Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2) (21 page)

“I may have to kidnap her, then, because my two are about to kill each other, and they need a distraction and another person to be a referee. Lizzie, especially, is aching for her school chums this summer, so I’m happy to have you next door, but terribly sorry for little Alex.”

“The whole trip is all due to these people.” Gussie held up her bottle of LaVie, the green and blue label matching the sun and sky around them. “They are paying for everything.”

“Really? Jolly good of them.” Anne used her bottle to toast. “And what shall you be doing while you’re in Nice?”

“Maybe a little shopping for my wedding clients. I work as a stylist for my destination-wedding company back in Florida.”

“Oh, really?” Anne made a face. “Lots of bridezillas and way too much saccharine for my taste.”

Gussie acknowledged both with a nod. “The brides can be, you know, emotional. But for the most part, it’s fun. And I don’t mind the saccharine. Nothing like a supersweet wedding to renew your faith in romance.”

Anne curled her lip. “Nothing can renew my faith in romance after my divorce.”

“Oh, a bad one?”

“Bloody brutal would be more like it. Also, acrimonious, hateful, nasty, and expensive would be perfect descriptions. At least the expensive part is his problem, and I get to spend the summer in France.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. The kids seem to be handling it well.”

Anne sipped her water, studying the children in the distance. “Lizzie is strong and flexible, but Eddie has retreated so much. He’s moody and fluctuates between tears and swearing.”

“He is a thirteen-year-old boy, and I suppose the raging hormones are difficult enough.”

“Speaking of hormones, look.” She tipped her bottle toward the kids, and Gussie caught a moment of intense conversation between Eddie and Alex. “Sweet.”

“Says the woman who moments ago decried romance in any way, shape, or form.”

Anne hooted. “Touché, luv.” She pushed her sunglasses back over her curls, letting her eyes sparkle. “I like you, you know that?”

“And here I’ve been told the English are so reserved.” Gussie winked.

“Oh, I can keep my upper lip stiff when I have to, if that’s what you mean. But here in France? I like to pretend I’m a different person.”

“Funny, that’s kind of why I’m here, too.”

“Really? Well, let’s do this. Let’s keep our old selves at home, and you and I can be friends with the new selves. You can call me Annie and pretend I really know how to paint and that my husband leaving me for a twentysomthing woman he met on Twitter hasn’t turned me into a bitter, hissing crone. No, I’m carefree and happy.”

Gussie gave her a knuckle tap. “Carefree Annie you are.”

“And you?”

“I’m Gussie on any continent, but here, I’m going to be…natural. No pretenses, no hiding, no wishing I were”—Different. Better. Unscarred—“more comfortable in my own skin.”

“Your skin looks comfortable to me,” she shot back.

“You’re very sweet,” Gussie said. “And happy. And unjaded. And what else did you say you wanted to be?”

“An amazing painter.”

“Michel
annie
gelo, they call you.”

Anne—
Annie
—giggled. “Right you are.” She put her head back and closed her eyes. “I want to remember this lovely moment next winter when I’m freezing in London and the kids are spending the weekend with Twatter.”

Gussie snorted at the name. “That reminds me.” She reached into her bag. “I need pictures.”

When she took out her phone, she saw a text from Tom that she’d missed. Tapping it, she angled the screen to read the words.

Any chance we can get some alone time tonight?

“Oh…”

Annie looked sharply at her. “Everything okay?”

Gussie stared at the words, but with the reflection of the light on the screen, she really only saw her own face and couldn’t help noticing the smile working on her lips. “Yes, I got a text from Tom.”

Annie looked hard at her. “Just a friend, is he?”

“A friend with some unexpected benefits.”

Her eyebrow launched north. “He’s not married?” she demanded.

“Oh, God, no. He can’t commit to life with a houseplant let alone a wife. Look up Single Until He Dies in the dictionary, and you’ll see a nice picture of him.”

She grinned and inched closer, pretending to look at the phone. “So what benefits is he asking for?”

“Time alone tonight.”

Annie nodded and pointed toward the kids racing around as if they were playing tag. They were too far away for their laughter to carry, but it was clear they were having fun.

