One Night in Provence Read online

  “That was very generous of you to make a donation,” Jenna said once Kit departed.

  Again Philippe shrugged. “The three of us, Kit, Matt, and I, enjoyed some good times together. Matt was a hell of a sailor as well. I had heard rumors he was battling something, but I didn’t know how bad things had gotten.”

  And he knew as well as anyone how it felt to lose someone close to you. In her annoyance over his comments this morning, she’d forgotten that part of him. “Opioid addiction is insidious. It can take hold before you realize, and breaking free is a hard battle. I have seen more than one nurse fall prey after an injury at work. Goes to show, addiction can affect anyone, no matter the background.”

  “Let us pray then that neither of us ever have to watch a friend battle the disease.” Philippe squeezed her hand. The soft understanding in his eyes made Jenna’s heart clench. This was the Philippe she remembered from her trip. The one who made her feel understood.

  “And that Kit’s clinic makes a difference,” she said.

  “Oui. Let us hope.”

  Neither of them made a motion to let go. From the corner of her eye, Jenna caught his arm lifting upward, to tangle in her curls the way he loved to do before kissing her. Her pulse quickened. Was he going to kiss her now?

  The hand pulled back, and just like that, the moment vanished. “Ready for dinner?” he asked.

  The heaviness in her stomach was annoyance, not disappointment. “Sure,” she said. Might as well get the financial arrangements settled.

  Kit had arranged for them to have a table by the corner window, tucked away from the other diners. An ice bucket was already in place, the bottle chilled and ready to be opened. Just like that first night on the terrace, she thought wryly. How appropriate.

  “Sparkling cider,” Philippe told her. “I’ve never had it myself, but I thought it bad form to drink in front of you.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded.”

  “I would have. Besides, how can we toast unless you have a glass as well?”

  “What do we possibly have to toast?” she asked.

  “Many things,” he replied. “The bébé for one.”

  “I’ll give you that.” The baby was definitely worthy of a toast.

  As they touched the rims of their glasses, their eyes connected. Two months hadn’t diminished the magnetism of Philippe’s eyes. They were as deep and vivid as ever. Maybe because there were no lavender fields to invite comparison. Only cold dark water and gray October sky. Jenna loved color. In France, brightness had been everywhere.

  Or was her memory being misled by the eyes across the table? The fields would be barren now. Bright never lasted.

  “Did you finish your harvest on time?” she asked him.

  “Pardon?”

  “You were worried the harvesters would fall behind schedule when I left France. Did they get everything cut and distilled on time?” Her question had caught him off guard. She asked because she wasn’t ready to talk finances yet, and the farm was the first topic that came to mind.

  “We did,” he answered. “In the end, it was a good harvest. The jasmine did particularly well. We managed to produce a surplus of jasmine oil.”

  “Congratulations.” She was wearing the jasmine perfume he’d bought her and wondered if he’d noticed when he kissed her hello. Although whether he did or not didn’t really matter.

  “What comes now?”

  “Are you referring to the company? Or for...”

  “The company.” She still wasn’t ready for baby finances.

  “We start working on securing contracts for the next year or so and focus on the crops growing in our other locales.” He took a sip of cider. “That is why I was in the UK. Colliers of London is interested in our lilies.”

  “The soap company?”

  Philippe nodded. “They are one of the few large companies left who prefer natural to synthetic materials.”

  “Does that mean we should toast congratulations?”

  “It’s too premature for toasts, I’m afraid,” he said. “We’re still in the negotiation phase.”

  “That makes sense. You don’t want to celebrate until you are absolutely sure.”

  “Exactly.”

  Having milked the topic as much as possible, they fell silent. Jenna filled the space by pretending to study the menu. Peering over the edge, she saw Philippe running his fingers up and down the stem of his glass. It was the first time she’d ever seen him do anything that could be considered fidgeting. “About this morning,” he began. “I am sorry I didn’t warn you of my arrival. I didn’t mean to put you off balance.”

  “Thank you.” Even though they’d covered his regret this morning, she appreciated the direct apology. As an olive branch of her own, she teased, “I thought maybe it was your passive-aggressive way of getting back for putting you off balance with my call.”

  He smiled. “I’ll never tell.”

  Once again, they grew silent, the elephant in the room making civil conversation impossible until it was acknowledged. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know the situation—”

  “Don’t.” He cut her off. “It was my eagerness that got us here.”

  “We were both eager, if you recall.”

  “Indeed I do.” The candlelight flickered in the dark of his eyes, and for a second they were back in France. Jenna’s cheeks warmed the way they did whenever she pictured them together. Remembering how Philippe’s touches flipped a switch inside her, causing everything else to fade away.

  “Regardless of how...” The sound of his voice brought reality back. “It’s important you know I have every intention of meeting my responsibilities as a parent.”

  So much for avoiding the elephant. “You said as much this morning,” she replied. He’d even used the same word. Responsibility. She felt a sting in her midsection, although she wasn’t sure why. Responsibility was a perfectly good word. An accurate word. “You...you said you talked to your lawyer?”

