Rooted (The Pagano Family Book 3) (5 page)

They sat on the sidewalk and ate their artfully designed salads, drank crystal goblets of sparkling water, and watched the manic bustle of the
prémier arrondissement
.

“The people are all so
pretty
here. And really dressed.” Rosa took a sip from her water goblet. Carmen noticed that Rosa’s pinky had developed, since they’d been on the continent, a tendency to stick up daintily when she drank. She suppressed a grin.

“They are. And the shoes!”

Rosa turned to her with a skeptical lift to her eyebrow. “
You
notice the shoes?”

Carmen’s taste in shoes was boots. She was absolutely a boot slut and had about twenty pairs at home—some even had high heels. But she had no interest in and very little use for pumps, strappy sandals, mules, or anything else. Besides her array of boots, mostly in black and dark brown, her shoe wardrobe included a pair of black ankle-strap pumps, a pair of black ballet flats, two pairs of sneakers, and a couple pairs of discount-store rubber flip-flops. For work, she had a pair of green Wellies and two pairs of waterproof Red Wing work boots (which she included in her tally of boots).

Rosa, on the other hand, seemed to buy three new pairs of shoes a week.

“I noticed. It’s hard not to. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many
men
wearing designer shoes before.”

Rosa sighed. “I know. They’re so hot. It’s wicked awesome. And makes me want to shop. I don’t suppose…”

Carmen put her hand up to stop that thought in its tracks. “No, way, sissy. The Louvre. I’m gonna culturize your ass this summer even if I have to kick it first. The Louvre today. Shopping tomorrow. And more museums the day after that.”

Rosa stuck out her tongue, but did so in good nature, so Carmen lifted her water goblet in a snarky toast.

When they were ready for the check, their hipster-cute waiter brought a little bowl of berry sorbet to Rosa, and only to her, making a comment to her in French that Carmen mostly missed. But Rosa blushed and beamed and was in a positively beatific mood thereafter.

Carmen wasn’t yet totally clear on the tipping customs in France, but she tipped Frédéric
very
well.

~oOo~

They had museum passes, so they skipped the line, and it was a weekday, but the Louvre was still packed with people. Carmen wasn’t a people person, but she didn’t mind crowds. The museum folks seemed to have crowd control down to a science anyway, so she and Rosa allowed themselves to be herded like sheep toward the Mona Lisa, of course tops on their list. Aside from Mona, the Louvre was little more than a good art museum.

While they waited for their turn to see the great work, Rosa tucked her hand into her little Coach bag. She’d done so absently, as if out of habit more than intention. Knowing she was going for her phone, Carmen nudged her.

“
What
?” Rosa’s tone was pure petulance.

“No phone, sissy. We talked about this. Only while we’re at the apartment.” Carmen had negotiated phone usage terms while they were planning this trip. At home, that fucker might as well have been surgically attached to her palm. Carmen didn’t want her strolling through a summer in Europe with her face pointed downward. So she’d made it a condition of the trip—no calls, texts, or social media except while they were at the apartment, or in a hotel, during downtime.

“I just want to take a picture when we get up there. That’s all.”

If the phone was in her hand, she wouldn’t be able to resist checking her Tumblr or whatever. It was like inserting the needle in a junkie’s arm and telling her not to push the plunger. “Then get your phone out when we get up there, take the picture, and then put your phone back.”

She pulled her hand away from her bag with a dramatic sigh. “I’m an adult, you know. You’re not in charge.”

Carmen grinned and bumped her shoulder. “Did you just tell me I’m not the boss of you? Gonna stomp your foot next? Hold your breath?”

“Bitch alert, Carm.” Rosa’s eyes had narrowed, and Carmen knew she should back off before a mood set in. But just one more little push.

“Truth is the baddest bitch there is, sweetie pie.”

