Coming Home (36 page)

They both turned as the door slid open. Lucian appraised the two of them, his eyes narrow and suspicious. “Evelyn. I ordered a car. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

Her heart sunk. “You said we could stay the night.”

Before he could answer, Christos stood. “I’d like to take the two of you to dinner. I know you made other plans, but . . . it would mean a lot to me.”

Lucian’s jaw ticked. She gave him a pleading look. “I’d like to stay.”

His eyes shut and his expression looked pained. “Very well. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

***

Dinner was an experience. The cuisine was much like the fare served at the hotel, being that the head chef at Patras was Parisian. Tibet and Lucian were silent for most of the meal, while Christos and Evelyn held up the majority of the conversation.

Several times she caught Lucian watching them, a perplexed look on his face. They didn’t talk about business. Rather, she spoke of their trip to Ireland and England and how much she loved the island off the coast of Florida.

Christos complimented her often and smiled with natural affection crinkling his eyes. It was a side, she believed, Lucian had never before seen in his father.

The ride home was filled with chatter. She often invited Lucian into the conversation, but he only offered up one-word statements. Tibet also seemed to watch them with a sort of disbelief.

Evelyn saw signs of that stubborn, determined Patras mentality, but compared to Lucian, Christos seemed like a big marshmallow. It was so blatantly obvious to her that this man, like his son, was desperate for the connections they’d denied themselves over the years. She was happy to bridge the gap and took great pride in the building connection she sensed between herself and Lucian’s father.

When they returned to the house, she was still tipsy from dinner and gripped Christos’s arm as their laughter echoed through the foyer.

“She’s a pistol, Lucian. Don’t let her go,” Christos laughed.

Lucian’s expression remained blank. “I don’t intend to.” His unaffected tone sobered them.

Evelyn turned to Christos and said, “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

He smiled, perhaps a bit sad to see it come to an end. “Anytime, my dear.”

She said good night and followed Lucian up to their room. When she shut the door, the tension was palpable. “Are you okay?”

He mumbled something and undid his tie. “You certainly won over my father.”

She stilled. “Does that aggravate you?”

“It will aggravate me when he does something typical and hurts your feelings. I know him. This act he’s putting on now isn’t real.”

“Why? Because it’s incongruent with the man you knew ten years ago? People change, Lucian.”

“Not him.”

She tossed her bag on the chair and stilled his hands over the buttons of his shirt. “Your father loves you, Lucian. He’s trying to show you, and you aren’t giving him the opportunity he needs.”

“Why should I give him anything?”

“Because you love him too, and this void between the two of you hurts.”

He sighed and shut his eyes. His forehead came to rest on hers. “How is it you see the parts of me I’ve spent my whole life successfully hiding?”

“Because I’m like you. Love is scary. But now that I know all the good things it can bring, I’ve changed my position and decided it’s worth the risk. Your father is not the enemy anymore, Lucian. Stop fighting him. Give him a chance before he’s gone. I’d hate to see you haunted with regret.”

His head tilted, and soft lips traced over hers. “I should strangle him for flirting with you.”

She drew back. “He was not flirting with me.”

“Oh yes, he was. It was like you put him under a spell. I only allowed it to go on because it was pissing off Tibet.”

She laughed. “I don’t get her. She’s . . . it’s like she loves your dad, but he’ll never love her back enough, not by her standards at least. And she knows it.”

“She’s got a lot to answer for. She’ll never be more than the woman who hurt my mother. I can tolerate her, but I’ll never see past that scarlet letter.”

Her fingers traced down his throat. “What now?”

The zipper at her back was dragged down and her dress peeled away. “I’m done with the family stuff for a while. Tomorrow we’ll have breakfast before we leave and I’ll make an effort to play nice so long as you remember which Patras you belong to.”

Her fingers brushed over the ridge in his pants. “Hmm, here I thought I belonged to myself. Maybe I need a lesson to remind me—”

His fist gripped her hair and tilted her head back. All words cut off as he pressed his lips to her jaw and nibbled to the soft skin behind her ear. Looking in her eyes, his fingers tightened. “You’re mine, Evelyn.
Mine.”