  “I asked him to establish a trust in the child’s name with you as trustee. Whatever happens to me or D’Usay International, the child won’t suffer.”

  “You envision something happening?”

  “I believe in planning for contingencies. Nothing lasts forever, especially in a world where technology is quickly replacing tradition. For all I know, D’Usay International will fade long before I do. I want to make sure my son’s future is secure.”

  The word son didn’t escape her. “You’re hoping for a boy. To carry on the d’Usay name.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “Not really.” Given his attachment to family history, she expected nothing less.

  “I’m glad you understand,” he said, reaching for his glass. “Seeing the name continued is important to me. In fact...”

  Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of the waitress to read the evening specials. A tall blonde, she had breasts as perfect as naval oranges and wore a pencil skirt so narrow that Jenna was surprised she could walk.

  Launching into a detailed description of the catch of the day, the woman kept her attention squarely on Philippe. Jenna might not have existed. To his credit, Philippe kept his charm dialed back to seven out of ten, smiling with charm, but not overtly so as he listened.

  “I hope I’m not cramping your style,” she said once the waitress walked away. Slowly, Jenna might add, and with a whole lot of hip action.

  God, that sounded jealous and petty. She drowned the thought with a gulp of ice water.

  Philippe gave her an odd look. “Are you talking about the waitress?”

  “She’s very pretty, and obviously interested.” Her second sentence came out moderately less shrewish.

  “I’m here to discuss our child, not to pick up waitresses. Would think you’d give me a little credit.”

  �
�I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that I know I don’t...never mind.” The fact she didn’t have any claim on his dating life didn’t require saying.

  How many women had shared his bed since her departure? She didn’t want know and yet at the same time had a perverse curiosity. She had a feeling the answer would depress her.

  “You were about to say something before the waitress arrived,” she said. “We were talking about the baby having your last name.”

  “Right.” Suddenly he was back to twisting the glass stem. “I was about to say that I’d like the child to carry my name whether it is a boy or a girl.”

  “Okay.”

  “Unfortunately, my lawyer informs me I don’t have control over the matter. Since we are not married, you are free to give the child your last name if you prefer, even if I acknowledge paternity.”

  Was this why he was fidgeting with the glass? Because he thought she might refuse his request? “I don’t really know the law regarding baby names, but I just said I was okay with the child having your name.”

  “But you could change your mind.”

  “Are you suggesting I would renege on a promise like that?” Now she was the one insulted. “I know how important your family legacy is to you. What do you think I’m going to do, threaten to name the baby Brown as some kind of bargaining chip?”

  Philippe looked down at his place setting. “Xavier...”

  “Xavier what?”

  “Hasn’t had the pleasure of knowing you as well as I do,” he replied. “As a result, he’s being overprotective.”

  Underneath the table, Jenna balled her hand into a fist. She tried to see the situation from Philippe’s perspective. All the attorney knew was that she was a pregnant American. He was paid to be mistrustful.

  Philippe, on the other hand. They’d shared a bed. Bared their souls. “I would never be that petty or vindictive.”

  “I know.”

  His right hand disappeared from the tabletop. A second later, Jenna felt his grip surrounding her fingers. “I know,” he repeated softly. There was nothing but sincerity in his expression.

  The warmth from his touch spread up her arm and into her chest. “So, what kind of legal assurances does Xavier want?”

  “Well...” He took a deep breath. “Xavier outlined a couple of possibilities. One is to make my last name a stipulation of the trust.”

  “In other words, sign something that says I don’t get access to the funds unless the baby carries your name.”

  “Exactly.”

  Sounded crass when said out loud, as if the money was the sole factor. She never wanted their child to think he or she was a cash cow.

  “And the other option?” she asked. “You said there were a couple.”

  “Yes, we...”

  Jenna had forgotten they were holding hands beneath the table until his grasp grew tighter. Philippe’s expression had grown serious, too, making the hair on the back of her neck start to prickle.

  “We could get married,” he said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JENNA’S JAW DROPPED. Marry him? That was the next suggestion? Mr. Marriage and Family Require Too Much of a Commitment?

  “Don’t dismiss the idea out of hand,” he said, gripping her hand tighter. “If you are my wife, the child carries my name.”

  “So would I,” she pointed out. Surely the attorney had noted that she came with the deal.

  “Only for a short while. We need only stay married long enough for the baby to be born. Then we can dissolve our agreement.”

  “Not dissolve, divorce,” she corrected. Semantics, maybe, but the word mattered. Marriage wasn’t the same as an agreement to grow flowers.

  “Very well, we will divorce once the baby is born.”

  Jenna took a deep breath. “Tell your lawyer I’ll sign any kind of stipulation he wants,” she said.

  Philippe frowned. In his confusion, Jenna pulled her hand free but kept it under the table. She didn’t want him to see how much she was trembling. How could he make such a suggestion? Was he not listening when she talked about her parents?