“Then text him back and tell him Alex is having dinner with us tonight.”

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not have a romantic dinner in Nice with a handsome man offering, uh, what did you call it? Benefits?” Annie grinned. “And who knows? It might turn into a sleepover.”

“For Alex or me?” Gussie asked with a laugh.

“Well, you were the one who came here to get comfortable in your own skin. You might start by showing him some.”

She might.

Chapter Sixteen

“You want to know the truth?” Gussie asked, sliding her fork tines through the delicate whipped cream and chocolate sauce of a profiterole.

Across from her, Tom sat with his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his knuckles, his gaze where it had been the whole meal—firmly on her. He’d chosen a secluded restaurant in Old Town on the second floor of a house, only four tables in the whole place, and theirs was on the open balcony, the sights and sounds of Vieux Nice surrounding them as they enjoyed an insanely delicious meal. And company that equaled it.

“Always and only the truth,” he said, the answer making her eyes glint like emeralds in the reflection of a full moon and flickering candlelight.

“This has been one of the best days of my life.”

He lifted his brows, surprised. “But I didn’t spend that much of it with you.”

She laughed. “What an ego. We’ve been together for hours.”

“Seems like minutes.”

She pointed her fork at him. “Dude, the flirting is heavy. But don’t stop. I like it.”

He crossed his arms and leaned even closer. The table was small enough that a few more inches and he could kiss her. “Tell me why this day was so wonderful.” Because, if he went ahead and even suggested what he’d been discussing in the meeting this afternoon, he had a feeling her wonderful day would head south in a hurry.

“It started at sunrise.” She gave him a slow, sexy smile that reached right down to his gut and twisted everything into a knot.

“That was a nice sunrise,” he agreed.

“The colors and all.”

“And all.”

She lifted a bite of profiterole to her lips, flicking whipped cream with her tongue while staring at him.

“Speaking of heavy flirting,” he teased.

She looked down, her lashes spreading against her cheekbones. “Hey,” he said, tapping her arm. “You cheated. You have mascara on.”

“That’s all. Look.” She crinkled her nose. “You can even see my freckles.”

“And they are so, so pretty.” In fact, freckles would be gorgeous in the shot he had in mind. Somehow, in between “this is the dumbest idea ever” and “I’ll talk to her tonight,” Tom had come around to Suzette’s way of thinking. But would Gussie? Even for a test shot?

For the first time since he’d met her, Gussie didn’t roll her eyes or tsk or wave off his compliment. Instead, she smiled her thanks. “You want to know why else it was a great day?”

“You went to the beach?”

“Yes, and I made a new friend, Annie.”

“Love that she has kids Alex’s age,” he said. “Alex didn’t even seem the least bit bothered that we were going out.”

“Because she likes that boy.”

“What?” He practically shot forward. “He’s a child.
She’s
a child.”

“Thirteen—or almost thirteen—is not a child. And you, my friend, are starting to sound like a…
guardian
.”

“Which I happen to be. Do I have to get LaVie to hire bodyguards?”

Gussie laughed. “They’ll be under the supervision of Annie or me, so keep the bullet catchers away. She’s having a little summer adventure, Tom. What better way to help her to heal from the hurt of a lifetime than to make new friends? Even of the opposite gender.”

Of course she was right. And he sounded like some kind of ogre, not wanting the girl to make a new friend just because that friend was a boy.

“You know what I think?” Gussie asked gently. “I think you are much more protective, caring, and family-oriented than you let on.”

Every word stung, because…well, because she didn’t know the truth. Without answering, he looked down at the words on his arm, the constant reminder.

Πάντα μόνος.

He would never again be protective, caring, or family-oriented.

She slid her hand over his arm, trailing her finger over the tattoo as if she’d followed his gaze or his thoughts.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“The Blood Brothers tattoo parlor in Cyprus,” he replied without hesitation, remembering the night all too well.

“What happened?”

He swallowed, and she added some pressure on his arm.

“What was her name, Tom?”

God, was he that transparent? When he tried so hard not to be? “Her name was Sophia, which is surprisingly simple, I guess.”

“What’s simple? The name or the fact that the declaration of independence on your arm was caused by a woman?”

