Coming Home (35 page)

He quirked an eyebrow and looked at her over his shoulder.
“N’est-ce pas?”

She smiled. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“Alors peut-être que vous pourriez enlever vos vêtements.”

Her body reacted, coiling and heating low in her belly. She laughed. “What did you say?”

He removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. “I said, ‘is that so?’ Then I said, ‘Perhaps it would help if you took off your clothes.’” His fingers plucked at the light cardigan she wore over her dress.

Her lips pulled to the side, hiding her smile. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I usually am,” he whispered, pulling off the cardigan and dropping it to the floor.

***

Evelyn’s fingers went numb as they walked to the den. Lucian knocked briskly and opened the doors. Evelyn took a deep breath and followed him in.

Lucian’s father, a tall and remarkably handsome older man, stood. “I could barely believe my ears when Claudette told me you were here. And with a woman no less.”

“Hello, Christos. This is Evelyn Keats.”

Christos Patras nodded with little evidence of affection towards his son. His hair was white as silver fox fur. He turned to Evelyn, and she watched his unapologetic, dark eyes move over her appraisingly. “Keats. That isn’t a name I’m familiar with.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Patras. And no, my name doesn’t mean much.”

“Who are your parents?”

“Dad.” Lucian’s tone was sharp and warning.

His father waved him off. “Calm down, Lucian. I’m only curious. This is a long way from Folsom. I imagine you’d only bring a woman here if she meant something to you.” He turned back to Evelyn. “Are you in love with my son or his money?”

She bristled. His question was rude and took her by surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“We may be a continent away, but we still get the news from home. I’ve seen your picture. I’ve read the stories. I’ve never been one for beating around the bush, so I figured I’d give you the courtesy of answering for yourself.”

“That’s just it, Mr. Patras, the only person I answer for, and to,
is
myself. If you want to know my intentions, I suggest you take the time to get to know me and make a decision on your own. That’s the kind of man you are anyway. Am I correct? Words only hold a small value next to your instinct.”

Lucian sniggered.

“She’s feisty,” Mr. Patras said to his son. “You’ll have your hands full.”

Lucian said something in French. His father’s brows lifted and he replied quickly, also using French.

Lucian looked his father in the eye and simply said, “
Oui.”

She cleared her throat and mumbled to Lucian. “Not sexy anymore. What did you just say about me?”

He didn’t answer, and now his father was really studying her. “I see,” Mr. Patras said. “Well then, the pleasure is all mine, Ms. Keats.”

He shook her hand and she hated that he might feel her fingers trembling. “You can call me Evelyn.”

“And you may call me Christos. Shall we have coffee?”

They settled into soft upholstered chairs that were too dainty and feminine for both men. Claudette brought in a tray of biscuits, and coffee in a polished silver kettle. She smiled sweetly at Evelyn and quickly bustled out of the room.

“So tell me, Evelyn, are the stories true? Did my son take advantage of you?”

She stilled, her biscuit suspended between her mouth and her tiny plate. “What?”

“You’ve read the rags, haven’t you? Your age is a mystery. And then there was one rumor that you had a child in grade school. Are you a mother?”

“Christos, stop with the inquisition.”

“I don’t read the tabloids,” she said, hiding her discomfort.

“Good girl,” Christos commented, sounding so much like Lucian. “And the child? Are you a mother?”

“No. I have no family.”

“How very . . . simplistic for you.”

Lucian ran a hand over her knee. “Only you would see it that way,” he said with dry acceptance.

“Indeed. So what brings you to Europe?”

“Lucian wanted to show me the mountains.”

“Evelyn’s never been outside of Folsom.”

Christos cocked his head. “Really?”

The questions were growing tedious. She decided to put an end to them so that she could actually get to know Lucian’s father and perhaps show Lucian something new. They only had a short time in France.