  “I do not understand,” he said. “I am offering...”

  “To do the right thing. Yes, I know.” That added to the suggestion’s sting. Philippe believed he was doing the right thing.

  “My father did the right thing, too. So did my grandfather. And, while I appreciate your dedication to family traditions, I’d prefer not to repeat mine.” Mentally, she gave herself a pat on the back for speaking calmly.

  He shook his head. “But this would be different,” he said.

  “How? I’m pregnant, you’re suggesting marriage.” Where was there a difference? “Seems the same to me.”

  “Except that both of us would be entering the marriage with the same expectations.”

  In other words, their marriage would be different because there was no expectation of it being real. Jenna had to give him credit. He was honest.

  What surprised her was to hear him press the issue. Was it an ego thing—shock that someone would say no—or was it because he wanted the baby born in wedlock? Either way, there was one very key ingredient missing. No way she was marrying anyone who didn’t love her. She, and her baby, deserved better.

  “Doesn’t matter. The answer is still no.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Have your lawyer draw up whatever papers he wants.” She looked to her glass, not wanting to see the relief that was no doubt in his eyes.

  Or for him to see the disappointment that was in hers.

  * * *

  That could have gone better. Philippe ordered a brandy before settling into the shadows of a leather bench seat. Jenna and he had said their goodbyes a few minutes earlier. A very polite hug outside the front doors, barely long enough for him to register the lines of her body, before she slipped into her waiting car. As soon as her taillights disappeared into the night, he’d headed for the hotel bar.

  Fortunately, the place was deserted except for the bartender, who was more interested in the American football game on the television set. His disinterest allowed Philippe the privacy to recount the night’s events.

  Had he thought honestly Jenna would consider his proposal? He knew her story—part of it, at least. But their situation was different, was it not? Besides, he wasn’t offering permanence; she could leave whenever she wanted.

  But apparently she preferred to sign a legal document instead. Fine. He should be relieved the situation would be resolved so civilly. He’d dodged a bullet, as it were. There were plenty of women in his past that wouldn’t have been so understanding.

  “You lost your friend.”

  It was the waitress from the restaurant. She set his brandy on the table before angling her head toward the bartender. “He’s more interested in seeing if New England scores on this drive, so I volunteered to bring your order. I’m surprised to see you alone.”

  “She had to go to work,” Philippe replied.

  “Too bad. Would you like some company?”

  He studied the woman over his drink. She was quite lovely, and from the gleam in her eye, she was the kind of woman who wasn’t looking for anything beyond a good night. Just his type.

  The image of cinnamon curls splayed across his pillow popped into his head.

  “Perhaps another time. I have a lot on my mind tonight,” he told the waitress.

  The waitress shrugged, disappointed, but not too. “Signal if you need anything.”

  She swayed back to the bar, leaving Philippe alone to sip his drink.

  And wonder why he hadn’t accepted a woman’s invitation since Jenna left France.

  * * *

  Jenna had just enough time to change into her uniform and report for her shift. When she stepped off the elevator, Shirley was waiting for her at
the nurses’ station.

  “We’ve got five minutes,” her friend said. “How’d it go?”

  “Dinner? Fine. I had the chicken amandine. We toasted the baby’s good health. Oh, and he proposed.”

  “He what?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Jenna whispered harshly. “I don’t need the whole floor knowing.” She looked out on to the floor to see if anyone was listening, but their colleagues had their heads hunched over the computers, updating patient information. “He suggested that we get married.”

  Once she finished explaining the whole story, her friend sank into a nearby chair. “Wow, he doesn’t mess around, does he? From the way you described him, I never would have pegged him for the traditional type. Did you...?”

  “He only proposed out of obligation.”

  “You sound disappointed,” Shirley said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Why would she be disappointed? Wasn’t as though she was in love with Philippe d’Usay. What they shared in France—the connection, the intimacy—were emotions of the moment. Trying to extend them was a pipe dream. She wasn’t about to compound reckless behavior with more reckless behavior.

  “I have absolutely zero interest in marrying Philippe. Why would I want to be my mother?”

  “Trapped in a never-ending codependent relationship with a narcissist?” Shirley asked.

  “I meant tying myself to someone who doesn’t love me.”

  “Only in this case the tie would be temporary and you don’t love him. Right?” Shirley held up a hand. “Relax, I’m yanking your chain. You totally made the right call.”

  “Thank you.”

  A glance at the clock said the shift was about to start. Jenna headed into the tiny room behind the nurses’ station to lock up her pocketbook. As she shoved it into one of the lockers that lined the back wall, she heard her phone start to buzz. Whoever it was would have to wait. Patients came first.

  “I hate to start the shift on a down note,” said Donna, one of the nurses on the eleven-to-seven shift, “but Mr. Mylanski isn’t doing so good.” She relayed the older man’s vitals. “You might want to call his family and give them the heads-up.”