabine said that—”

“She encouraged you to come here, didn’t she?” Priscilla had been keeping herself in check thus far, but now she stood up, turning her back on him as she took her mug to the sink. “You plotted together, using my baby for leverage. Wow. That’s truly despicable. You want my money? Too bad. I don’t have any to give you.”

Suddenly Xavier was behind her, his arms on either side of her, caging her between his body and the kitchen counter. “You’re lying. You’re rich, and I used my last euros to buy an air ticket to this godforsaken place. I need money. And you have it.”

She struggled to break free of him, but he tightened his arms. Flashing back to the exchange student who’d raped her as a teen, she started to panic. Her hands shook. She was breathing too fast. She tasted bile in her throat, and her eyes burned with sudden tears.

“Get the fuck away from me,” she whimpered.

“As soon as you agree to write me a fat check,” he said, drawing back his hands until they rested firmly on her belly and pulling her against his body. His lips were close to her ear. His voice was low and dirty. “Come on, chérie. It was so good. Pay me for all that pleasure.”

In the sink was the frying pan she’d used last night to make crepes, laughing when Shane said he’d never had them before. Shane. She thought of his blue eyes—so tender, so loving, giving her a safe harbor and anchoring her to his goodness. She reached for the pan, fisting it in her hand. “Get your hands off me.”

His fingers curled into her stomach painfully. “Promise to write me a check first . . . and then I will go.”

“Fuck you!” she screamed, bringing up the pan with all her might and clocking him in the face with it.

He released her and stumbled back in shock. She turned around to find his forehead bleeding, covered with bright-red blood that stained his fingers as he reached up to touch the wound. As he stared at the blood, his face changed from surprised to furious, and he sneered at her.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you fucking bitch!”

As he rushed at her, the door to her apartment flew open, and Shane, who surely heard her scream and had taken the steps three at a time, reached for Xavier from behind and yanked him away from her.

“I warned you,” he growled, throwing Xavier toward the dining table. Catching up with Xavier as he slammed into the table and fell backward onto it, Shane drew back his fist and slammed it into Xavier’s already bloody face. “I fucking warned you not to upset her!” he yelled, punching the Frenchman in the face four more times before shoving him, moaning and only semiconscious, to the floor.

“P, are you okay?” he asked, stepping over Xavier’s body and opening his arms to her. Priscilla ran to him, letting him pull her against his body.

“He scared me, Shane.” She sobbed against his neck.

“I’d like to kill him,” said Shane, leaning away to look into her face, to search it for any signs of injury. “Are you okay, baby? Are you all right? Is everything all right?”

She took a ragged breath and nodded. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, cupping her face.

“I’m sure,” she said. “Someone did hurt me…a long time ago. I think—I think I just had a flashback or…I don’t know. I panicked. I got scared.”

Shane leaned forward to nuzzle her nose gently. “Who hurt you? I’ll hunt down the bastard.”

“A boy,” she said softly. “He forced himself on me. But it was a long time ago.”

“My P,” he murmured, stroking her hair from her face so tenderly, it made her heart ache. “I’m so sorry, baby. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” she said, taking a deep and cleansing breath. “I’m okay, Shane. I promise. I’m just glad you got here when you did.”

“I was downstairs in the driveway when I heard you scream. It made my blood run cold. I couldn’t get to you fast enough.”

“Thank God you were just downstairs.”

She looked over her shoulder at Xavier, who was now on all fours, trying to sit up. “What about him?”
“Does he really want to be a part of Kaitlyn’s life?”

“No. Not at all. He just wanted money.”

“Fucking asshole—I never liked him.”

“Should we call the police and have him arrested?” asked Priscilla. “We acted in self-defense.”

Shane nodded. “Definitely. We’ve got nothing to hide.”

“With any luck,” said Priscilla, her lips wobbling into a tiny smile as Xavier remained on the floor like the dog he was, “he’ll be deported.”

***

Pernaud was arrested, and they agreed to drop the charges against him as long as he returned to France and didn’t come back to the United States for a minimum of two years. It turned out that he’d lost his job at the wine distribution company he worked for in Paris after sleeping with the boss’s daughter, and his wife was on the verge of leaving him since their marriage wasn’t quite as open as Pernaud had led Priscilla to believe.

