Love Redesigned (6 page)

“It is a tradition here to light lanterns and send them to the sky in honor of the bride and groom’s upcoming wedding. As best man, I must lead the villagers in this.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “I want to see that!”

He pulled away from her reluctantly, tried to regain his equilibrium. She’d rocked his entire foundation, and his world had shifted on its axis. Everything he’d built the last fifteen years suddenly didn’t matter any longer. Nothing mattered but her. But what could they have now? Even if she wasn’t married now, she’d still left him for someone else. He hadn’t been enough for her.

He led her to the mouth of the alley, but paused when she stopped.

He looked down at her in the light spilling toward them from the square. She ran her hands through her hair. God help him, he wanted to taste her again.

“Wait. Please, may we spend time together tomorrow? I think we should talk.” He waited for her answer, hoped she did not feel him trembling like a schoolboy.

“Yes, I think it would be good. We need to clear the air.”

“
Merci
. I will pick you up in the morning. We can drive through the countryside. I would like to show you where I grew up.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “I’d like that very much.”

He led her back to the square. They stopped to pick up their own lanterns, and he showed her how to light them. Soon, everyone held lanterns, ready to light the sky.

Roman stepped to the microphone and toasted the beaming couple.

The music began again, a romantic ballad. Francois led Constance out to the middle of the crowd, and swept her into a waltz.

One by one, the lanterns were released to float up into the sky. Soon the night was lit up, and he heard her sigh.

He looked down at her smiling face.

“Isn’t it romantic?” she whispered.

He nodded, thinking she had never looked more beautiful. He clasped her fingers, tucked her close against his side. She squeezed his hand in return, and his heart soared. Right now she was the only thing anchoring him to the ground, otherwise he would follow the lanterns into the sky.

Chapter 8

Genevieve’s nerves warred with the anticipation of seeing Roman again. Now that she’d seen him, her goal was to get through this week unscathed. She needed to remain focused, get home, and hopefully get her business up and running.

Why did I kiss him?
She’d tossed and turned for hours after getting home, reliving the kiss, and the way he made her feel. She could only blame the wine she had imbibed to steady her nerves. It had loosened her inhibitions when it came to him. That had to be it. Too much wine.

But you didn’t drink that much, so try again, sister.
The thought drifted through her mind, and she squashed it.

She lightly touched her lips, remembering the feel of his. It had felt so good, so right. Thank heavens it had been time to light the lanterns, and things had gone no further between them.

She needed to keep her resolve firm and not let him kiss her any more.

He’s a danger to my heart.

She was not going to be another one in his string of flings. Not now. Not again. But they needed to clear the air, so they wouldn’t spend their time bickering and thereby ruining the wedding.

I just want to know how he could have replaced me so fast when I left. Especially with
her
. He must not have felt the same way I did.

She waited on the front steps of the chateau. It was lovely here, and a small part of her envied Connie Sue for getting to live in this magnificent place. The gardens bordering the estate and winery were extensive, flowers giving way to grapevines growing in neat, soldierly rows. She’d even seen a vegetable garden near the larger kitchen, and Francois told her they tried to be as sustainable as they could.

A breeze ruffled her hair, and she looked up at the sky. Clouds obscured the mid-morning sun, and it looked like it might rain again.

A silver car rolled up the driveway. She recognized the telltale hood ornament: Mercedes. Of course.

She walked down the steps and reached for the passenger door the same time as he did. Their hands bumped, and she jerked away.

“
Bonjour
,” he said, opening the car door. He helped her in, and shut the door. Getting in, he started the engine, and drove smoothly down the driveway.

She settled into the buttery soft leather seat. “This is a long way from that little beater you used to borrow, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Have you had a chance to look around the property since you arrived?” His voice sounded stilted, distant.

Is he embarrassed about the kiss last night, too?

She shook her head. “Not much. I’ve been busy baking and helping Connie Sue. It looks beautiful from what little I have seen.” She blushed, not wanting to allude to their encounter in the potting shed. She was still too raw from the emotions of the day before.

“It is good the wedding is in a few days, for you are here during the growing season for the grapes and lavender.” He slowed the car and pointed to a field to the right of them.

