One Night in Provence Read online

  “When I think of how quickly she died, I tell myself it is a good reminder that we should pack as much living into our days as possible.”

  “You do a good job,” she replied.

  “Since I’m the only one left, I have to live for three. Did you finish your tour?”

  “Pretty much.” She put the photo back in its spot. “You definitely have a lot of family history to unpack. Between the castle and here, I’m realizing your family didn’t just live for centuries—they were involved in every major historical event in France. I envy you. My family’s more of a mishmash of mistakes. The part I know of, anyway.”

  Philippe wanted to say that not everyone knew their family’s roots as intricately as he did, but he held back. Jenna tended to share very little of herself. He wanted to see if she’d share more.

  She did. “I never met my dad’s family,” she told him. “I asked once, during one of my parents’ reunions, but all he said was that he didn’t talk to them. The grandparents I do know? Total pieces of work. Grandma did nothing but complain when they visited. About Grandpa. About how pathetic my mom is.”

  “Didn’t your grandfather say something?”

  “He was too busy complaining about my grandmother.” She smiled. “Made for some fun Christmas dinners. Especially when my uncles and their wives came around.”

  “I can imagine.” Actually, he couldn’t. What she described sounded like a horribly toxic environment. How on earth had it produced such a preppy little angel? No wonder her friend Beatrice gave her an adventure. If ever a woman was in need of fun memories, it was Jenna. Made him more determined than ever to make sure the remainder of her trip was as memorable as possible.

  “There is one thing your family did right,” he said.

  She came around to his side of the desk to sit on the edge. “Really? What’s that?”

  “They created you.”

  Pink crept into her cheeks. She doubted him, but he meant the compliment. For all the issues her parents had, or in spite of them, they’d raised someone special. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Monsieur d’Usay,” she told him.

  “Is that so? I’m glad to hear it.” He dipped his head for a kiss. “What do you say we continue this tour upstairs? There are a few rooms you haven’t seen.”

  “And what rooms would those be?” As she asked the question, she hooked her fingers through his belt loop and pulled him toward her. For a woman who only a day earlier had been dodging his advances, the brazenness was an amazing turn. Snagging her belt loops in return, he tugged her to her feet. “To begin? My bedroom.”

  * * *

  Sunrise had never looked so beautiful. Jenna watched as inch by inch, the fields outside her hotel room turned from blue to gold and purple. If she could only stop time from moving forward. Not forever. Only for a few more days.

  She was going to miss Provence. The smells, the sounds, the people. She felt at home here in a way she couldn’t explain. The feeling went beyond the man in her bed. The region itself spoke to her.

  Philippe’s arms slipped around her waist, wrapping her in warmth. “What are you doing awake so early?” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Come back to bed.”

  “I have to leave for the airport in a few hours,” she replied.

  “Six hours. We have plenty of time yet.”

  Six hours didn’t sound like plenty of time to her. She couldn’t believe her trip was almost over. The final few days had passed in a blur of sunny days and too-short nights. Tomorrow she would be back in Nantucket, going to bed. Alone.

  “I wish this week didn’t have to end,” she said.

  “Mmm...” Philippe was too busy peppering her jaw and neck with kisses. “Then cancel your flight. Stay a few more days.”

  If only she could. “I can’t. I have to be back at work day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll get you a new job.”

  “While I appreciate the...er...offer...” Philippe’s lips had moved to the curve of her shoulder. “I think I need to stick to the original plan.” Even if it were possible, a few more days would only be postponing the inevitable. Besides, she was already perilously close to letting the affair cross into emotional territory. Sharing secrets in the dark, it was easy to forget this was a vacation fling. Every time Philippe shared some moment from his life, Jenna could feel herself slipping deeper under his spell.

  Far better she leave as scheduled. Before she made a fool out of herself and actually fell in love with the man.

  “If that is the case, then I insist you come back to bed,” Philippe said. “So I can leave you with a proper memory for the flight home.”

  Who was Jenna to argue with creating another memory?

  “Have I thanked you for such an amazing week?” she asked as he led her away from the window.

  They reached the bed, and he sat down on the edge, trapping her between his knees. Jenna gasped as his fingers brushed the backs of her legs. “Last night while we were dancing on the terrace, but you can thank me again, if you’d like.”

  “I’m never going to forget this trip for as long as I live,” she said. God bless Beatrice.

  “Should I take that to mean you had a proper adventure?”

  “Let’s see... Roman ruins, champagne under the stars, a sexy French lover. Most definitely. I have been well and truly spoiled.”

  A expression she couldn’t recognize softened his features. “You deserve to be spoiled, ma chérie. I am glad you chose Provence for your adventure.”

  “Me too.” Smiling back the lump in her throat, she combed her fingers through his dark waves. “It was the trip of a lifetime. I’ll never forget it.”

  “And I shall remember you, Jenna Brown. Very fondly.”

