A Deceptive Attraction: The Wilsons, Book 3 (3 page)

Violet only had to think for a few seconds before settling on Rolfio’s, a new tapas place nearby in SoHo that she had heard good things about and wanted to try. Tim had dismissed it as too trendy and an example of the gentrification that he always complained was ruining New York.

She wrote the restaurant name and address on a card and handed it to Leon. “Seven o’clock,” she heard him say. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Violet almost said, “so am I,” but changed her mind. “Then I will see you this evening,” she said.

Leon gave her a quizzical look, as if he didn’t believe her lack of enthusiasm for a minute. He exited the shop, and Violet breathed a sigh of relief.

Troyesha had stopped sewing altogether.

“Don’t you say anything,” Violet said to her after the door had closed behind Leon.

“The double-decker tour bus,” Troyesha choked out, trying not to laugh. “Riiiiiiight.”

“You don’t need to rub it in.”

“You were gonna put him on a bus,” Troyesha hooted. “Now you’re going out to dinner with him.” She doubled over in a fit of laughter, then stopped suddenly and looked very serious. “Girl, that man is hot. We gotta find you something sexy to wear.”

“Now wait a minute,” Violet said. “I don’t want to give him any funny ideas.”

“He already has funny ideas. That man was born with funny ideas. Did you see the way he looked at you? And the way he kissed your hand? That was so hot I felt it all the way across the room.” Troyesha was up out of her chair and rummaging around on the clothing racks.

Violet set aside her misgivings about Leon and turned to what she knew best: clothes.

She already knew what she wanted to wear, a sleeveless chemise with a transparent knee-length taffeta underlayer. The outer layer was much shorter, giving the effect of a minidress over a slip, and the beaded V-neck showed just the right amount of cleavage. The mauve color complimented her straight blonde hair and enormous blue eyes perfectly. She had spotted the dress at an estate sale last week and made sure she picked it up. It would need a rush dry cleaning at the shop down the street that owed her a favor for some tailoring she had done for them.

Troyesha nodded approvingly when Violet showed her the dress. “Sexy, but not in your face. Like a virgin on her wedding night.”

“Oh, stop it,” Violet said, but they both giggled.

Violet left work early and went to a Zumba workout session so she could shower afterward without going home. She picked up her dress from the cleaners and came back to the shop as Troyesha was closing up.

The seamstress gave her a hug as she left. “Go out with that man and have some fun,” she advised. “You deserve it.”

Troyesha was right again, Violet thought. She locked the door and took her outfit into the back room.

She peeled out of her street clothes down to her lacy bra and panties, slipped the dress over her head, and stepped into a pair of gray heels with peep toes. After pinning up her hair in a loose chignon, she applied dabs of scent to her wrists and neck and did her makeup, then looked approvingly at her reflection in the mirror.

This girl’s still got it, she thought to herself. After more than a year with Tim, she had started to wonder. She picked up her gray fringed shawl, stepped out onto Broadway, and hailed a cab.

Chapter 4

Leon arrived at Rolfio’s twenty minutes early to wait for Violet. He had made reservations for them as soon as he left her shop that afternoon, but he didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. After the sour note that morning with the cab, he wanted the evening to be perfect.

First he checked with the maître d' – or host, Leon corrected himself – to make sure his reservation had been recorded. Afterward he stepped out on the sidewalk for some air, resisting the urge to pace back and forth with his hands in his pockets. Colette was always telling him he was too high strung, and he knew it was true. His job was only making it worse.

For a brief moment he had the urge for a cigarette, but he ignored it. Like most Frenchmen, he had started smoking in his teens. Unlike most Frenchmen, he had quit ten years ago for health reasons.

Besides, somehow he knew that Violet wouldn’t find smoking the least bit attractive, no matter how French it might be.

Colette had already laid the groundwork for the evening with no questions asked, just as he had expected. All he had to do was mention that Violet was a fashion designer, and his sister swung into action. Leon suspected that where clothes were concerned, Colette’s help was more due to her own selfish wishes than family loyalty, although she was indeed a loyal sister. Henri, their brother and remaining sibling, was a French ambassador and traveled constantly, and their parents had passed on. Most of the time it was just Leon and Colette against the world, which gave them an especially close relationship.

For a moment, Leon allowed himself to hope that Colette and Violet might become friends, just like Colette and Adele had been. He shook his head, banishing the thought. Adele was no longer in his life, and after he finished this assignment, Violet would want nothing to do with him or his family.

It was a pity, Leon thought.

Precisely at seven o’clock, a cab pulled up and Violet opened the rear door, rummaging in her handbag for the fare. Leon leaped forward and handed the driver a $50 bill. “Keep the change,” he said, and extended his hand to help Violet out of the cab.

At first Leon wasn’t sure she would accept his assistance. He was still mystified as to why this woman so steadfastly refused all of his overtures. Like all Frenchmen, Leon had learned to flirt at the same time he had learned to shave. Flirting and chivalry came as naturally to him as breathing. In his culture it was a dance, not a commitment.

Leon wasn’t sure, but it seemed to him that Violet believed she would owe him something if she accepted his help or acknowledged that he found her attractive. He would have to ask Colette if this was the reason. After that he would figure out a way to get around Violet’s defensiveness.

***

Leon had made their reservation and was waiting for Violet when her cab reached Rolfio’s. She wondered whether he was going to kiss her hand again, but he went one better and greeted her with a leisurely kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, Violet,” he murmured. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you,” Violet said as neutrally as she could manage. His French accent and low, smooth voice had a hypnotic effect on her.