Lavender grew profusely in neat rows, as far as the eye could see. She sighed. “Magnificent!”

Roman drove farther up the road, then pulled off onto a gravel lane. The dark purple blooms lined both sides of the narrow lane, and beyond lay a field of sunflowers. A building came into view, a crumbling ruin of some sort.

“What is this place?” she asked, thoroughly charmed by the sight.

Roman got out of the car, and she opened her door and climbed out. He rounded the hood and she caught him frowning at her.
Did he expect me to wait for him to open the door?

“It is the ruins of a Cistercian Abbey. I thought you might like to see it. You were always fascinated by the old buildings in Paris.”

He remembered
. A pang sliced through her stomach.

“You said once you were born in the wrong time. But if that were the case, I would not have met you.”

He reached into the back of the car and pulled out a basket. He brushed her arm but stepped away quickly, leading the way to the crumbling abbey.

“I brought some croissants and coffee, if you’re hungry.” He pulled a cloth out of the basket, opened it, and let it drift down on a clearing in the grass next to the low wall. They sat, and he pulled the croissants out of the basket, handed one to her on a napkin.

She bit into the croissant, and the buttery flavor tasted so good she moaned.

He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.

“There is nothing like a
real
French croissant, fresh-baked in the morning.” She savored every bite, and was tempted to have another.

He grinned at her, and bit into his own croissant.

Sipping the hot coffee, she listened to the silence of the morning. She desperately wanted to ask him why he never called her, never told her himself he had found someone else. They needed to talk, but now, the words wouldn’t come. And she really didn’t want to fight.

But she was afraid.

Afraid of herself, and for her dreams.

He held up the thermos of coffee. “Would you like some more?”

“Yes, thanks.” She held the cup out toward him, and he put his fingers over hers to steady the cup as he poured.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked, setting the thermos down. He slid the cup out of her hand and set it down on the low wall, then tilted her hand to look at it closer. His fingers were warm around hers, and he traced the scar at the base of her thumb with the tip of one finger.

Little sparks of fire filtered up her arm from his touch, and she tried hard not to tremble. “A pan of boiling sugar overturned, and I tried to catch it.”

“It is a shame to have such lovely skin marred, but it shows the strength you have in doing what you do.” He leaned forward, hesitated over her hand, and kissed the scar. His touch zinged up her arm, warming her insides. Breathless, she wanted to snatch her hand away. Ached to have him do it again.

Her hands were full of nicks and scars, the hazards of working in a bakery. He traced each one, until she gently pulled her hand away, curling her fingers in.

It would be too easy to stay here, with him. But Roman being who he was, in high demand by the fashion world, she would never have a life of her own. She was determined not to end up like her mom, where the world revolved around her dad and his needs and demands.

They enjoyed the peace and quiet. It was as if by mutual agreement, neither one wanted to do or say anything to disturb this truce.

A drop of water hit her cheek, and she looked just up as the clouds opened. Rain poured down on them, and they hurried to gather up the picnic. They dashed to his car and climbed in out of the rain. The drops hit the car so hard, it sounded as if gunfire had erupted.

“It looks like our drive will be cut short,” he said, shifting into gear. “Would you like to see my house? It is nearby, so we can dry off. Or I can take you back to the chateau, if you prefer.” He held his breath, hoping she would not want to return to the chateau.

“You bought a house here?”

“
Oui
. I’ve moved back to France recently.”

“But don’t you live in Milan?”

“How did you know that?”

She hesitated.

“Genevieve?”

Waiting for an answer, he glanced at her.

She met his eyes, didn’t say anything.

He searched her face, waiting for an answer.
Why does she hesitate? What is she hiding?

She blushed, her cheeks turning pink. “Oh, all right. I looked you up online before I bought my airline ticket.” She turned her head away, looked out the window.

“You looked for me online?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t in France.”

“Oh.” Her answer stung, and his heart sank.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you that to upset you.”

“I think we should talk. I want to know . . .” He slowed the car at the crossroads. “Will you come to my house so we can talk in private?”

Please.
He held his breath, hoping she would agree.

“Yes, I can do that, and I’d like to see your house.”

Something relaxed in him, and he turned right at the intersection.