  For a little while, maybe. Jenna wouldn’t fool herself into thinking she would dwell in his memory forever. A few weeks from now, another woman would be in his bed, while she went on with her life. It was how holiday affairs worked.

  Until she stepped through those airport doors, though, Philippe was still hers. And he’d promised her another memory.

  She climbed onto his lap.

  * * *

  Philippe watched the crowded checkpoint until he could no longer see Jenna’s copper-colored head. That was that. The week was over. A heaviness settled in his stomach. He would miss his little American. Too bad she’d never know how much he appreciated her passing through his life or how she’d managed to return pleasure to harvest week. There were times, usually when they were lying together in the dark, when he was struck by how well they blended together. Like the notes of a perfume. Strong enough that he almost—almost—suggested he fly to Nantucket to see her again. Thankfully he came to his senses. What had drawn him to Jenna was her difference from the other women in his world. But that difference was also why he shouldn’t see her again. Beneath her cynical exterior was a woman who believed in love and forever. The kind of woman men fell in love with.

  The kind of woman he avoided.

  In the end, it was best he leave Jenna Brown and her enticing smile here at the airport and go back to his routine.

  He wished her a wonderful life. She deserved it.

  September

  Jenna sat on the linoleum floor watching the second hand sweep across the clock. One minute. Two minutes.

  Her breathing matched the steady pace. In one second, out the next. In, out. In, out. She wanted to close her eyes but was too afraid she’d lose count of the time.

  Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds.

  Ninety-nine percent accurate, the package said. She didn’t really need a package. She already knew the answer. Two weeks of procrastinating had her pretty certain. Still, nothing was one hundred percent—not even the test, apparently.

  Forty-five seconds.

  Her heart was racing. The slow breathing wasn’t helping. In fact, trying to brea
the slowly caused a tightening in her chest. A knot the size of her fist blocked the air from flowing comfortably.

  Fifty-five seconds.

  She looked down at the stick in her hand. A bright blue plus sign peered up at her through the result window.

  Pregnant.

  * * *

  “Do you have any plans to actually eat that?”

  “Huh?” Jenna looked up from her plate to find her friend watching her intently. They were sitting at their favorite restaurant having lunch. Peak tourist season was over, meaning they could enjoy an ocean-view table. On the other side of the glass, the harbor was quiet. At this point in the year, island traffic slowed except for the weekends.

  Shirley pointed to Jenna’s plate. “Your salmon,” she said. “You’ve been stabbing it for the past five minutes. Is there a reason why you’re mutilating it?”

  “Teaching it a lesson?” Jenna offered before setting down her fork. “Sorry. I got lost in thought.”

  “No kidding. You barely reacted when I mentioned Joe asked me to go to New York City with him for the weekend.” Joseph Kwan being the lawyer Shirley had recently started dating.

  “He did?”

  “See? I knew you weren’t listening. And yes, he did. We’re going Columbus Day weekend.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Jenna replied. Good for Shirley for making a meaningful connection. “Just be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Retrieving her fork, she started poking at her fish again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Shirley asked. “You’ve been acting weird since you returned from France. You’re not hung up on that guy you met, are you?”

  “Philippe. His name was Philippe, and the two of us were clear from the start that once the holiday ended, so did we.”

  Seven weeks had passed since Jenna came back from France, long enough for the memories of her trip to recede. Some memories, anyway.

  Some would stick with her forever.

  What was Philippe doing now? It was evening in France. Was he with a woman?

  Who was she kidding? Of course he was with a woman. Someone beautiful and sophisticated.

  Looking down, she saw her knuckles had turned white from squeezing the fork.

  “I don’t mean to be distracted,” she told Shirley, setting the fork down again. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff on my mind, is all.” Three little sticks, all with the same double blue lines.

  “Anything I can do to help? It’s not family stuff, is it?”

  “Kind of. The thing is...” She stopped herself. Philippe deserved to be the first to know. She’d been avoiding calling him for a week, telling herself it was because she didn’t know the right words. What would he say? Would he be happy?

  “The thing is what?” Shirley asked.

  “Something I need to handle on my own,” Jenna replied. And soon. The time for procrastinating was over. There were decisions to be made.

  Her stomach started churning. On her plate, the once attractive piece of fish had become a pile of pink chunks smothered in apricot sauce. Jenna grabbed her water to keep the sour taste from rising in her throat.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized to her friend. “I’m not feeling well. Do you mind if I bail?”

  “Sure. Let’s flag down the waitress.”

  “No. You stay and finish your meal. No sense in both of us ruining our lunch.” Besides, she needed to be alone to formulate her thoughts.

  “If you’re sure,” Shirley said. When it came to food, she was easily convinced. “Call me later and let me know how you’re feeling?”

  “Sure.”

  It would be the second call Jenna made.

  The first would be to France, to let Philippe know that the d’Usay family line wasn’t going to die out after all.