The kiss had left her tingling but she worked hard not to show it. Remembering her promise to Colette, she added, “I’m happy to see you.” She was surprised to hear how natural her statement sounded in her own ears.

Leon’s gaze fastened on hers. “As am I, mademoiselle,” he replied.

Violet thought she detected a flicker of a wolfish glint in his dark eyes.

He took her arm as the waiter led them to their table and held her chair for her as she took her seat, then seated himself. In spite of her misgivings about him, Violet was pleased. After growing up in the Wilson family, good manners came as naturally to her as breathing. Tim had never once treated her with this much respect. Her family was too polite to point it out to her, but she knew they had noticed.

Although she found it presumptuous that Leon would kiss her and compliment her on her appearance after barely getting to know her, maybe she had met him for a reason, she thought. Maybe it was to help her get over Tim.

The waiter immediately brought the wine menu. Leon ordered a bottle for the two of them, then turned to Violet.

“I know we French have a bad reputation for having too much national pride,” he
said, smiling. “So I ordered a California wine for us. I want you to see that we’re not as…how do you say it here…snooty?”

Violet nodded.

“We’re really not as snooty as they say we are,” Leon finished.

Violet didn’t let her guard down. “That’s very considerate of you. But you must realize that we drink California wine here every day. A change of pace is good every so often.”

Her voice sounded false to her own ears. Only this morning she had been reviewing the past few years of her life and concluded that she was the last person who should be talking about a change of pace.

Leon looked crestfallen at what she had said. “Excuse-moi, you are quite correct,” he said contritely. “I should have thought better.”

Violet had to smile. He was so sure of himself, yet when she expressed disapproval of his actions, he was almost boyish. It was so unexpected that it made her heart melt.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “How would I say that in your language?”

Leon smiled. “You would say, ‘Ce n'est pas grave.’ It’s French for ‘no big deal,’ or ‘it’s all good.’”

Violet smiled back at him. “I would have guessed it was ‘no problemo,’ but now that I think about it, that sounds more like a faux pas.”

Leon laughed, and Violet joined him. The evening was starting off well.

The waiter appeared, filled their glasses from the bottle, and left a pair of menus. Much to Violet’s relief, Leon handed her one of them. She had been ready to speak up if he had tried to order her dinner for her.

When she had made her selection and closed her menu, Leon reached across the table, took her hand, and raised his glass.

“Forgive my sentimentality,” he said. “But I must propose a toast.” He nodded in the direction of her glass.

Deciding to humor him, Violet dutifully picked up her glass.

Leon’s eyes danced with mischief. “Here’s to constantly improving relations between the Americans and French.”

Violet didn’t have a response ready in French, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to respond anyway, so she clicked her glass with Leon and took a sip of wine. The pinot was excellent, better than any California wine she had tried in recent memory.

The waiter took their order and left.

“Colette tells me you’re a fashion designer,” Leon said. “I hope you will tell me more about your work.”

“I’m not famous,” Violet replied. “But I want to be. I had a breakthrough this spring for New York Fashion Week.”

“Ah, the runway?” Leon inquired.

“Yes. It was quite unexpected, but long hoped for.”

“I’m not at all surprised,” Leon said. “My sister loves haute couture. Around Paris she’s well known for her fashion sense. If Colette says you have talent, that’s high praise indeed.”

Rolfio’s food turned out to be excellent, and Violet enjoyed a moment of vindication as she thought of Tim’s refusal to eat there. For a moment she wished the no-good cheater could see her now, “dressed up fine,” as Troyesha would say, and sitting across the table from a good-looking foreigner with perfect manners and more than a few crumpled up dollar bills in his wallet.

She shook her head and reminded herself: no drama.

Besides, there was some due diligence she needed to do on her dinner companion.

Straightening her back, she looked across the table at Leon and batted the violet-blue eyes for which she had been named. She knew they were her best feature, and right now she needed to take advantage of it.

“So, Monsieur Girard,” she said, “you already seem to know my entire life story. It only seems fair that I know something of yours.”

Violet could swear he looked uncomfortable for a moment.

Leon recovered immediately. “There’s not much to tell, Mademoiselle Wilson,” he said, gently mocking her mock formality. “I work as a financial advisor on both sides of the Atlantic. My days are filled with long, boring meetings with Europeans and Americans who think about very little besides money.”

“It sounds as though you dislike it.”

“Like it or dislike it, it is my job,” Leon replied. “You have probably heard about the French work ethic. All the stories are true.”

“And which brokerage firm do you work with?” Violet inquired.

“I am an independent broker,” Leon said. “I have a partner on Wall Street who handles most of the American side of things, but I visit frequently to keep an eye on him.”

Violet thought his reply was a bit too fast and automatic to sound truthful. She had hoped to get some information out of him so she could compare notes with her siblings. Amelia and Max had teamed up last year to start Zetta Holdings, a full service brokerage house, so they knew all of the players in the Financial District.

She shrugged. If Leon wanted to be cryptic, then she would keep her guard up a while longer. “Trust but verify,” her brother Max was fond of saying. It had served him well as CEO of her family’s business, and it would serve Violet well too where Leon was concerned.

Leon motioned the waiter for the tab. “Shall we go?” he asked Violet.

She noted that he had called for the tab first and only afterward asked her for her input. “Sure,” she shrugged. “May I help with the tab?”

Leon waved away Violet’s offer to split the tab with a look of disgust, and she realized that wasn’t how they did things in his country.

It wasn’t really how they did things here, either, she reflected. It was just how she did things. Tim had trained her to look out for herself a little too well.