At that, Rosa made a point of scratching her nose with her middle finger, something they all used to do when adults were around and they had a particular point they needed to get across to one another. With the gesture, Carmen’s ensuing chuckle, and Rosa’s smile, any budding hard feelings were quashed.

~oOo~

By the time they’d seen all of the Louvre either of them was interested in seeing, there was about half an hour until closing time. Rosa was walking in her fancy sandals with the mincing steps of a woman whose shoes had become torture devices, but her spirits were up. She’d been a delight most of the day.

Gift shop it was, then. Reward time. Afterward, they’d find a taxi and ride in comfort to a nice dinner.

Rosa forgot all about her sore feet as soon as she saw the shopping opportunities before her. Before she could make a beeline for a jewelry display, Carmen got her to agree to meet under the inverted pyramid in twenty minutes. Then Rosa trotted off, and Carmen wandered to the books.

She was flipping through a coffee table book about medieval textiles when she felt the warmth of another body in her personal space. Before she could turn to see who’d gotten so close, and make it known that their proximity was unwelcome, she heard a deep, wry voice at her ear.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

~ 4 ~

Carmen turned her head toward Theo. He was leaning over her shoulder; if he leaned just a little forward, he could kiss her. The temptation was strong, but he resisted.

He hadn’t realized it was her he was standing next to until, flipping through the pages of a large art book she’d opened on top of a table display, she’d pulled her hair over one shoulder, the one farthest from him, and exposed the graceful line of her neck. He’d spent some time the night before memorizing that lithe span—the long neck, the pronounced collarbones, the deep notch between.

The tense and sudden thrill, the rush of nervous adrenaline, he’d felt when he recognized her had nearly made him shake.

She was dressed surprisingly casually without looking like a slob—a snug, black beater tucked into faded jeans that were a little loose but still hugged her Louvre-worthy ass, a wide, black belt cinched low on her hips. She wore no jewelry that he could see, not even earrings—though, now that he was this close to her, he could see that her bare ears were pierced. The dense fall of her nearly-black hair was pulled away from her face, partially caught back in a plain elastic, the rest left to lie loose, now over her shoulder.

At first, her expression upon his greeting and her recognition of him was not what he’d have called charmed, but then, as they held in place, staring at each other, he smiling at her, one corner of her sweet mouth—with those full lips, the upper just a bit fuller than the lower—pulled up every so slightly.

“Did you buy a book or something?
The 1001 Lamest Pick-up Lines in Human History
?”

She was right; the first things out of his mouth with her seemed so far always to be humiliatingly trite. He’d hoped they’d be so bad they’d be charming, but not to this woman, obviously. He was not good at flirtation. Well, why would he have been? He’d been with the same woman for more than two decades, and they’d been young fools when they’d met. What dating and seduction skills he had were immature and rusty. He stood straight and smiled sheepishly. “What can I say? You render me an imbecile. Good to see you again, Carmen.”

She turned fully to him but stepped back, regaining a polite personal space. Her eyes moved over him as if she were evaluating him and considering her options. Then she turned back to the table and closed the book she’d been perusing. “Well. I should move on.”

Wondering whether she meant move on from this moment or move on from him entirely, and very much not wanting her to do either, he put his hand on her arm. “Are you here alone?”

She stared down at his hand for a beat before answering, but she didn’t pull herself free from his light hold. “No. My sister is here—I need to meet up with her.”

“Yeah? Where and when?”

“The inverted pyramid. And now, so I’m going.” Now she did pull her arm free.

“I’m supposed to meet my sons there now, too. I’ll walk with you.”

Instead of heading in that direction, though, Carmen got very still and stared hard at him. He cocked his head and waited to see what she would say.

“What’s your game here, Theo?”

“Honestly?”

“No,” she scoffed. “Lie to me. Jesus, never mind.” She took a step away, and again he took her arm, this time a little more firmly, since she’d been moving from him. Her eyes went hard when his hand went around her.

