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“There’s always time for dreams,” he said quietly. He took her hand. “I want to make them all come true.”
But there was only one dream she really needed. For him to love her. She closed her eyes, the truth hovering on her lips. If she told him she loved him, this all would end. He would stop asking her to be his bride. He would kick her to the curb, as he’d done before.
But would he also desert Henry?
“If we go to Paris,” he said, “we can go directly to the main lab and find out the results of our paternity test a day early.”
Her eyes flew open as she sucked in her breath.
A day early. That could save her—save everything!
One day less to hide her feelings. If she could get out of France without Théo discovering she loved him, he might still stay in Henry’s life. They could share custody—at a distance. Henry would have two parents to care for him. And Théo wouldn’t be miserable in their marriage, trapped by her love.
Carrie took a deep breath. She could feel the tears behind her eyelids as she surrendered to her only hope. “All right,” she whispered. “Paris.?
?
“There can be no doubt, Monsieur le Comte. This child is your son.”
The head of the main Paris branch of the lab spoke gravely, acting as if he expected this news to come as a surprise to Théo. Just as Théo had arranged earlier on the phone.
Feeling Carrie’s anxious gaze upon him in the white-walled office in the fifteenth arrondissement, Théo widened his eyes, as if it were news he hadn’t already heard. With a satisfied sigh, he pulled Carrie into his arms.
“I knew you wouldn’t lie to me,” he whispered in her ear. “I knew Henry was my son.”
Théo felt her shiver in his arms. Shivering with relief? Or something else?
As she pulled away, her hazel eyes were dark with a hidden mystery he couldn’t solve. He no longer knew how to win her. And so out of desperation, he’d brought her to Paris.
He could not understand why she continued to resist his proposal. He knew she no longer loved him—she’d stopped loving him long ago. So why did she refuse?
Théo had promised her she could take Henry back to Seattle once they had the results of the paternity test. His time was almost out. Only one day left. After almost a week together he hadn’t been able to convince her, in spite of his best efforts both in bed and out of it. He felt frustrated to no end. Didn’t she see how good it was between them? Didn’t she see how necessary it was for their son’s future happiness?
Last night, while he’d been holding her in bed after making love to her for two hours, a devious whisper had crawled through his brain. What if he lied and said he’d fallen in love with her, in that theatrical, fantasy-land, can’t-live-without-you way she wanted? Would that lure her at last?
But he couldn’t do it. A marriage based on lies was even worse than one based on emotion. And, more than that, he respected Carrie too much to lie to her. She would marry him with clear eyes, or not at all.
So he’d placed all his bets on one roll of the dice by taking her to Paris, to the city of her dreams. He intended to show her, once and for all, what it would mean to live as his countess.
They left the lab and he held open the Ferrari door for Carrie, then drove them into the center of the city. The wind blew against his face and hair in the convertible, even in the slow traffic down the Boulevard Saint-Michel, and the sun felt warm against his face.
He spent hours showing her the sights of the city, including a private tour that whisked them to the top of the Eiffel Tower with all of Paris at her feet. They visited the Arc de Triomphe and then skipped all the queues at the Louvre for a short private tour led personally by a museum curator. Théo had intended next to shower her with jewels and gowns in the exclusive shops of the Champs-Élysées, but when Carrie suddenly sighed and said she would kill for a snack, he shook his head with a laugh. “I know just the place.”
Carrie leaned against his shoulder as he drove, and his body tightened. As he drove toward the Ile St. Louis he couldn’t stop giving her little glances out of the corner of his eye. As he changed gears his hand brushed her knee. He felt her shiver, heard her intake of breath.
And he suddenly knew he couldn’t give her up. Not for honor. Not for anything.
She wasn’t leaving this city without agreeing to be his bride.
He pulled the low-slung sports car in front of a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant on a winding street on the Ile St. Louis—one of the two tiny islands on the Seine in the center of Paris.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, looking around at the slender streets.
He smiled down at her as a valet hurried around the car. “Lunch.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned. “Not more foamy quail eggs.”
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I know you better than that now.”