His mouth closed over her in a total act of possession. Her fingers pulled at his shirt until he had her pinned beneath him on the bed.

Her clothes were ripped from her body. He spread her thighs and his eyes dilated, going completely black. “You’re soaked.” He grinned wickedly.

She gazed down at his now-naked body, all sinew and strength. His cock swelled, and with one deep thrust he was driving into her.

That night he took her completely, irrevocably, and she cherished the sensation of being so thoroughly owned.

***

Breakfast was cordial. Lucian made an effort not to close himself off, and Christos delicately tried to incite conversation. It was sort of precious, seeing two intimidating men struggle to become more than enemies. It would take time, but Evelyn was glad they’d made the trip. This was a big step in the right direction.

When their car arrived, Christos hugged her. “Don’t stay away too long, you hear?”

She patted his cheek. “You know you could come to Folsom too.”

Christos looked at Lucian, who was doing a remarkable job of acting like he hadn’t heard her suggestion. His father glanced back at her, “If we reach that point, I’d count it as a win.”

“Time,” she whispered and he nodded. “Thank you for having us.”

“You’re always welcome.”

Saying good-bye to Tibet was sort of like petting a cactus. She could be soft, but she also had the proven ability to draw blood. She doubted the Patras children would ever fully accept her, but their tolerance of her presence in their father’s life was perhaps enough.

As the car pulled away, Lucian rested his hand on her knee. “Do you think you’ll hear from him soon?” she asked.

“I don’t really know what I’d say if he called. This entire trip has been . . . a surprise.”

“Maybe he finally realizes what he’s been missing all those years away from you three.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you regret coming?” she asked, holding her breath.

“You know . . . I did, but now I’m not sure. It made me happy to see you two get along. My dad doesn’t say much as far as praise, but, the way he looked at you, it made me proud. I think he, in a way, was proud of me too.”

Chapter 19

Coming Home

The jet landed in New York. It was strange being in a city that was not Folsom. There were familiar structures and the same recognizable metropolitan pulse, but they were still very far from home. However, she wasn’t homesick.

They stayed the night at Lucian’s brownstone in Manhattan because he’d arranged an appointment with a doctor to remove his cast the following day. The narrow house was compact, but luxurious nonetheless. They’d dined at a renowned steak house, and on the way home Evelyn had a sort of epiphany.

Lucian had so many houses, but she wasn’t sure which was his home. “Where do you live?” she asked as they climbed the steps to the brownstone.

“Pardon?”

“You have so many houses. Which one do you consider home?”

He tilted his head and unlocked the door. “I’m not sure. The estate is my home, but so is the hotel. I love Ireland, but I also love England.”

She toed off her shoes and faced him. “Is one your favorite?”

“They’re all different now,” he said shaking his head.

“Different how?”

“Whenever I think of Ireland, I’ll think of you singing in the pub. And the ocean off the coast of Florida was never as beautiful as when your toes first touched the water. Artifacts and historic places of England I see with new appreciation, because of seeing them through your eyes. And even my condo in Folsom . . . that’s always been my central home, but when you left it was nothing more than a cell. I think . . . you’re home. Wherever you are is where I want to be.”

She blinked as emotion snuck up on her. “I feel the same way,” she whispered, going up on her toes to kiss him. “Make love to me, Lucian.”

He led her up the stairs and together they stripped off their clothes. When their bodies came together it was a joining of souls. He was her shelter. He was her peace.

She had nothing to offer him other than herself, but that was all he ever seemed to truly want of her. Over the past weeks, she understood so much more about who he was, and for the first time, she saw herself.

She was no longer a girl, but a woman. No longer was she racing against all odds to find the security she’d always coveted. She had everything she needed right there in the arms of the man she loved.

Her body writhed beneath his weight as he filled her. For him, she was a vessel of surrender, and for her he was a tower of strength. She realized home, for either of them, did not come in the shape of walls, but in the sense of heart. He showed her how to love and she, somehow, taught him the same.

