AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I scoff. “No. I’ve never been to Paris.”
“You say it like it’s so absurd,” he replies, one side of his mouth turned up in a gentle smirk.
“For most people, Mr. Kade, it is a bit absurd.”
“We should go.”
I nearly choke on my tea as he says that, and I let out a chuckle as I set it back on the table. “We should go to Paris?”
“Yeah, why not? You have your passport, don’t you?”
I’m gazing at him across the couch, my eyes narrowing as I try to discern if he’s being serious or messing with me. It’s almost too much to get my hopes up for.
“Yes…” I reply hesitantly. “My mom and I went to Canada when I was sixteen.”
“Well, I owe you a date, don’t I?”
This time, I laugh in earnest. My high-pitched squeaky giggle bubbles out of my chest, and I can’t seem to stop it. When Ronan doesn’t so much as smile in response, I start to get the feeling he’s being serious.
“You’re kidding, Ronan.”
“No, I’m not.”
“We can’t go to Paris.”
“Why not?” He seems so casual about it, as if going to France is as easy as going to the grocery store.
But when I open my mouth to argue and nothing comes out, I realize that I don’t have a single good answer for that question. I mean, the most obvious reasonnotto go to Paris has always been a financial issue, but that’s not the case here.
But is it wrong of me to take advantage of that? Especially when I’m harboring secrets? And a trust fund I refuse to touch? Probably.
Definitely.
But I’d be stupid to pass up a free trip to Paris, right?
“Umm…okay, I guess,” I reply, my face practically beaming as I look back down at the book in my lap. On the cover is a sprawling garden and I couldn’t stop smiling if I tried.
When I flip to the back of the book, one of the pages catches on a spot held with a photo instead of a bookmark. I slide the picture out of the book and stare at it. Ronan’s cup of tea is halfway to his mouth when he freezes in place.
The photo is older—I can tell by how grainy it is, as if it was developed from film and not taken with a digital camera. It’s a picture of a beautiful young woman, holding a little boy on her lap. She looks to be in her early twenties, and if I had to guess, I’d say the boy is about four or five.
“Who’s this?” I ask. In my head, I’m being polite and curious. Inquiring about this photo because I want to get to know him better, since I am basically living in his house and all.
But as my eyes rake over the people in the picture and I realize that it was likely hidden for a reason, I’m swallowing dread in my throat like dry cotton.
The silence that follows my question is deafening.
He lets me look at the photo for a moment, before gently taking it from my fingers. I glance up at him with regret as I watch him swallow, gazing at the image for only a moment before placing it back in the book.
“That is my wife, Julia, and my son, Miles. They were killed in a car accident twenty-eight years ago.”
The floor might as well drop beneath me. My skin is burning with shame and embarrassment as well as crippling sorrow as I stare at him, the threat of tears stinging behind my eyes. I don’t even remember bringing my hand to my mouth, but it’s there as I softly mumble, “Oh my God, Ronan. I’m so sorry.”
When he smiles at me, it’s not the full of life and weightless grin he normally dons. This one is a little sad as if to comfortme, which is ridiculous.
“Don’t be sorry, Daisy. You didn’t know.”
As he takes a drink of his tea, I’m still struck almost speechless by this new information. How many people know about this? How on earth does he carry himself so confidently while the rest of us parade around him like fools, not knowing what he’s been through, what he’s lost.
