“I didn’t know that could happen with your own parents.”
“It’s very traditional, but I have never been invited to usetu, and so I continue this practice, as do my siblings. This, I suppose, is like calling your father ‘Sir.’ ”
“I’ve never been completely comfortable with my parents either. If I’d grown up in France, I’d bevousvoyingthem all over the place.”
He poured more bubbly and added hot water to the bath. She was happily wrinkly.
“They have never thought me good enough to take over the winery, although it is my destiny, same as it will be for Aubin. I hope this idea to buy an American wine distributor will give us better profits and show them I can be trusted.”
“Will the deal jeopardize the company if it doesn’t work out?” she asked.
“The company is fine—better than fine. But I have inherited this ethic of never standing still. Always moving forward.”
She broke off a piece of chocolate and offered him some, too.
“As for your permanent lack of funds,” he said carefully, eating his chocolate. “I know that we are in very different places about money. But I have the same worries. I have a recurring dream that I wake up one morning and our wealth is gone. It is always the same: I go down to thecavefor a bottle of wine, but instead of it being a wine cellar, it is a vault. The French word for a vault iscaveau, notcave, so you see they are close. And the racks in my dream are supposed to hold money, but they are empty. I have to be careful not to give into the fear. The fear of not pleasing my parents, and the fear of being poor.”
He chewed his lip and looked away. She hadn’t ever seen his emotions so close to the surface, and it made her want to care for him in the same way he’d been caring for her.
“I change my mind,” she said. “The tub is big enough for both of us. Get in.”
He obeyed, taking off his pants, then his boxers, by candlelight. They faced each other under the bubbles. She put her feet on his chest so they were connected, skin to skin.
“You are the most capable person I’ve ever met,” she said. “You could do your job, my job, and Oscar’s job, one hand tied behind your back.”
“Perhaps you can tell my parents this when you meet them.”
“Only if you do me the same favor, in your dashing French accent, looking pretty damn handsome in one of your many linen shirts.”
“Bon.” He put his hands on her toes. Massaged them. Let his fingers wander down her calves. Massaged them, too. She moved her feet down his chest, beneath the bubbles.
“I just want you to guarantee me this is OK,” she said.
“Why are you concerned?”
“Because it’s not fair to you or Luc. I can’t just pick and choose the two of you from some weird buffet of men. I know Sabine called it a roster, but it feels disrespectful.”
“I do not feel disrespected. I am going into this with the eyes wide open.”
“And also, this competition thing between you and Luc—this could all be about testosterone and not about me at all. So I’m feeling … cautious.”
“What if you threw that caution into the sky?” asked Guillaume.
“Because when I throw caution to the wind,” she said, “bad things usually happen.”
“Nothing bad will happen here. I told you, I have other people I sleep with, too, Marlow. A friend in Paris. Another friend in California. We are all adults.”
“And they’re OK with it?”
He nodded. “I am attracted to you, and I think we could have fun.”
“Time to get out?” she asked on impulse, standing so he could drink in the full view of her, dripping wet, bubbles sliding down the topography of her curves.
It was so tempting, this idea of fun, she thought. It had been a very un-fun day, and Guillaume was right: they were consenting adults. So screw it. Why not?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Guillaume had watched her as she’d stood in the tub, bubbles clinging to parts of her, but not everywhere. She’d felt vulnerable, so he’d stood up, too, and they’d faced each other like that in the tub, taking each other in.