Placing her plate on the table, she faced the older man. “Christos, I also don’t beat around the bush, so here’s the truth of the matter. I have nothing. I’ve never had anything beside a name. Your family’s financial situation overwhelms me. I’m not capable of measuring such wealth and, while I’m a realist enough to know it’s impressive, it’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I just lost my mother, who happened to be the only parent I ever had. She disappointed me more than she ever made me proud, and I hate that I was never lucky enough—in my
entire
life—to have a conversation with her not weighted with resentment or necessity.”

He was silent for a long moment. After clearing his throat, he said, “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Thank you.”

He sighed. “You’re a smart girl.”

“Smart enough to know that no amount of poverty or wealth erases a child’s desire for a parent’s approval, their friendship, and love. It takes effort, and one person’s determination isn’t always enough. Your son is one of the most resolute men I’ve ever met, but even he doesn’t have the power to fix your relationship unless you want to fix it as well.”

Both men wore expressions of discomfort and averted their gazes. She stood. “I’m suddenly tired. Why don’t you stay and talk with your father for a bit while I lay down, Lucian?”

“Evelyn.” Lucian’s tone was laced with warning.

She kissed him and whispered, “I never had a dad. I’d like to know what that feels like.”

His eyes narrowed and she turned away, quickly leaving the room. Her heart raced as she slid the doors closed, waiting for him to storm after her, but he never did. She paused on the other side of the door and listened as the rumblings of words finally came. Sighing with a smile, she turned and stilled.

A woman with dark black hair and striking eyes watched her from a few feet away. She asked something in French and Evelyn shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t speak French.”

“You are the woman who brought Lucian here?”

“Yes. I’m Evelyn.”

She held out her dainty hand. “
Bonjour
, Evelyn. I am Tibet.”

Ah, the mistress.
She shook her hand. “Thank you for letting us stay.”

“Christos’s children are always welcome here, although they never come. It is a surprise to see Lucian twice in only a few months. He spoke to me about you during his last visit.”

That took her by surprise. “He . . . he did?”

She gestured to a door and Evelyn followed her. It was a room completely made of glass. The garden blooms created a whimsical splash of color on the walls. “I told him I knew he was in love.” They settled into wicker chairs cushioned with floral pillows. “He did not deny it. I told him not to waste time. His heart was clearly in the States.”

Was that what sent him back to Folsom before the supposed thirty days had passed? “I’m glad you told him that.”

“I also told him we fall in love with people who resemble our parents. I asked who you were most like, his mother or father.”

“I never met Lucian’s mother, and I only just met his father.” It was a strange comparison to make, but she was suddenly curious of the answer.

Tibet smiled sadly. Her fingers laced over her crossed legs as her gaze drifted. “She was a lovely woman, the kind of woman who was difficult to look at, because she was always so perfectly put together. But most of her beauty was inside. She had a grace about her that could not be mimicked. She was serene, angelic, and delicate.”

And this woman destroyed
that woman’s
family. Evelyn imagined Lucian’s mother and then looked at Tibet. She was dark, beautiful, and quietly dangerous, reminding Evelyn of a black widow spider, nothing like the description of Lucian’s mom. On the other hand, neither was she.

“She doesn’t sound like me.”

She smiled. “Then you are like Christos.”

Why did she have to be like either of them? “I don’t think so.”

“Really? Christos is brave. He has more fortitude in him than any person I know. No challenge is enough to make him quit without trying. Yet he is terrified of love. He resents having people close to him, because they become liabilities.”

She was speechless. That was her. Was that what drew Lucian to her? Was she a supplement for the unattainable love of his father? She frowned. “I’m not all that brave.”

Tibet tilted her head and studied her, a knowing smile on her painted red lips. “The tabloids can be quite harsh at times, but there is also some truth behind them. The media likes to paint the Patras family as better than everyone else. I know what it feels like to come up short in their comparisons.”

She resented being put in the same category as the woman who broke up a family. “I don’t waste my time with their assumptions.”

“Eventually you will come out with a statement.”

“Lucian says that’s up to me.”

“And what do you plan to say?”

This woman was indeed a spider. Evelyn didn’t appreciate the sticky sense of being caught in a web. She stood. “I haven’t decided yet. You read the tabloids. You’ll have to wait with the rest of the gossipmongers.”