As they lay beneath the shadows of night, holding one another tightly, she thought of all her fears over the years. When would she eat? Where would she sleep? How would she stay warm? Lucian had become a safe harbor for her to always come back to, but he was so much more than the reliable security she assumed she wanted. He was her solace, her happiness, her reason for laughter, and her desire for so much more.

For the first time in her life, she was able to imagine a future without considering Pearl. She could go wherever she wanted, be whomever she chose. She was free, but held safe. Not out of obligation or because he had become a liability to her heart, but because she wanted him.

On the nightstand, she saw a felt-tip pen and paper. Lucian’s fingers trailed over her breasts as the two of them gazed at the ceiling in contentment. She reached for the pen and sat up.

“What are you doing?” he said, grumbling that she interrupted their comfort.

“Give me your hand.” He held out his right hand. “No, the other one.”

His brow crinkled, but he gave her the hand covered in the cast. She looked down at the plaster bandage, remembering how frightened she’d been that day. Turning his wrist, she uncapped the pen with her teeth and pressed it to the scratchy surface. Her hand moved with practiced effort.

MARRY ME

Lucian looked at her inscription and stilled. His shoulders rose, as he seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding for far too long. When he gazed up at her, there were tears in his eyes, shimmering like dark puddles in the moonlight. He shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips.

A soft, gravelly laugh slipped past his throat. She didn’t know what was so funny, then he leaned over to his side of the bed and produced a familiar box. It was her ring. “I’ve been lugging this thing around for months, waiting for the right moment, and you beat me to it.”

Her face split with a grin as relief rushed through her veins. “I didn’t know if you’d ever ask again.”

“It’s all I’ve wanted to ask.” He opened the box. There was her favorite stone, polished into several fine pearls nestling the most beautiful diamond she’d ever seen in her life. He withdrew the ring. His voice was soft, full of emotion. “Evelyn, be my queen, protect me, stand by me, love me, and I promise to always do the same.”

The ring slid on her finger and fit perfectly. She admired the way the stones and the diamond winked in the moonlight. Gazing back at Lucian, she whispered, “Yes.”

Every night, every chill, every ache, suddenly fell into place. This was what she was meant for. In a world of uncertainty, she’d never before felt like she belonged as she did in that moment, in his arms. He was hers. And for the first time, a true sense of peace opened her heart. For he was the most valuable thing she’d ever owned.

Part XII

Mrs. Lucian Patras

Epilogue

Six months later . . .

“‘The wedding was an intimate affair. Mrs. Patras wore a couture gown, her hair hung in loose curls, as she made her vows to Folsom’s most sought-after bachelor. Only a few close friends and family members attended the ceremony in the yard of Lucian Patras’s mansion in the Hamptons.

‘The mysterious Evelyn Keats, now Patras, was rumored to have been escorted down the aisle by none other than Christos Patras himself, who has been residing in Paris, France, since his son overtook Patras Industries over a decade ago. The engagement was kept secret for many months. Sources believe the couple was out of the country when the proposal was made.

‘When spotted at a Manhattan bakery and asked about her past, Mrs. Patras simply stated, “Perhaps someday I’ll write my own story, but until then, all you need to know is that I fell in love with an incredible man who showed me what home was.”

‘The couple has since returned from their honeymoon in Greece and they are now back in Folsom. While Patras remains the same unyielding financial king of Folsom, there is speculation he is a different man behind the scenes. Family and friends have remained tight-lipped regarding the newlyweds, but we suspect Folsom will be welcoming a very young, new tycoon in the coming year.’”

***

Evelyn closed the tabloid and stared at her mother’s gravestone. “I wish you could have been there, Momma. It was so wonderful. We danced and feasted like royalty. Everything was perfect. Lucian even had a pair of sneakers made to match my dress for when my feet got tired.” She shook her head, overwhelmed by how irrevocably she’d fallen for her husband.

Her hands patted the turned earth blanketing her mother. “We’ve started discussing children,” she quietly confessed. “Lucian would like to try for a family, but I’m scared. He’d be a wonderful father. Our children would never want for anything. I just . . . sometimes I worry.”