“It is not too far from my cousin.”

“What made you decide to move back here? And how come there’s been no mention of your move?”

“It was time,” he said, trying to put into words what he was afraid to admit out loud. “I missed my cousin, and my homeland. I’ve kept it quiet as much as possible because I didn’t want the press to find out and hound me. I want solitude here. It’s time for me to settle down.”

“Cut out the wild life you’ve been leading?” She laughed.

She may have laughed, but he heard the derision in her voice, and he flicked a glance at her. Why would she care?

She stared out the window. Her fingers clenched around the strap of her purse, and he wondered if she realized she was strangling it.

He reached out and touched her tightly closed fist. “Most of the gossip printed about me is not true.”

She snorted. “Riiight,” she drawled.

“I may have been wild a long time ago . . .”
after you left me
. “But I don’t want to be that man any longer.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I’m getting older now. I do not want a wild reputation.” He pulled into the driveway of his house. “I want a family,” he murmured.

Realizing what he had just said, he jolted to a stop beneath the
porte cochere
by the garage.
Please don’t let her have heard me.

She reached for the door handle, but he held his hand up. She slowly pulled back, and he got out of the car, hurried around to open her door. He took her hand to help her out, and electricity crackled between them.

She looked up at him, startled. Putting space between them, she turned her attention to his house.

He tried to imagine what it looked like from her perspective.

Built in the eighteenth century, the gray stone walls had held up well. A slate roof faded to grayish blue topped the two story house. He’d replaced the old windows with new white ones, and had the stone chimney shored up. Wooden window boxes filled with flowers brightened the façade, and dark green ivy climbed the walls to the roof. Flowers bloomed profusely in the garden, so many he didn’t know all the names yet. Soaring lilac trees surrounded the property around to the back. His new home had history and character. It was the first place he had felt at home in a long time, if ever.

“Oh, my. It’s just lovely. I can’t wait to see the rest of the house.”

The rain still streamed from the sky, so they hurried through the downpour to the front stoop. He unlocked the door and led her inside.

“I’ll get you a towel,” he said, and led her to the small powder room by the kitchen. She went in and closed the door. He hurried to his own bathroom and picked up a towel and clothes for her.

He knocked on the guest bathroom door. “If you want to wear these, I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.”

She opened the door and he handed her the dry clothes and bath towel.

He toweled his hair dry, then changed into jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. He forced himself to walk to the kitchen, and tried not to imagine her taking her clothes off just down the hall.

A short time later, she joined him in the kitchen, carrying her damp shirt and jeans. He glanced at her and a slow smile spread across his face. Even as tall as she was, his sweat pants and thermal shirt still engulfed her. She had rolled the sleeves up past her wrists so her hands peeked through. She handed him her wet clothes and he walked into the laundry room, put them in the dryer.

“Here are some socks if your feet are cold.”

She sat down and slipped them on, sighing. “Much better. Thank you.” She looked around the room, and for some reason it was important to know what she thought of the kitchen.

He had incorporated modern appliances into the old room, keeping the original stone walls intact. He’d added glass fronts to the sage green cabinets. A search through the old barn had unearthed a large wooden table for dining, and he’d sanded and polished it until it gleamed.

He could see her here, baking, trying new recipes.

His heart soared.
Could we have a life together?

She looked around at everything, finally turning to him. “It’s the perfect kitchen. The floor to ceiling windows make it feel as if the kitchen is part of the garden. I love it. Lots of room for cooking and entertaining.”

She looked lost, and a little alone. He could only imagine what she was thinking.

He opened a cabinet and pulled two glasses off the shelf. “Would you like a glass of wine? It’s from Francois’ vineyards.”

“Are you allowed to drink anything else?” She grinned.

His mouth kicked up in a half smile. “Let’s go into the other room. I started a fire, so it should be warm now.” He opened a bottle, and while it breathed, he put together a small platter of bread and cheese. He put it all on a tray and led her to the living room.

“Very cozy. I like your house,” she said. She stood in front of the fireplace and held her hands out to warm them.

“It’s becoming home.”

“Isn’t it kind of big for you, though?”

He hesitated. “I wanted to find a place large enough for my family.”