“I don’t want to lose you,” I blurted out.
Emma glanced over at me, an uncomfortable expression drawing the lines of her face tight.
I stared back, imploring her to understand. “I just found you. But I can’t walk away from this last chance. I want to feel like myself again, Em.”
Her shoulders slumped on a sigh. “I know you do.” She visibly swallowed. “I’m not going anywhere, Lucian.”
But I was. And we both knew that it would take me away from her all the same.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Emma
I wasn’t numb. Numb implied a lack of feeling, and I felt everywhere. Horrible cramping feeling. I hadn’t known it was possible to be so afraid for someone who was determined to ignore the danger they faced.
I glanced at Lucian’s hard profile as he concentrated on the finishing touches of the seared-salmon lunch he was prepping. Lemony-yellow sunlight shone through the kitchen window and glinted off his inky hair. He appeared calm but not content.
Couldn’t be helped. The ride back to Rosemont had been tense, each of us quiet and in our own corners. I’d hated every second of it. Somehow Lucian had become the central feature of my world, and it just wasn’t a happy place when we were on the outs.
Not that either of us apparently wanted to admit we were in a prolonged fight. I was too good at pretending pain away, and so was he.
An awful solution, given that my anxiety and hurt ratcheted up every moment I kept my mouth shut. Now, a day later, we were making lunch for his family. Rather, Lucian was making it, and I kept him company in my customary perch at the kitchen bench.
A silent sigh rippled through me. I had hoped he would love the kitchen of the house I wanted to buy. I had hoped he’d see the possibility of turning that house into a home for the two of us. Which was just plain stupidity on my part. It was too soon to expect him to live with me. Not that I had gathered up the courage to even ask. We never spoke of love or forever. Why should I have expected anything?
But I had. I had built castles once again, picturing us in that smaller version of Rosemont. A place all our own. And he’d crushed it with one swoop. He was leaving.
It might have been easier to take if it wasn’t for a career that could very likely kill him.
Grimacing, I looked away.
“It’s ready.” His deep voice sliced through the silence.
“I’ll get the bread.”
Stilted and not in the least bit genuine. That was how we talked now.
Swallowing convulsively, I grabbed the big breadbasket as he watched me with those cool-green eyes. I knew it upset him that I wasn’t instantly on board with his plan. Just as I knew he honestly didn’t want to hurt me. We were simply at an impasse.
Lucian carried the main dish, and we were met by Tina, who ran back for the iced tea.
“Well then,” said Amalie with a clap of her bejeweled hands. “This looks lovely.”
Sal moved aside a platter of ruby-ripe sliced tomatoes to make room for the fish. “I’m freaking starved.”
“You’re always starved,” Lucian said dryly, earning a flick of Sal’s neon-green manicured fingers.
“Now, where is Anton?” Amalie murmured, looking about the terrace, as though he might pop out of the shrubbery. But he walked through the kitchen doors, helping Tina with the drinks by carrying two bottles of wine.
I sat back and watched the way the Osmonds moved together, making everything just so, varying expressions of peace and expectation gracing their attractive faces. And at their center, stern and watchful Lucian directing them all.
Sadness warred with utter affection. For all of them. They were people who loved life, loved good food and good conversation. And they shared it with whoever needed those comforts.
After Sal poured her a glass of chardonnay, Amalie raised her glass with a gleam in her jade eyes as she looked at each of us. Lucian might have been the captain, but she was the queen.
“On trinque?”
Her grandchildren immediately answered as one. “À votre santé.”
Sal and I repeated it and followed the ritual of clinking glasses with everyone. When Lucian turned to touch my glass, he held my gaze and murmured, “À ta santé.”
My lids lowered, emotion filling me too hard and fast. And he knew it. His lips brushed my temple as he breathed my name. “Em.”
I loved this man. And it was killing me.
When we pulled apart, I found Amalie smiling, pleased as punch. I blinked back tears and accepted the tomato plate Tina passed my way.
“So then,” Amalie said. “Now that I have all my babies here, I have an announcement.”
A ripple went around the table, and everyone but me seemed to brace themselves.
“I have decided I miss France. So”—she waved an elegant hand—“I am returning to Paris.”
“You go to Paris every spring,” Lucian said, his expression ever deadpan.
“Hush, you.” She sniffed, as if offended, but we all knew she wasn’t. “I am going to live in Paris permanently. My time here is over. New memories must be made.”
The woman was seventy-five years old, and still she took life by the reins and guided it wherever she pleased. That was what I wanted: to have Amalie’s fearlessness, her lust for life.
“Are you going to sell Rosemont?” Lucian couldn’t quite hide the fear in his voice. I didn’t blame him. This was his refuge and his childhood all rolled into one.
“Of course she’s not,” Tina said, with a slightly annoyed glance at him. “She’s going to give it to you.”
“Me?”
Anton snorted. “You act surprised.”
Lucian’s gaze narrowed and froze. “Because I am. I have no greater claim on this place than any of you.”
“Oh, please. You’re her favorite.”
“If you’re not, Ant, that’s only because you’re an ass—”
Amalie clapped her hands once. “Hush. All of you.” She glared at each of them in turn. “Of course I am not selling, Lucian. How ridiculous. And you two. How dare you suggest I’d show that sort of favoritism?”
Tina winced. “Apologies, Mamie. It’s only that Lucian lived here with you as a kid, and he’s been fixing it up.”
Anton simply grunted.
Amalie took a slow sip of her wine before continuing. “I will, of course, visit Rosemont now and then, but I am leaving the property to the four of you in equal partnership.”
“Four?” Anton blinked in confusion.
Amalie quirked a brow. “You, Lucian, Tina, and Salvador.”
Sal made a choking sound, his copper skin turning dark bronze. “Amalie . . . you . . . I . . .”
“You are like a grandson to me, my dear,” she said with steel in her voice and kindness in her eyes. “And I shall not take no for an answer.”
The threat that she’d fight any of her actual grandchildren who objected was also clear as a bell.
Sal sat back with a strangled gasp, now pasty and sweating.
Lucian flashed him a wide, amused smile. “Face it, Sallie—you’re officially one of us now.”
“Puta . . .”
Tina reached over to pat his hands. “Mamie is right. We love you, Sal.”