Evelyn never wanted to let her children down. She always wanted to be there for them, love them, and assure them of it every day.

She’d had grown used to letting Lucian make most the difficult decisions. He was good at it, and she trusted him to choose what was best for them. She held on to her apartment until after the wedding, giving him the key as a wedding gift, a sign that she was ready.

He supported her decision to continue with her education, and there was something so priceless about seeing words and reading them herself. She would be getting her GED soon and wasn’t sure what her future would bring. She’d convinced Lucian that she would work and he finally accepted the inevitable, proving his support the day he unveiled the art studio he built her, stocked to the rafters with sea glass and uncut metals. He’d even started discussing higher education with her, suggesting she might enjoy earning a degree in art in order to turn her skills into an independent business venture.

When it came to submission, they’d both learned a bit about sacrifice. Most of all, it never felt like sacrifice when a compromise was made for the one person they loved more than themselves. She continued to surrender to Lucian domestically, and he had learned to accept her independence outside of the home. She would never be socially submissive, and that was enough.

Trust.

She trusted him to decide for them, but he never overlooked the fact that she’d always be
her.
Evelyn Scout Keats Patras.

However, with the decision to start a family, he’d said it was her choice. He wanted a family and she wanted to give him one, but it would be her decision when that would actually happen, and she’d finally made up her mind.

Her eyes turned toward the house as the limo came into view. She scooped up her magazine and kissed her fingers, then placed them on the cool headstone. “I love you, Momma.”

She quickly headed down the hill toward the house, racing to make it inside before Lucian. The grass crunched under her feet with each hurried step as the crisp January air chapped her cheeks. Lucy held the door for her as she bolted in the house, and the maid quickly took her coat.

Evelyn rushed up the steps and began stripping away her clothes. He’d find the trail before the servants did and would know where she was. When she made it to the bedroom, she dropped to her knees and rested her hands, palms up, over her thighs.

The sound of the front door opening had her pulse quickening. She breathed steadily as she awaited her husband. His steady footfalls imprinted on her heart. A low chuckle echoed in the quiet house, and she imagined he’d found her trail of clothing.

When the door slowly opened, he spotted her and stilled, her discarded clothes in his hands. His eyes bore into hers, crinkling with anticipation and curiosity. “Mrs. Patras,” he said tossing the clothes aside and loosening his tie. “How was your day?”

She lifted her lashes and smiled. “Very nice, Mr. Patras. How was yours?”

“Long.” He stepped into the room and quietly closed the door. “This is quite a welcome. May I ask what has provoked such a beautiful display of surrender?”

“I have a gift for you.”

He toed off his shoes and removed his jacket, adding it to the pile of her items. He stepped closer. “A greater gift than finding my wife awaiting me in nothing but a smile?”

She nodded. “I saw Dr. Sheffield today.”

He stilled. Lucian was usually aware of her every move, and the fact that she’d done so without his knowledge clearly took him by surprise. “And how did that go?”

A shaky breath filled her lungs. Courage. He’d once taught her that clothes were courage, but over time, she’d learned that there was nothing more courageous than laying yourself bare for the one you loved. “I want to have a baby.”

His breath caught and he dropped to his knees. His hands found hers as he pressed his forehead into hers. “Are you sure?” he rasped.

“I’m sure.”

His lips pressed to hers and emotion erupted between then. His gratitude for her gift came in the form of tight breaths and shimmering eyes. His hand tugged at her neck as he drew her close and kissed her passionately.

“When?” he asked.

“After my graduation this spring. I would like to have at least one year of my husband to myself, but then . . . then we can try.”

He laughed softly and pulled her into a tight hug. “You will always have me, love. A child will only expand on the love we already share.”

It was unfathomable, to love more than she already did. Intrepid excitement rolled through her. Her gaze found his, and a potent need unfurled at the look in his onyx eyes.

“Welcome home,” she whispered, and he took her mouth, easing her to her back, claiming the haven of her surrender.

Safely tucked in the shelter of his body, the one home she’d learned she could always depend on, she sighed as his lips graze her ear, his voice low and intense. “I love you, Scout.”