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“That’s the truth?” I questioned.
“It seemed like a good place to start. You can show me around your hotel. But we do have reservations that start in five minutes. I could cancel?”
“No. No.” I shook my head.
The door swung open, and the valet’s eyes bulged when he realized who I was. “Ms. Martin.”
“Good evening.” I smiled sweetly.
Knight nodded at me. “I knew we’d have excellent service at least.” He offered his hand as I stepped on the curb.
“Ahh, I see. You’re here for the service.”
He chuckled. “I just want to see where the night takes us.”
I felt a lump in my throat. I wasn’t sure if this was a date or psychological torture.
* * *
I shouldn’t have beensurprised Knight reserved the private dining room. I often held special meetings here if I needed extreme privacy with the combined services of the hotel.
Starring at the man sitting across from me, I felt as if the night was incredibly fragile. As if we could tip the scales towards pain or happiness with very little energy. The tension was only increasing, and I didn’t know how to diffuse what buzzed between us.
“So, tell me. Have the tunnels been useful?” he inquired. It was a loaded invasive question.
My eyes popped. “I thought this was a date, not a business meeting.”
He poured our champagne casually. “It is a date. But we have a lot to catch up on. I imagine you’ve been able to put the passageways to use in five years. No?”
I flatted the linen napkin in my lap. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about organization business. I was under the impression the truce was about us.” I stared at him blankly. “If it’s not, I’ll have a driver take me home. Crew can set up a meeting with whomever your assistant is. Not that I’m going to talk about the Vieux Carre in that meeting either.”
He held his hands in the air in a defensive posture. “It’s clear we have a lot to learn about who we are now. I’m sorry.”
I finally exhaled. “I’m sorry I jumped down your throat.”
He grinned. I felt more at ease.
“Why don’t you tell me about Paris?” I suggested. “Not the wineries. Just what did you think about living in France? What was it like? I’ve never been. Tell me all about it.” A safe conversation starter was what we needed.
I listened to Knight’s stories about the coffee shops and the museums. He described his flat. He told me how difficult it was to have his piano shipped. It took weeks. He was having the same problem having it brought back to the States. Neither of us allowed a hint of the memory associated with his baby grand.
He spent weekends in London. I was afraid to ask about the women. I knew they existed. Of course, they existed. It was hard to picture him taking trains to Prague or Florence without some gorgeous brunette on his arm. But he never let it slip. He had taken up polo and had a box at one of the football stadiums. He had immersed himself in European culture, picking up Italian and German. I was impressed. We finished the first bottle of champagne.
“It sounds beautiful,” I mused. “Especially the French countryside. Did you think about moving there and out of the city?”
“You would love it. Champagne for miles.” His sexy smile made me shiver. Or maybe it was the rumble of his voice. “It’s a quiet life for sure. I think the countryside is the perfect place when there is no more of this.” His eyes made a quick scan of the dining room.
“Work?”
He nodded. “The pace. The race to conquer. Yes, once that’s out of your system, then I would move to the French countryside and learn how to make my own champagne.”
I wondered if he was asking me how long it would take to eliminate the drive from my system. Was I capable of not wanting projects like Crescent Towers? He knew the Kennedy that would rather read by the pool. He knew the girl who was looking for a way out. The one desperate for freedom.
How did I make the last five years evaporate? How did I go back to that night at Marguerite’s? How did I convince a naïve younger me to hop on that plane to Paris and never look back?
Those were my thoughts as I sat inside my empire. An empire I had clawed and fought to build. I surpassed my father’s vision. I had triumphed over Raphael. I survived when markets were volatile, and other businesses failed. I adapted and evolved to stay on top. Yet, to have a chance to do it again, would I rather live in the French countryside drinking champagne with a man who made my heart spin?
I heard my phone buzz inside my purse.
