Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2)

  “An amazing painter.”

  “Michelanniegelo, they call you.”

  Anne—Annie—giggled. “Right you are.” She put her head back and closed her eyes. “I want to remember this lovely moment next winter when I’m freezing in London and the kids are spending the weekend with Twatter.”

  Gussie snorted at the name. “That reminds me.” She reached into her bag. “I need pictures.”

  When she took out her phone, she saw a text from Tom that she’d missed. Tapping it, she angled the screen to read the words.

  Any chance we can get some alone time tonight?

  “Oh…”

  Annie looked sharply at her. “Everything okay?”

  Gussie stared at the words, but with the reflection of the light on the screen, she really only saw her own face and couldn’t help noticing the smile working on her lips. “Yes, I got a text from Tom.”

  Annie looked hard at her. “Just a friend, is he?”

  “A friend with some unexpected benefits.”

  Her eyebrow launched north. “He’s not married?” she demanded.

  “Oh, God, no. He can’t commit to life with a houseplant let alone a wife. Look up Single Until He Dies in the dictionary, and you’ll see a nice picture of him.”

  She grinned and inched closer, pretending to look at the phone. “So what benefits is he asking for?”

  “Time alone tonight.”

  Annie nodded and pointed toward the kids racing around as if they were playing tag. They were too far away for their laughter to carry, but it was clear they were having fun.

  “Then text him back and tell him Alex is having dinner with us tonight.”

  “Really?”

  “Unless you’d rather not have a romantic dinner in Nice with a handsome man offering, uh, what did you call it? Benefits?” Annie grinned. “And who knows? It might turn into a sleepover.”

  “For Alex or me?” Gussie asked with a laugh.

  “Well, you were the one who came here to get comfortable in your own skin. You might start by showing him some.”

  She might.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You want to know the truth?” Gussie asked, sliding her fork tines through the delicate whipped cream and chocolate sauce of a profiterole.

  Across from her, Tom sat with his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his knuckles, his gaze where it had been the whole meal—firmly on her. He’d chosen a secluded restaurant in Old Town on the second floor of a house, only four tables in the whole place, and theirs was on the open balcony, the sights and sounds of Vieux Nice surrounding them as they enjoyed an insanely delicious meal. And company that equaled it.

  “Always and only the truth,” he said, the answer making her eyes glint like emeralds in the reflection of a full moon and flickering candlelight.

  “This has been one of the best days of my life.”

  He lifted his brows, surprised. “But I didn’t spend that much of it with you.”

  She laughed. “What an ego. We’ve been together for hours.”

  “Seems like minutes.”

  She pointed her fork at him. “Dude, the flirting is heavy. But don’t stop. I like it.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned even closer. The table was small enough that a few more inches and he could kiss her. “Tell me why this day was so wonderful.” Because, if he went ahead and even suggested what he’d been discussing in the meeting this afternoon, he had a feeling her wonderful day would head south in a hurry.

  “It started at sunrise.” She gave him a slow, sexy smile that reached right down to his gut and twisted everything into a knot.

  “That was a nice sunrise,” he agreed.

  “The colors and all.”

  “And all.”

  She lifted a bite of profiterole to her lips, flicking whipped cream with her tongue while staring at him.

  “Speaking of heavy flirting,” he teased.

  She looked down, her lashes spreading against her cheekbones. “Hey,” he said, tapping her arm. “You cheated. You have mascara on.”

  “That’s all. Look.” She crinkled her nose. “You can even see my freckles.”

  “And they are so, so pretty.” In fact, freckles would be gorgeous in the shot he had in mind. Somehow, in between “this is the dumbest idea ever” and “I’ll talk to her tonight,” Tom had come around to Suzette’s way of thinking. But would Gussie? Even for a test shot?

  For the first time since he’d met her, Gussie didn’t roll her eyes or tsk or wave off his compliment. Instead, she smiled her thanks. “You want to know why else it was a great day?”