Shane doubted very much that they would see him again anytime in the near future, and—for Kaitlyn’s sake—he hoped they never saw him again.

Looking forward to the Saturday wedding of Jessica Winslow and Alex English, part of Shane felt a little wistful that he and Priscilla had never had that kind of grand affair. But when he remembered back to their Elope package at the Philly Marry-Me Chapel, he was happy that he’d done what he could to make the ceremony more personal for her. In the top of her closet, he’d found her dried wedding bouquet, the vibrant colors faded but still cheerful. And she still wore her little wedding ring every day. Come Sunday, Shane would start wearing his too.

Last night at the wedding, she’d worn a dress with something called an “Empire” waist, and over it, an ankle-length, cream-colored satin coat that she hadn’t taken off, despite the unseasonable warmth of the evening. When they arrived at the reception, she’d held an enormous box from Tiffany’s in front of her body, and after depositing it on the gift table, she’d sat down and didn’t get up again for the remainder of the evening.

After they got home, she’d peed for about an hour.

There was no concealing it anymore. At twenty-something weeks pregnant, it was time to tell her family their news and hope for the best.

She’d woken up early on Sunday and set the lacquer table with seven matching placemats she’d purchased, arranging tiny vases of flowers at every place. With plates, silverware, and glasses she’d borrowed from Forrester and from the apartment kitchen, she set the table, then sent Shane out to find wild flowers, which she arranged artfully in a mosaic vase she’d made during her time in Taos.

Because they were dining midafternoon, she’d decided to serve a proper Sunday roast, and by two o’clock, the apartment smelled of lamb, garlic, and spice. Peeled potatoes were boiling, and Priscilla was standing at the kitchen counter snapping fresh beans. She put her hands on her lower back and stretched, moaning softly.

Coming up behind her, Shane massaged her shoulders. “This is too much for you, baby. You’re exhausted.”

“No,” she said, leaning back into his touch. “We’re telling them the best news I’ve ever had to share. I want it to be perfect.”

“It will be,” he said, kissing the back of her neck. “It already is.”

Priscilla certainly knew how to throw a proper dinner party, but even though it was a traditional meal by all standards, Shane loved that it was sprinkled with Priscilla’s touch everywhere: the wild flowers; the mismatched china and glassware; the white place cards decorated with hand-painted, watercolored names.

An hour later, when she sat down beside him at the table, surrounded by her family—Douglas, Alice, Margaret, Elizabeth, and baby Jane—Shane Olson couldn’t have been prouder of his original, unique wife or felt more lucky that a rare jewel like Priscilla was his.

“Looks nice enough, Priscilla Morrow,” said Douglas grudgingly from the head of the table. “Maybe you’re finally growing up.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she replied, squeezing Shane’s hand. “In fact, before we eat, Shane and I have an announcement we’d like to make.”

Her father, who was reaching for the roast, snapped his head up expectantly. “That right? Well, good. Out with it, gal.”

“Priscilla!” exclaimed Margaret. “Are you engaged?”

“Well, actually,” said Priscilla, holding up her left hand where she wore Shane’s ring, “we’re already married.”

Amid the gasps of surprise, Margaret’s giggle of congratulations, and Douglas’ blustery “Atta girl!” Shane caught Alice’s eyes, which held a question. As subtly as possible, he shook his head at her. No. Not yet.

“I’m happy for you, Pris!” said Jane, running around the table to wrap her older sister in a bear hug. Midhug, Jane stepped away suddenly, holding Priscilla at arm’s length and staring down at her sister’s stomach with wide eyes. “Wait. Is that…?”

“A baby bump?” Priscilla smiled at her younger sister, then nodded. “Yes. We’re expecting a baby too!”

More gasps followed, and Shane shot a look to Margaret, hoping he wouldn’t see hurt on her face. Happily, he didn’t. In fact, she raised her wineglass and stood up.

“To the happy couple,” she said, smiling at Priscilla with a face full of love. “To Shane and Pris!”