“Both, I guess, but I meant the name. Nothing exotic or unusual.”

“So, let me guess. She tried to rope and tie you down and get a binding contract from the justice of the peace?”

Each word twisted the knife in his heart a little bit more. “Something like that.” Let her think Sophia had wanted to rope and tie him down, and it had been his inability to commit that ended…everything.

“And the tattoo? A reminder never to get that close to disaster again?”

“Precisely,” he confirmed. The truth bubbled up, but he didn’t want to let it out. She’d be sympathetic and understanding. She’d share his pain and ask poignant questions. She’d tell him it wasn’t his fault and life was tough and maybe he’d find someone again.

She’d try to heal a wound that he didn’t want to heal.

“It’s like I’m an open book or something,” he said, going for as light as he could make the dark topic.

“Well, your story
is
written all over you.”

Not the full story. Not by a long shot. “Are you done?” he asked, glancing at the remains of profiterole.

“Done talking about Sophia or done with dessert?”

He pushed back, the check paid long ago. “I’m done with both,” he said, getting a slightly surprised look for his gruffness and regretting it immediately. “Let’s go walk through Old Town.”

She hesitated for a moment as he stood, so he held his hand out to her. “I want to show you my favorite alley.”

“Your favorite alley?” Holding his hand, she stood slowly. “Who even has one of those? Is it perfect for taking pictures?”

“It’s perfect for kissing.” And forgetting old aches. “Come on.” He slid his arm around her and ushered her out, stopping to thank the owner and chef again, then stepping out into the dim and narrow cobblestone street.

“This way.” He guided her down the next side street, past a café and dimly lit art gallery. “Off Rue Droite.”

Like all the streets in Vieux Nice, the main drag had no vehicles but plenty of pedestrians, all vying for space in the narrow maze that made up the small section in the southeast corner of the city. They were forced to walk arm in arm, and he tucked Gussie close into his side and stayed with the foot traffic.

They stopped to listen to a violinist on the corner, then wandered among the street vendors selling scarves and flowers and hand-painted porcelain.

“Souvenir?” he offered, picking up a heart-shaped box with the words
Vieux Nice
painted on the top.

She took it, opening the tiny latch to reveal a mother-of-pearl inlay. “Pretty,” she said. “I bet Alex would like this.”

A little guilt pinged, since he hadn’t thought of that. “Then I’ll get two, one for each of you.”

He paid the vendor, who wrapped each box in tissue and slipped them into a tiny bag.

“Thank you,” Gussie said, smiling up at him. “Not necessary to butter me up, since I’m already on my way to the kissing alley.” She leaned into him, purposely coy. “Aren’t we?”

“We are.” He turned her around one corner, past another café, then along the side of a very ornate but small church, and into the alley.

He slowed their step and leaned her against a cool stone wall, the narrow alley barely big enough for both of them.

Looking up at him, she let her lips relax, ready for a kiss. But he looked at her, studying her face in the moonlight and shadows. “Damn, I want to take a picture of you as much as I want to kiss you.”

“Don’t,” she ordered. “Kiss.”

“I do have my phone.”

She curled her hand around his neck and pulled his head to her. “Keep it in your pocket, big boy.”

He captured her lips under his, holding her face in his hands, angling her to get the maximum amount of her mouth against his.

She leaned into him, opening her lips to let their tongues tangle, threading his hair in her fingers. With an easy arch of her back, her breasts pressed against his shirt, sending the first hot rush of blood south in his body, starting a war with his head and his hard-on.

Did he need to tell her everything about his past before they slept together?

Son of a
bitch
. He knew the answer to that, and hated it.

“Hey.” She dragged her hands over his shoulders, squeezing gently. “You’re thinking about something.” She squinted, playful but still determined. “Sophia?”

The name—just the name—sliced through him.

“It’s tough to explain.” A miserable story with a sad ending and a broken man. Who’d want to fall into bed with that?

She drew her brows in a frown. “That sounds serious.”

And he wasn’t going there now. So he’d tell her about the LaVie deal and let her think that’s what troubled him: her fury over decisions made without her input this afternoon.