  “You went to the beach?”

  “Yes, and I made a new friend, Annie.”

  “Love that she has kids Alex’s age,” he said. “Alex didn’t even seem the least bit bothered that we were going out.”

  “Because she likes that boy.”

  “What?” He practically shot forward. “He’s a child. She’s a child.”

  “Thirteen—or almost thirteen—is not a child. And you, my friend, are starting to sound like a…guardian.”

  “Which I happen to be. Do I have to get LaVie to hire bodyguards?”

  Gussie laughed. “They’ll be under the supervision of Annie or me, so keep the bullet catchers away. She’s having a little summer adventure, Tom. What better way to help her to heal from the hurt of a lifetime than to make new friends? Even of the opposite gender.”

  Of course she was right. And he sounded like some kind of ogre, not wanting the girl to make a new friend just because that friend was a boy.

  “You know what I think?” Gussie asked gently. “I think you are much more protective, caring, and family-oriented than you let on.”

  Every word stung, because…well, because she didn’t know the truth. Without answering, he looked down at the words on his arm, the constant reminder.

  Πάντα μόνος.

  He would never again be protective, caring, or family-oriented.

  She slid her hand over his arm, trailing her finger over the tattoo as if she’d followed his gaze or his thoughts.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked.

  “The Blood Brothers tattoo parlor in Cyprus,” he replied without hesitation, remembering the night all too well.

  “What happened?”

  He swallowed, and she added some pressure on his arm.

  “What was her name, Tom?”

  God, was he that transparent? When he tried so hard not to be? “Her name was Sophia, which is surprisingly simple, I guess.”

  “What’s simple? The name or the fact that the declaration of independence on your arm was caused by a woman?”

  “Both, I guess, but I meant the name. Nothing exotic or unusual.”

  “So, let me guess. She tried to rope and tie you down and get a binding contract from the justice of the peace?”

  Each word twisted the knife in his heart a little bit more. “Something like that.” Let her think Sophia had wanted to rope and tie him down, and it had been his inability to commit that ended…everything.

  “And the tattoo? A reminder never to get that close to disaster again?”

  “Precisely,” he confirmed. The truth bubbled up, but he didn’t want to let it out. She’d be sympathetic and understanding. She’d share his pain and ask poignant questions. She’d tell him it wasn’t his fault and life was tough and maybe he’d find someone again.

  She’d try to heal a wound that he didn’t want to heal.

  “It’s like I’m an open book or something,” he said, going for as light as he could make the dark topic.

  “Well, your story is written all over you.”

  Not the full story. Not by a long shot. “Are you done?” he asked, glancing at the remains of profiterole.

  “Done talking about Sophia or done with dessert?”

  He pushed back, the check paid long ago. “I’m done with both,” he said, getting a slightly surprised look for his gruffness and regrettin
g it immediately. “Let’s go walk through Old Town.”

  She hesitated for a moment as he stood, so he held his hand out to her. “I want to show you my favorite alley.”

  “Your favorite alley?” Holding his hand, she stood slowly. “Who even has one of those? Is it perfect for taking pictures?”

  “It’s perfect for kissing.” And forgetting old aches. “Come on.” He slid his arm around her and ushered her out, stopping to thank the owner and chef again, then stepping out into the dim and narrow cobblestone street.

  “This way.” He guided her down the next side street, past a café and dimly lit art gallery. “Off Rue Droite.”

  Like all the streets in Vieux Nice, the main drag had no vehicles but plenty of pedestrians, all vying for space in the narrow maze that made up the small section in the southeast corner of the city. They were forced to walk arm in arm, and he tucked Gussie close into his side and stayed with the foot traffic.

  They stopped to listen to a violinist on the corner, then wandered among the street vendors selling scarves and flowers and hand-painted porcelain.

  “Souvenir?” he offered, picking up a heart-shaped box with the words Vieux Nice painted on the top.

