Love Redesigned

LOVE REDESIGNED

French Kiss Connection Series

SLOANE B. COLLINS

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

LOVE REDESIGNED

Copyright©2014

SLOANE B. COLLINS

Cover Design by Leah Suttle

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.  The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-61935-
630-6

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

For Joe,

My real life hero for over 26 years

Acknowledgements

The day has finally come . . . I get to write acknowledgements! Writing is a very solitary process, but there are some amazing people who have loved and supported me on this journey.

First and fo
remost, I want to thank my editor, Stella Riley, and Soul Mate Publishing for bringing the book of my heart to life.

I want to thank Sasha Summers for pushing me to take her spot in critique group — without her and my critique partners, I wouldn’t be writing this today. Thank you to Sasha, Suzanne Clark, Phyllis Middleton, Rachel Simeone, Angelyn Schmid, Carolyn Williamson, and Deidre Holcomb for making me a better writer. Y’all rock!

Thank you to my beta reader, Linda Marquez, for reading my manuscript and giving me your feedback. I’m so glad you love to read as much as I do.

Thank you to Denise Haynsworth for proofing the manuscript, especially while on vacation!

Thank you to my RWA chapter, Dallas Area Romance Authors, for encouragement, support, and friendship. Where else can you spend hours talking about characters as if they are flesh and blood people, and not be carted away?

Thank you to my parents, for passing on your passion for reading to me, and for your love and support.

But most important of all, thank you to my husband, Joe. You’re my best friend, confidant, and the love of my life, all rolled into one pretty fine package. Thank you for loving me, taking care of me, for supporting me in everything I do, and for listening to me as I ramble on about writing. You are the best! 

Chapter 1

Everywhere she turned, something reminded her of
him
. Fifteen long years, with no contact from Roman at all—not even a peep—and the memories were still just as fresh as the day they’d parted in Paris.

Earlier this morning, Genevieve Haywood had been relieved to drive away from the airport and leave Paris behind as she and her BFF Daniel headed to the Chateau Gaillard and Winery in the Alsace region. She shook her head, still amazed and a little awestruck that her cousin, Connie Sue, was marrying a man who owned a
real
French chateau.

On the countryside road heading to St. Armand, they’d passed a Farmer’s Market, and Daniel had begged her to stop so he could do some shopping. He’d batted his amber eyes at her, smiled his trademarked, and much-practiced devilish grin, and she was a goner. They’d been best friends for almost twenty years and he knew exactly how to get what he wanted.

Not that she minded . . . he had an eye for bargains. He’d helped furnish her Atlanta apartment using thrift store furniture, and given it his interior designer flair, so it was her perfect retreat.

And how she wished she was there right now, away from France, and away from the memories.

“I’m going to need at least an hour, Gigi.” Daniel craned his neck, trying to look everywhere at once. “OMG! They have leather goods . . . and linens! Ooh, look at the all food vendors! I think I’m in love. I’m off to explore.” He kissed her cheek. “See ya, Sugar!”

He dashed off before she could argue. More than a few heads, both women
and
men, turned to follow his progress.

Most of the time she felt dowdy compared to Daniel, but he’d forced her to go shopping before this trip, and he’d bullied her into some chic outfits. Another perk of having a best friend with flair. The outfit he’d picked for her today gave her confidence, even if it was just a white tee, dark jeans, and a belted taupe sweater. The low-heeled dark brown boots were an indulgence, but she’d drawn the line at the spike heels he’d wanted her to buy.

Seriously, where would she wear spike heels when she worked on her feet all day at the bakery, then collapsed at night?

Wandering among the carts, she took her time inspecting each small patisserie cart, the lovely handmade baskets, and the myriad cheese vendors set up in the area. This was her business, after all. Good idea to size up what other bakers were doing, even halfway across the world. Sweet after sweet, dessert after dessert. By the time she made it past the last bakery vendor, her mouth was watering.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that breakfast on the plane had been hours ago. Maybe a snack to tide them over on the way to her cousin’s place?

She wandered into another section of the open-air market, this time filled with cart after cart of lavender, and everything you could do with it. The dried lavender bouquets hanging on a cart reminded her of the funny little old French woman who had lived on the first floor of Roman’s building. She used to give them the most delectable pastries wrapped in violet bags, with lavender sprigs tied into the ribbon.

Bread loaves spilled out of baskets, and her stomach growled again. They used to buy fresh-baked bread at the open-air market near Roman’s studio apartment and take it back to eat on the balcony.

She stopped cold. Thinking about him wasn’t a good idea. Broken hearts were supposed to hurt less over time, weren’t they? But this . . .

Even now, it hurt.

Moving on, she made a concerted effort to set Roman and her still-wounded heart aside.

She breathed deep. There were several flower vendors, and the heady aroma of fresh flowers perfumed the air. She wanted to bottle the enticing aroma of food and flowers mixed together and take it home to Atlanta.