Tibet stood and caught her arm. “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

Evelyn stared down at the woman’s hand curling softly around her wrist. Lucian loved his mother and that made it difficult to care for Tibet. They’d definitely gotten off on the wrong foot. She stepped back, cutting all physical contact.

“I think you want to protect Christos the same way I want to protect Lucian. If Christos considers the people he loves a liability, and sees Lucian as a threat, it only proves that he loves his son. I’m glad. But they both have to own their mistakes for anything to change. Your husband taught Lucian everything he knows about being cold and calculating. We won’t stay long. He can either make this right or continue on the way things have always been. I asked Lucian to come here, but if I was wrong and he gets hurt, I’ll never push him toward his father again.”

A door slammed and they both winced. Tibet sighed. “Christos wants to love, but he doesn’t know how.”

“Does anyone? Excuse me.”

Evelyn left the garden room and knocked softly on the doors that led to the den. “Yes?”

It was Christos. She slid the doors open and sighed at the sight of his haggard expression. Lucian was gone.

“I suspect you’ll be leaving shortly,” he said.

She entered the room and settled into a chair. “You fought?”

He sighed. “It’s the only way we know.”

“Why?”

“Because that is the way it’s always been.”

Looking down at her knees peeking past the hem of her dress, she thought. “You know, my entire life, I never heard my mother say she loved me. I wasn’t quite sure what love was. I saw it as an obligation of attachment. When I met Lucian and, for the first time, actually fell in love, I hated it. It was inconvenient and messy and changed me in ways I wasn’t comfortable with.

“I denied my feelings, but he insisted the absence of words didn’t negate the truth of sentiment. I didn’t come around until I thought I lost him.” Her mind tracked back to those horrible nights she spent crying for him, hating how much he could hurt her. “He was right. I loved him. Saying so didn’t make the feelings any more true, and bottling them up did nothing to diminish how I felt.”

Christos watched her as she spoke. The resemblance between him and Lucian was perhaps what made her comfortable speaking to him so candidly. She went on.

“My mother was sick from the time I was born. Drugs. She was the only influence I ever had. There was plenty about her that I hated, but also plenty I adored. She taught me what not to be as much as she showed me how to survive. When you aren’t given certain things, it’s difficult to miss them. But after meeting Lucian, every time he told me he loved me, I realized, more than any object of value, that was what I wanted most. Love. I finally understood how starved I was for such tenderness. I wanted to hear those words from my mom, to just once know what it felt like to hear that she cared for me the way he did. I never did.”

“I see why Lucian cares for you. You’re a very intelligent young lady,” Christos said, and she lowered her gaze to hide the heat rising under her cheeks. His voice grew soft, barely audible. “I was not a good father.”

She gave him a moment for his words to settle in. There was no need to comment. The truth is what it is. She was glad when he went on.

“I’m proud of the man Lucian’s become, but if I told him that, he’d make some snide comment, discrediting the truth of my words.”

“We all have defense mechanisms. Nobody wants to be rejected, but love means putting yourself out there. Someone has to take the first step.”

“I suppose that should be me,” Christos commented, his dark eyes meeting hers.

“He loves you. I know he does. If he didn’t, the distance between you wouldn’t bother him so much. Hate does not negate love. Indifference is what you need to fear, but I promise you, Lucian is not indifferent toward you.”

They were quiet for several long minutes. “Do you intend to marry my son?”

If she hadn’t known Lucian as well as she did, she might have been put off by his father’s bluntness. “He has to ask.”

“I think,” Christos said quietly, “it would be a novel experience having a daughter I can talk to.”

She smiled. His compliment was simple and understated, but it gave her a great sense of accomplishment. She met his gaze as if there was an unspoken secret between them. “I think it would be nice to have the same in a parent.”

“That won’t be possible if Lucian forbids it.”

He was right. She wouldn’t speak to him if it meant hurting Lucian. Her first loyalty was to him. “You can make sure he doesn’t.”