  She took it, opening the tiny latch to reveal a mother-of-pearl inlay. “Pretty,” she said. “I bet Alex would like this.”

  A little guilt pinged, since he hadn’t thought of that. “Then I’ll get two, one for each of you.”

  He paid the vendor, who wrapped each box in tissue and slipped them into a tiny bag.

  “Thank you,” Gussie said, smiling up at him. “Not necessary to butter me up, since I’m already on my way to the kissing alley.” She leaned into him, purposely coy. “Aren’t we?”

  “We are.” He turned her around one corner, past another café, then along the side of a very ornate but small church, and into the alley.

  He slowed their step and leaned her against a cool stone wall, the narrow alley barely big enough for both of them.

  Looking up at him, she let her lips relax, ready for a kiss. But he looked at her, studying her face in the moonlight and shadows. “Damn, I want to take a picture of you as much as I want to kiss you.”

  “Don’t,” she ordered. “Kiss.”

  “I do have my phone.”

  She curled her hand around his neck and pulled his head to her. “Keep it in your pocket, big boy.”

  He captured her lips under his, holding her face in his hands, angling her to get the maximum amount of her mouth against his.

  She leaned into him, opening her lips to let their tongues tangle, threading his hair in her fingers. With an easy arch of her back, her breasts pressed against his shirt, sending the first hot rush of blood south in his body, starting a war with his head and his hard-on.

  Did he need to tell her everything about his past before they slept together?

  Son of a bitch. He knew the answer to that, and hated it.

  “Hey.” She dragged her hands over his shoulders, squeezing gently. “You’re thinking about something.” She squinted, playful but still determined. “Sophia?”

  The name—just the name—sliced through him.

  “It’s tough to explain.” A miserable story with a sad ending and a broken man. Who’d want to fall into bed with that?

  She drew her brows in a frown. “That sounds serious.”

  And he wasn’t going there now. So he’d tell her about the LaVie deal and let her think that’s what troubled him: her fury over decisions made without her input this afternoon.

  So much easier than talking about his past and his pain.

  “It is serious.” He stroked her hair, sliding it behind her ear. “Can you handle serious?”

  “Maybe. Probably. Did the kissing alley just become the confession alley?”

  He didn’t answer, but pulled her into him, dropping his forehead against hers. “I need to tell you something, but I’m not sure.”

  “Not sure of what?”

  “Of whether I want everything to change. It might guarantee that you won’t come to my bed at midnight, like I’d hoped.”

  She fought a smile. “Is that what you hoped?”

  “Yes.”

  The single syllable elicited a tiny intake of breath from her. “Oh, well. What are you going to tell me then that could change that?”

  “I want you to let me take your picture—”

  “What?” She laughed. “In bed at midnight? Is that what you’re into?”

  “No, tomorrow in broad daylight. As one of the models in the LaVie campaign.”

  Total shock, mild confusion, and something that might have been amusement flickered in her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s not the real shoot,” he said quickly. “It’s a test. They want to test using non-models and regular women, like you. I showed them that picture on my phone—”

  “You did?”

  “—and the client went crazy, and they all decided we needed to try it, and since we have the shoot and equipment set up for tomorrow, we’re going to test a model and a non-model, who would be you.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it again, a move he was used to by now. Then she closed her eyes, dropped her head against his chest, and started laughing.

  “Gussie?”

  She chuckled harder, finally lifting her face to show tears of mirth in her eyes.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked. “Do you understand what I’m asking?”

  “Yes, I heard you. No, I don’t understand.”

  “Then why are you laughing?”

  He braced for the inevitable response. No way! Are you out of your mind? I told you I don’t like my picture taken!

  She angled her head with a great big smile. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes,” she laughed. “I’ll do it. Freecation means free of everything, including my stupid hang-ups about having my picture taken. It might be fun.”