Jane scurried back to her place at the table to raise her own glass, Alice stood with hers, and Elizabeth, who was smacked on the back by Alice, finally stood too.

“To the happy couple,” they chorused.

Priscilla turned to Shane, beaming at him, and he stood up to kiss her, raising his own glass as he stared at her with eyes full of love. “To my beautiful wife. I adore you. I choose you forever.”

She swiped at her eyes, her bracelets jingling as she murmured, “I choose you forever too.”

“Father?” prompted Jane, still holding up her glass. “Do you want to say anything?”

Douglas hadn’t stood up, which left him the only one remaining seated.

“Hmm,” he said, looking annoyed that his dinner was being delayed. “Well done, Shane.” He turned to Priscilla. “I never thought you’d be the one to come through for me, but…well done, gal.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” said Priscilla, smiling at her father and sisters as they sat back down in their chairs. The cheerful hum of conversation resumed, and Shane reached for the mashed potatoes just as someone loudly cleared her throat.

Looking up, he realized that Alice was still standing.

“Come through?” she asked her father, setting her wine glass back down on the table. “What exactly do you mean by that, Father?”

“She’s coming through for me. Unlike you!” Taking several pieces of roast from the platter held for him by Elizabeth, he looked away with a grumble, dismissing her.

“Forgive me,” said Alice, her voice slicing through the remaining din of conversation like a knife, “but I fail to see how Priscilla and Shane’s marriage is ‘coming through’ for you.”

“Oh, is that so?” He cut a piece of meat and chewed it with his mouth open, then pointed at Priscilla with his fork. “That one over there, who’s never amounted to much, will be the one to save Story Imports! Not you. Her!”

“Save it?” asked Alice, her eyes narrowing. “Does it need saving?”

“Needs some cash flow, if you must know, yes.”

“And how, exactly, will Priscilla be the one to save it?”

“Sit down, Alice,” said Elizabeth, reaching for her sister’s arm. “Let’s just have supper.”

“Stay out of this, Bets,” said Alice, pulling her arm away, steel in her voice as she stayed focused on her father. “How will Priscilla save Story Imports, Father? Tell me.”

Shane looked around the table at Priscilla’s sisters, all of whom had stopped passing bowls and platters, their attention fixed entirely on the showdown between their oldest sister and father.

“Shane knows. He agreed to everything,” said Douglas, sneering at Alice and letting his fork and knife clatter to the plate with annoyance. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Alice turned her gaze momentarily to Shane, then slid it back to her father. “No. I’d rather you tell me.”

“Her trust fund!” he bellowed. “Her trust will belong to Shane in a year. And he’s promised to invest it all back into Story Imports. Not that it’s any of your goddamned business, but he stood in my office and told me that he’d marry her and give the money back to Story Imports.”

“Is it true?” murmured Priscilla from beside him.

He turned to look at her, the shattered expression on her face making his heart ache.

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “No, it isn’t. Not a word of it.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’ve got your promotion now. Tell me the truth: are you planning to steal my trust and give it to my father?”

“Never,” he said, running his knuckles along her cheek. “Never ever. I never promised your father anything. I don’t want the promotion, and I don’t want your money, P.”

“You do,” she insisted, tears starting to spill onto her cheeks. “That promotion means everything to you, and—”

“No, baby. You mean everything to me. You and Kaitlyn. P, listen to me. Listen to what I’m saying and look at me while I’m saying it: I don’t want the promotion, and I don’t want your money.” He gave her a moment to process the words, then asked, “Do you believe me?”

Her brown eyes, so hopeful and earnest, flitted back and forth between his eyes, looking at him, looking into him. Finally, she took a deep breath and nodded. “I do.”

“What do you mean you don’t want a promotion?” barked Douglas, banging his first against the table and making silverware clatter. “Of course you want a promotion! And as for her money, you said—”

“No, sir. I never agreed to anything.”

“You ass-kissing little weasel! You stood there and agreed to—”

“Shut up, Father,” said Alice curtly.

“I’m tired of your smart mouth, gal—”

“Shut up, Father!” cried Margaret, cutting him off. “Just shut up!” She turned back to Shane, her eyes cautious. “I think you better explain.”

