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She followed Lucian down a wide hall and he opened the door to a bedroom. The furniture was
made of thick, dark wood. The smaller pieces perched on ball-and-claw feet. The bed was adorned in
dark velvet drapes pulled back at the four posts, and a chair and ottoman sat in front of the empty
fireplace.
He placed their things on the bed. There wasn’t much. Lucian had the majority of their clothes
delivered to the jet. “You know,” she said, shutting the door. “It’s very sexy when you speak French.”
He quirked an eyebrow and looked at her over his shoulder. “N’est-ce pas?”
She smiled. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“Alors peut-être que vous pourriez enlever vos vêtements.”
Her body reacted, coiling and heating low in her belly. She laughed. “What did you say?”
He removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. “I said, ‘is that so?’ Then I said,
‘Perhaps it would help if you took off your clothes.’” His fingers plucked at the light cardigan she
wore over her dress.
Her lips pulled to the side, hiding her smile. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I usually am,” he whispered, pulling off the cardigan and dropping it to the floor.
***
Evelyn’s fingers went numb as they walked to the den. Lucian knocked briskly and opened the
doors. Evelyn took a deep breath and followed him in.
Lucian’s father, a tall and remarkably handsome older man, stood. “I could barely believe my ears
when Claudette told me you were here. And with a woman no less.”
“Hello, Christos. This is Evelyn Keats.”
Christos Patras nodded with little evidence of affection towards his son. His hair was white as silver
fox fur. He turned to Evelyn, and she watched his unapologetic, dark eyes move over her appraisingly.
“Keats. That isn’t a name I’m familiar with.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Patras. And no, my name doesn’t mean much.”
“Who are your parents?”
“Dad.” Lucian’s tone was sharp and warning.
His father waved him off. “Calm down, Lucian. I’m only curious. This is a long way from Folsom. I
imagine you’d only bring a woman here if she meant something to you.” He turned back to Evelyn.
“Are you in love with my son or his money?”
She bristled. His question was rude and took her by surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“We may be a continent away, but we still get the news from home. I’ve seen your picture. I’ve read
the stories. I’ve never been one for beating around the bush, so I figured I’d give you the courtesy of answering for yourself.”
“That’s just it, Mr. Patras, the only person I answer for, and to, is myself. If you want to know my intentions, I suggest you take the time to get to know me and make a decision on your own. That’s the
kind of man you are anyway. Am I correct? Words only hold a small value next to your instinct.”
Lucian sniggered.
“She’s feisty,” Mr. Patras said to his son. “You’ll have your hands full.”
Lucian said something in French. His father’s brows lifted and he replied quickly, also using
French.
Lucian looked his father in the eye and simply said, “Oui.”
She cleared her throat and mumbled to Lucian. “Not sexy anymore. What did you just say about
me?”
He didn’t answer, and now his father was really studying her. “I see,” Mr. Patras said. “Well then,
the pleasure is all mine, Ms. Keats.”
He shook her hand and she hated that he might feel her fingers trembling. “You can call me
Evelyn.”
“And you may call me Christos. Shall we have coffee?”
They settled into soft upholstered chairs that were too dainty and feminine for both men. Claudette
brought in a tray of biscuits, and coffee in a polished silver kettle. She smiled sweetly at Evelyn and quickly bustled out of the room.
“So tell me, Evelyn, are the stories true? Did my son take advantage of you?”
She stilled, her biscuit suspended between her mouth and her tiny plate. “What?”
“You’ve read the rags, haven’t you? Your age is a mystery. And then there was one rumor that you
had a child in grade school. Are you a mother?”
“Christos, stop with the inquisition.”
“I don’t read the tabloids,” she said, hiding her discomfort.
“Good girl,” Christos commented, sounding so much like Lucian. “And the child? Are you a
mother?”
“No. I have no family.”
“How very . . . simplistic for you.”
Lucian ran a hand over her knee. “Only you would see it that way,” he said with dry acceptance.
“Indeed. So what brings you to Europe?”
“Lucian wanted to show me the mountains.”
“Evelyn’s never been outside of Folsom.”
Christos cocked his head. “Really?”
The questions were growing tedious. She decided to put an end to them so that she could actually
get to know Lucian’s father and perhaps show Lucian something new. They only had a short time in
France.
Placing her plate on the table, she faced the older man. “Christos, I also don’t beat around the bush,
so here’s the truth of the matter. I have nothing. I’ve never had anything beside a name. Your family’s financial situation overwhelms me. I’m not capable of measuring such wealth and, while I’m a realist