“Look, I suck at this. Clearly. But I enjoyed hijacking your dinner last night. It’s a treat to see you here now, like a gift from the Fates. I’m attracted to you—and not just because you’re beautiful. It’s been a while since I felt that, so I guess I’m trying. No game. No lies.”

“To what end?”

“No idea. Conversation? Companionship?” He tried a smile and loosened his hold, letting his thumb arc over her bare skin. Soft and warm—and firm. Her arms were toned but not brawny. “More kisses like last night? More than that?”

“Booty call.”

Those two bald words surprised him. But maybe they weren’t far off. He wasn’t looking for a relationship—certainly not in Paris, with a woman who was here for only a few months. Still, he thought he might like talking with her as much as anything else. Her mind intrigued him, what he’d seen so far. “Not necessarily. But would that offend you?”

“No. Just setting the terms. And yes, necessarily. I don’t want more.”

That sounded encouraging. “Are you saying you want that?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’m saying it’s under consideration. But right now, I need to meet my sister.”

This time, when she stepped away, he let her go—but she waited for him to join her. So they went together to meet their families.

Eli and Jordan were already there, and they both reacted to seeing their father approach them accompanied by the tall beauty at his side. Eli seemed simply impressed. Jordan, however, was thrilled. He grinned and put his hands on his hips as they approached.

Always, Theo put a little guard up when someone met Jordan. Theo didn’t like to see him disrespected, and every now and then, someone reacted to his fashionista son, with his coiffed hair and lined eyes, in a way less than accepting. So he cast a sidelong glance at Carmen and waited to see how she’d meet his children. His opinion of her could change dramatically in this moment.

“Carmen, these are my sons, Eli and Jordan. Boys, this is Carmen…” He paused and turned to her, sending her a question. He didn’t know her last name.

She answered by completing the ritual of introduction herself. “Pagano.” She held out her hand to Jordan first.

They shook hands. Carmen’s reaction was nonexistent—a vague smile and a strong handshake. She had simply met two new people. And that was the best possible result. Encouraged, he asked, “Do you and your sister have plans for dinner? We’re on our way for burgers—there’s a good American bar not too far from here.”

Before Carmen could answer, another beautiful brunette walked up, limping noticeably in fancy, tall sandals. She was obviously younger than Carmen and obviously related. But her fashion sense was considerably different—flashier, by far. A handbag and a shopping bag hung on her arm.

Both of his sons were ogling her openly, for different reasons.

Theo watched the girl notice Eli and Jordan noticing her. And then her eyes fixed hard on Eli, and her look turned greedy. Eli was a fine-looking young man: six-two, blond, built like the linebacker he’d been. “You met people while I was shopping. No fair.”

Carmen laughed. “Rosa, this is Theo Wilde and his sons…um…”

Eli stepped forward, his hand out. “I’m Eli.”

A blush brightening her pretty face, Rosa shook his hand. “Good to meet you.” She had a stronger accent than her sister, by several degrees.

Jordan sighed when Eli neglected to make way for him. Pushing his brother to the side, he extended his hand, too. “And I’m Jordan.
Love
the shoes. Jimmy Choo?”

Rosa kicked a foot back and to the side, in a charming photo-op of a pose, displaying her shoe. “Prada—from last year. And they are
killing
my feet.”

“Well that makes sense, because they’re to die for!”

Rosa and Jordan laughed at Jordan’s little fashion funny, and Eli busied himself with a scientific study of the girl’s shapely, bare legs. Sensing a positive group vibe, Theo picked up his abandoned question. “I was just asking your sister if you two would like to join us for dinner tonight—nothing fancy, just burgers at a pub.”

Carmen shook her head. “Thanks, but I think we’ll just—”

Rosa cut her off. “Yes! That sounds great. Let’s do that.” She turned to her sister. “Right, Carm?”

Carmen sighed. “Fine. Okay, yeah. American burgers in Paris.” The look she sent her sister’s way was loving and indulgent, irritated and maybe a little relieved. And then she turned a not dissimilar look on him, that mouth canted up in a wry twist.