Shane nodded at Margaret in thanks and took Priscilla’s hands in his, looking into her eyes and hoping that the new path he’d chosen for his life was one she would willingly walk with him.

“After your father asked me to sign over your trust to him, I knew I had to leave Story Imports. But I also needed to provide for you. I needed insurance for you and Kaitlyn. A salary. Benefits. I needed to keep you safe. So I needed to find a new job.”

“What?” gasped Priscilla. “But you—you love Story Imports.”

“I love you.” He leaned forward to kiss her, then turned to Alice. “Do you want to tell them? Or should I?”

“I’d love to do the honors,” said Alice with a rare grin. “But it’s your news to share.”

“Baby,” said Shane, turning back to Priscilla, still holding her hands, “this isn’t how I envisioned telling you, but last week I interviewed with Alice, and on Friday, I accepted a position at her firm. I’m resigning from Story Imports on Monday. As of October first, I’ll be the new VP of sales and marketing for Alice Story Imports.” Looking over his wife’s shoulder at Douglas, his voice turned frosty. “Priscilla’s trust is hers, and I don’t ever intend to touch a dime of it, sir.”

“Backstabbing shit-for-brains—”

“And one other thing,” said Shane, narrowing his eyes at his former boss, “why wait ’til tomorrow? I quit.”

He looked back at Priscilla, whose brown eyes sparkled and whose smile lit up her whole face. She palmed his cheeks, pulling him toward her for an epic kiss. When she was finished, she turned to look at her blustering father and said, “I quit too.”

Douglas stood up from the table, throwing his napkin down. “Then you will get your knocked-up ass off my property, gal! You’re not welcome at the main house or here at the stables or anywhere else! Get off my land by tomorrow, or I’ll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing!”

“Fine with me . . . Father,” said Priscilla, her voice hurt but strong. She looked at Shane, raising her chin, a tiny smile tilting up her lips. “Want a roommate?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d love one.” Then he stood up, moving quickly to block her father from leaving. “There are so many ugly, ungentlemanly things I want to say to you right now, but I’m going to settle for this: I feel sorry for you. Every woman sitting here at this table is remarkable in her own way, and you can’t see it. You have five amazing daughters, and you treat them like garbage. It’s a goddamned miracle they turned out as well as they did. They are strong, talented, smart, compassionate, and unique. And you can’t even see it. I pity you, Douglas.”

“Screw you!” He sneered at Shane, stepping around him and heading for the apartment door, which he pushed open with a thwack, and left.

For a moment, the room was silent but for Douglas’ retreating footsteps. Then Alice, who was still standing, put a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “For the record, Bets, I will not forgive you if you give him money.” Then she raised her glass to Shane. “I appreciate what you said about us. And for the record, I like our odds better than his.”

“Me too,” said Shane, toasting his new boss.

Alice nodded at him once, then finally sat back down in her chair and asked Jane to pass the beans, while Margaret asked Elizabeth how long she’d be in town. And Priscilla, Shane’s wife, the mother of his daughter, and the love of his life, turned to him and beamed.

“I love what you said about us,” she said, glancing at her sisters before looking back up at him.

“I love you…and I meant every word.”

“I know,” she said. “I love you too.”

She kissed him, then drew away to look into his eyes. “Sure you don’t mind me invading your home?”

“You’re my home,” he said, kissing her. “But we’ll need to find our own place soon. Mine’s pretty small for three.”

“Remember that plan you made when you were ten?” she said, grinning at him. “Feels like you’re finally making a new plan.”

“If you’re part of it, baby, it’s the right one.”

“You gave up everything, Shane. For me.”

“For us,” he said, covering her belly with his hand. “For the three of us.” He looked over at Alice. “Besides, I think I’m moving on to greener pastures. She’s something, huh?”

“Alice is tough,” said Priscilla, grinning at him. “Think you can handle her?”

“My sweet, adorable, darling P,” he said, scooping potatoes onto his plate, then putting a spoonful on hers, “are you forgetting something? I used to work for your father.”

She laughed at him before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him madly, his sweet, sassy, beloved Bohemian who had changed his businesslike ways with her love.