  * * *

  She had her phone out before she stepped through her front door, only to catch herself before hitting the dial button. What would he say when she told him? Would he believe her or, would he think it a trick? He was a well-known millionaire; it wasn’t inconceivable to think a woman might try and score a payday.

  Jenna took a deep breath. In the end, it didn’t matter if he thought she was trying to trick him, did it? She was pregnant, and he was the father.

  She dialed.

  “Allo?” The sound of his voice swept over her, taking her breath away. She’d forgotten how smooth and melodic it was.

  “Allo?” he repeated.

  “Hel...” She found her voice. “Hello, Philippe? This is Jenna. Jenna Brown. From Nantucket.”

  “Jenna?” Was it her imagination or did he sound happy to hear her voice? It was hard to tell because of the background noise. He was in a restaurant or at a party or somewhere. She could hear the voices and the sound of cutlery.

  Oh God, he was on a date. “Is...is this a bad time?”

  “No, no. Is something wrong?”

  “Well,” she said, wincing, “that depends on your definition of wrong. I’m pregnant.”

  Silent greeted her announcement. She might have thought they were disconnected except for the crowd noise. “Philippe? Did you hear...?”

  “Are you certain?”

  Jenna’s heart sank. Stupid her. Apparently a small part of her had held out hope that he’d be excited about the news. “I took the test three times. I’m going to take a blood test this week to make sure.” The test was more of a formality than confirmation at this point.

  “That is a good idea,” Philippe said. “To be certain, I mean. You’ll call me when you get the results?”

  “Of course. As soon as I know them.”

  “Merci. I would appreciate that.”

  He might as well have been asking her to call about a flower order, for all the emotion in his voice. He doesn’t want his dinner companion to know his business. Again her stomach sank, and again she kicked herself for being disappointed. “I know this is probably the last thing you were expecting,” she said. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the news myself. It was as big a surprise to me, I assure you.”

  “I—I’m sure.”

  “Anyway, I thought you should know.”

  “Oui. Merci. That is, thank you for telling me. You will call when you have the results?”

  Jenna nodded. “As soon as I have them,” she said into the phone.

  “Good. Merci. I’ll talk to you soon, then.”

  Hopefully that call would go better. This call was so awkward it hurt. It more ways than one. “I should probably let you get back to your meal,” she said.

  “How did you...?”

  “I can hear the silverware.”

  “Ah.”

  Silence filled the line again. Jenna wished she could see his face to know what he was thinking. The flatness of his voice left no clue.

  “Good night, then,” she said.

  “Jenna...”

  Her thumb froze. “Yes?”

  “Nothing. Good night.”

  The dial tone kept her from saying any more.

  Well, it was done, she thought, as she let the phone slip from her ear. He knew.

  * * *

  Philippe hung up the phone and returned to his seat in the restaurant. The crowd, which had been loud and boisterous before Jenna’s call, had faded as though someone pushed the entire setting into the background.

  A baby. His baby.

  “Is something wrong? You look like you saw a ghost.”

  Shaking himself from his fog, he smiled at his dinner companion. “No ghost, Xavier, just unexpected news.”

  “Good news, I hope,” his friend replied.

  “I—” He wasn’t sure. “I think so.”

  He was still trying to absorb the phone call. For the last few years, Philippe had told himself he would be the end of the d’Usay line. That there would be no wife,
no child, no heir to carry on the family tradition.

  Now, thanks to Jenna, that was no longer the case. There was going to be another d’Usay after all. The concept filled him with an emotion he couldn’t describe. All of a sudden he felt...happy.

  At the opposite end of the table, his lawyer Xavier Cousteau was carving up his steak. “How strong are you when it comes to family law?” he asked him.

  “Not very. I studied it in law school, but my knowledge doesn’t go much further,” Xavier replied. “Why?”

  “I’m going to need a person who can help me establish a trust.” A trust. A support plan. His mind was ticking off steps. “Can you find me someone?”

  “Oui. Of course. But why?”

  “Because, my friend...” Philippe paused while he signaled the server. When the man approached, he asked for two glasses of malt whisky.

  “Philippe?” Xavier prodded.

  “Because,” Philippe replied, “it’s time for me to start thinking about the future.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  October

  MORNING SICKNESS WAS the worst. For the past week, her stomach revolted every morning at five thirty. The only thing that quelled the nausea was a sweet cheese croissant from the bakery next to her apartment. Leaning over the sink in the break room, Jenna inhaled the pastry in two bites like she was trying to hide a dirty little secret.

  “You’re definitely part French,” she told her stomach. Eight weeks in, her abdomen was still flat. For now. If she kept scarfing down pastry, she was going to gain twenty-five pounds in the first trimester alone.

  Shirley poked her head through the door just as Jenna was washing her hands. “Mr. Mylanski was complaining of discomfort. I went ahead and gave him his morphine.”

  Poor old man’s pain was getting worse. “Thanks.” She’d check in on him before she left to make sure he was sleeping.

  “No problem. I saw you duck in here and figured you needed a second. Morning sickness strike again?”