  Oh, God, why had he doubted her? “It will be fun,” he assured her. “Because everything with you is fun.”

  Her eyes sparkled at the compliment, then that light faded. “Now that sounded serious again. Like it’s killing you that you have fun with me. Why?”

  Because he wasn’t going to fall for her. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t.

  “Nothing’s killing me except the fact that we have to walk all the way home and figure out a way to sneak into my room without Alex knowing so that I can…” He lifted her face and looked at her.

  “So that you can what?” she urged.

  Not fall for her.

  But it might be too late.

  “Take a guess, Pink.”

  * * *

  Alex stared into the bathroom mirror, a little shocked at how pale her face was even after a day in the sun, how big her eyes looked, how really young she looked at that moment. Too young? No, not too young for this. But way, way too alone.

  Momma always said it would happen when you least expect it, when you’re not even thinking about it, the whole thing would catch you by surprise. Well, this certainly had not been something she’d been expecting when she came to France.

  Still, it happened, and now she had to figure out what the heck to do about it. Tell Miss Annie? No, Alex would die of embarrassment. Lizzie? She might be too young to understand. Maybe her mom hadn’t told her all about it yet.

  She gripped the sink and looked at her reflection, seeing her mother’s eyes and not her own. God, she’d give anything, anything in the world, to walk out of this bathroom and into Momma’s arms and say, “Guess what happened?”

  She’d probably want to eat ice cream, because Ruthie Whitman had celebrated all things with ice cream. She closed her eyes, tears threatening at the thought.

  “Alex?” Miss Annie tapped on the bathroom door. “Gussie texted that they’re almost back from dinner. Do you want to call her and tell her you’re spending the night with us?”

  No way she was spending the night now. Gussie wasn’t Momma, but s
he was the next best thing. She opened the door slowly and gave Miss Annie a smile, wondering if anything was obvious.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Guess it was obvious.

  “I’m just, you know…” Missing my mother.

  “Homesick?”

  “A little, so I don’t think I’ll stay tonight.”

  “What?” Lizzie came shooting out from around the corner, her freckles bright with the day’s sunburn. “Eddie set up that Monopoly game Mum found in the closet. You have to stay.” Her voice grew whiny, and instantly Miss Annie had her arm around her daughter. “You’re tired, darling, and so is Alex. She has real jet lag from America.”

  “Are you leaving?” Eddie came into the hallway then, a lock of his blond hair falling over his brow, making him so cute Alex had to squeeze her hands into fists.

  She nodded and nearly melted when he smiled.

  “So, we’ll see you tomorrow then, right?” He seemed eager and confident at the same time, like he had all day.

  “Prob’ly,” she said.

  “Oh, I think I hear them now,” Annie said, turning away to head to the front door. “Come along, Alex.”

  Lizzie threw her arms around Alex’s head, her constant enthusiasm wearing a little thin right then.

  “Until tomorrow, bestie!”

  Alex laughed and looked past Lizzie’s head to meet Eddie’s gaze. His lip curled in a half smile, like they were sharing an inside joke about Lizzie’s over-the-topness. “Tomorrow,” he mouthed, making Alex’s stomach flip like it did at the top loop on the Hulk at Universal Studios.

  “I have to go,” Alex said, disconnecting from Lizzie’s tight squeeze. She hustled out to the living room, where Miss Annie stood at the door talking to Gussie and Uncle Tommy. As soon as Alex walked up, Annie stopped talking. Could she know? Could she be telling them? Oh, God, she’d die if her uncle knew.

  “Oh, here she is now,” Miss Annie said, stepping aside to make room for Alex.

  Gussie and Uncle Tommy stood in the hallway, waiting for her. For one flash of a second, Alex felt like they were her parents, who’d come to pick her up at a friend’s house. A longing so real and powerful nearly strangled her. If only.

  “Hey, Alex.” Her uncle’s smile was easy and, at least now, seemed real. “Did you have fun?”