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She squeezes my arm. “Did you ever marry again?”
“A few years later. Her name was Lydia. It was a mistake and was over in three months.”
“Did you have any more children?”
I swallow. “No.”
“You don’t want any more?” she asks with gentle curiosity, as if asking that would be offensive to me, which it’s not. Her sweet boldness is refreshing.
Turning toward her, I gaze into those big, blue, innocent eyes. “I wish I had. I’m afraid it’s a little late for me now. But I always think about that. Who will inherit everything when I’m gone.”
She doesn’t say anything, her mouth set in a thin line. I place my hand on her arm, realizing we’ve put ourselves in another bout of awkward silence.
“Did you ever fall in love again?” she asks quietly, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation, thinking immediately about that summer with Shannon.
“What happened?” she asks with softness in her eyes.
“Right person, wrong time.”
Her arms squeeze around mine again. After a few minutes, she randomly changes the subject.
“How do you sayI’m hungryin French?”
“J’ai faim,” I reply in my clunky French. She lets out an adorable gasp.
“Oh my God. Do you speak French?”
I laugh. “A little.”
“You must spend a lot of time here,” she replies as we make our way up to the tourist-heavy street lined with restaurants. I keep her close, my eyes shifting back and forth to watch for anyone suspicious.
“I used to spend a lot more. It’s been a while.”
“Where is your favorite place to go?”
I chuckle, squeezing her closer. “You really want to know?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, what if I told you there’s a club like Salacious here in Paris?”
She gasps again. When she stops and stares up at me with her wide sky-colored eyes and her mouth hanging open, I already know what’s going to come out of her mouth. “I want to go!”
“No,” I reply without hesitation. I don’t know why I even brought it up.
“Oh, come on. Ronan, Iworkat a sex club. I think I can handle going to one.”
“This one is a little different than Salacious.”
“How so?” she asks. We cross the street as I take her hand in mine, leading her to a restaurant on the other side.
“Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” My tone is clipped and impatient, realizing that I just opened myself up to this. I genuinely did not think Daisy would be interested in a sex club.
“Well, you have to take me,” she argues obstinately. “I want to see it. And I have to brag to everyone back home that I went to a Parisian sex club.”
I grumble to myself while she’s beaming next to me. Why the fuck would I tell her about that club? I’m sure as fuck not taking her. Because, deep down, I know if I do, it’ll have me breaking all my rules.
