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Seeing Paul emotional about Aubrey reminded me that I hadn’t touched him below his surface. He had a passion for me, but he’d never let me have his heart.
I walked out and watched Paul from afar. He was gorgeous and charismatic, like a light shining for all to warm themselves. I was just as enraptured.
Paul moved over to me and rubbed my arms, causing a trail of tingles to erupt from his touch. “Are you okay?”
“I’m tired. It’s been a long week.”
“We’ll go to the beach next time. You can eat, swim, and relax.”
“You still want to see me, Paul? You were so angry about Versailles.”
“You behave so maturely most of the time that I forget you’re still young and impulsive. But, as I said before, I forgive you.”
“But you gave me money.” I swallowed and stared down at my heels.
“You need money, and I don’t.” He kissed the side of my face. “If you’re feeling insecure, then I’m not taking good care of you.”
“You take good care of me, Paul.”
A slow rendition of the song “Je Ne Regrette Rien” filled the room.
Taking my hand, Paul led me to the dance floor. His arms circled my waist, and his head rested on mine. My emotions overflowed at the feel of his warm, firm body surrounding me. I closed my eyes as he held me close and swayed to Piaf’s soul-gripping melody of accepting the good and the bad. In his arms, I found passion, security, and acceptance. A yearning like no other swept through me.I’ll never regret Paul Crane.He kissed me tenderly, stroking his tongue against mine. Nothing else existed when he held me, and I felt with pure certainty that I could stay in his arms forever and be happy.
We went back upstairs and were surprised to find a metal band playing in the small space. I didn’t recognize the song, but the lead singer stood out. Not because he had a hot pink shimmery jacket on and spandex pants, but because he danced like he was having sex. He gyrated his hips so much that Paul covered my eyes, and I giggled at his playfulness.
But then he stood still to sing Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon”, and everything faded away.
He had wavy, jet-black hair.
Full lips.
Rare violet-blue eyes.
My heart jumped into my throat.
Justus Black.The room clapped for him at the end of his performance.
“Paul Crane. Now I must have a photo with you,” Justus called out. He strutted over, then posed between us while a photographer took our picture.
“I think I stunned your lady. Ha. I still got it.” Justus held out his hand to me. “Damn, you look familiar. Do I know you?”
“No, you don’t,” I snapped.
Justus frowned. “From that response, youmusthave met me before. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Nice to meet you, Mr. Crane. Please don’t be a stranger. Collab. I’m ready.” He winked at me, then walked away to schmooze with other guests.Oh, my God.Did that really just happen?
“I can’t breathe,” I said between pants, attempting to bring air into my lungs.
“Laurence, please bring the car around,” Paul asked him. “Excuse us.” He led us outside, where flashes of news cameras awaited us. All I wanted to do was hide. I couldn’t believe I’d possibly just met my birth father.
We returned to the house, and all our bags lined the hall. We even had our travel clothes in garment bags hanging in the upstairs bedroom. Our clothes were similar in style: jeans with dark sweaters and light-colored blazers and boots. Paul undid his tie and removed his jacket.
I went out to the balcony and stared at the Eiffel Tower.
“Now tell me what happened at the party with Justus Black.”
“My birth mom used to say he was my biological father. What can a five-year-old remember, right? He didn’t sign the birth certificate, but I did see the check stub from a music company he was signed to in the canvas bag she left with a couple of coloring books. Seeing him in person caught me off guard. I don’t know if I’m seeing things I want to see or if they’re truly there. I can’t explain.”
“Do you want to know? I can look into it—”