Theo really liked the feelings she raised in him. He liked that they came without the guilt he’d expected they’d bring upon their return. And he really liked her. He reached out, meaning perhaps to touch her in some way, but she stepped out of his reach, and he dropped his hand. Then they all headed to the exit together.

~oOo~

The restaurant he had in mind, he’d found during his first week in Paris, and he’d returned several times already, feeling homesick. It was the only place so far in the city he’d found to get American-style food that actually seemed American. Sure, other restaurants offered burgers and fries, or ribs, or steak and baked potato, but what French chefs thought of as those foods and what Theo—and, he’d warrant, most red-blooded Americans—thought of those foods were barely in the same hemisphere.

This restaurant, which had styled itself as a ‘speakeasy’ and had gone all out with the thirties décor, was located a few blocks off the Champs-Élysées and did a rousing business among homesick American tourists and expatriates, as well as French looking for an ‘authentic’ American experience. Later in the night, the place would be packed. But just past six was early for dinner—by French standards, almost barbarically so—and Theo brought his dinner party in feeling confident that they’d be seated quickly. And they were. The bar was crowded, but fewer than half the tables for dinner were occupied.

They were led to a large, round booth upholstered in dark, tufted leather. Theo and his sons ushered their female guests to sit in the center. Carmen paused, looking briefly uncomfortable, and then slid in. Theo followed her, and then watched Eli and Jordan jockey for position next to Rosa. Eli finally let Jordan slide in first.

Watching Jordan and Eli, gay and straight, fawn over Carmen’s little sister, Theo thought about his sons. Both were currently single. Jordan, obviously, was interested in Rosa for her clothes, not what was under them. Theo knew that Jordan saw a shopping partner—neither Theo nor Eli was particularly good in that capacity. Eli was trying to be subtle about the way he was looking at the young beauty, but he could not have cared less for her clothes, other than the way they held what was under them.

Eli tended to be serious with girls. When he fell, he did so hard and quickly, and he’d had his heart broken more than once. Theo would much rather see Rosa and Jordan have a little fling as BFFs for the couple of weeks he was here than to see Eli try to start something with the sister of the woman he himself was trying to start something with.

But he didn’t meddle in their affairs, romantic or otherwise. Advice, when it was sought. A shoulder, when it was wanted. A safe place, when it was needed. Love and respect always. That had been his and Maggie’s parenting philosophy, and it was Theo’s even more so, now that their sons were grown. They sailed their own boats.

The waiter came and took their drink orders. Jordan and Rosa ordered fancy cocktails. Eli and Carmen ordered beer. Theo was a bourbon drinker, almost exclusively, where alcoholic libations were concerned. This bar offered a really good top-shelf bourbon. He took it neat.

When their drinks came, they made their dinner orders, and then the table began to converse in the fluid way only a mixture of family and strangers could. The boys and Rosa picked up an easy chatter quickly and dominated the conversation. After several minutes of listening to the younger set talk about home, Theo leaned over and spoke in Carmen’s ear.

“I think they’re hitting it off.”

She laughed softly but didn’t turn to him. “Rosa is nothing if not social. This is her element.”

“Is it just the two of you for this summer?”

Now she turned. “Is this what we’re doing? Making stupid small talk?”

In that moment, he decided he preferred the wine-warmed version of Carmen Pagano. The sober version wore spiked armor. “Trying to make
conversation
, actually. What would you prefer to do? Meet in the john for a fast fuck?”

Her face first wore the blank mask of total shock. She hadn’t expected him to drive back at her with the same speed. Then she smiled, and it lit her face up like a beacon. “Touché. Sorry. I tend to bite first, then talk if anybody sticks around.” She cleared her throat and then took a breath, like she was preparing an answer for an oral exam. “Yes. I brought Rosa to Europe as a graduation gift. She just finished at Brown.”