Atlanta was home. Normalcy. Security.

And she had to get back there for her soon-to-be-burgeoning business. Her win on “Southern Belle Cake-Off” had brought attention to her cake designs and a flood of orders for the next few months. She’d hated being on television, but the exposure had been perfect for her business plans.

So until she could get back home, she’d be the perfect bridesmaid. Her cousin deserved nothing less, after all. Connie Sue didn’t need to know that being here, in France, reminded her of . . . the man she
wasn’t
going to think about, and how painful those memories were.

She mentally shook herself, straightened her shoulders. The bread vendor standing at his cart caught her eye. She smiled, and pointed to a couple of loaves of bread for him to add to her purchases.

After paying for the bread, she moved down the lane to the next vendor. She leaned forward to examine the labels on the mustard jars. A chime sounded, and she pulled her smart phone out of her pocket. She clicked on the email app only to see the newsletter from a cake artist she had recently befriended.

She sighed, disappointed.
Still
nothing from the bank about her small business loan application.

Why is it taking so long to hear from them? Will it be good news, or another rejection?

Tucking the phone back in her pocket, she heard a peal of laughter behind her, and idly looked around. On the other side of the aisle, a couple of women were talking to a well-built man wearing a beat-up black leather jacket. One of them ran her fingers down his arm, flirting.

Tall and muscular, his worn jeans hugged his backside, showcasing long legs, ending in motorcycle boots. Black-as-sin hair curled at his collar, just long enough to blow in the breeze.

She stood frozen in place, staring at his back. Willing him to turn around to confirm her worst fears, but terrified he would.

It couldn’t be. Not here. The one person she never wanted to see again. He was on her mind, being here in France . . . that’s all. It
couldn’t
be him.

Her heart raced, and she wanted to run, but her legs weren’t cooperating.

He turned around and glanced at her, caught her staring. He winked and grinned at her.

Her body relaxed, and she sighed, very relieved.

Not him, of course.

She felt a little silly. But it
could
have been Roman. They were only about five hundred kilometers from Paris, after all. Close enough for a day trip. What if he really wasn’t in Milan?

Wait a minute. Why would he be here?

There was nothing way out here but cows, grapes, lavender, and wine. Plenty of wine. Nonetheless, Paris was still too close for comfort. “Idiot,” she muttered.

“
Excusez-moi
?”

She jerked around to see an older man standing by the pastry booth.

“
Puis-je vous aider?
” he asked.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Ah, American?” He sniffed.

“Yes.”

“May I help you?”

She picked up a prettily wrapped package of
kirsch bouchette
off the shelf. “I’ll take this, please.” It may not be as good as what she would be making for the wedding parties, but at least she wouldn’t show up empty-handed at the chateau.

Digging in her pocket, she grabbed some Euros and handed them to him, then tucked the package into her tote bag and ducked around the corner of the booth.

“One moment,
s'il vous plait, Mademoiselle
!”

She looked behind her to see the vendor hurrying toward her.

“You forgot your change.”

“Oh, stupid me.”
I guess I’m a bit scattered today.
She spared another glance back at the good-looking man and the women fawning over him. She turned back to the vendor. “Thank you.”

She clutched her bundles close and walked between stalls of linens. Anxious to be at the chateau and safely locked away with her baking, she looked for Daniel. She dodged shoppers, heading for the car at the opposite end of the market. Looking around the textile booths crowding the sidewalk, she finally spotted his perfectly gelled, moussed, and tousled dark-brown hair.

“There you are! Are you ready to go?” She tried to pull him away from the array of materials, her tone sharper than she’d intended.

“Whoa. What’s got you all fired up?” Daniel gripped her arms, holding her steady.

“Nothing.” She tried not to snap this time.

“Riiight,” he drawled, and stared at her, lips pursed.

“We . . . we need to get to the chateau.”

He looked her over. “Honey, you look like the hounds of Hell are after you. What happened?”

“I just want to leave.”
So I can get away from my Parisian ghosts. “
Now. Please.”

“I’m almost done. I want to get some of this fabulous
peau de soie
to make throw pillows for my living room. What do you think?” He held up a bolt of material so she could see it.

“Fine. It’s pretty. I’ll wait in the car.”

He folded his arms across his chest and thrust his hip sideways. “Genevieve Grace, I
am
your best friend, aren’t I? What is going on? You can tell me anything.”

“I will, but not now!”

“Let me just pay for this and I’ll be there in a minute.” He leaned in to whisper to her. “What do you think of the guy behind the counter? Yumolicious, right?”

She glanced at the waiting vendor. Tall, blonde, good-looking, but not too pretty. Just Daniel’s type. She’d never get him out of there if there was a chance for him to flirt.

Time to change tactics. “I have fresh bread,” she tempted him, holding the bag up like a carrot on a stick, and walking backward. If there was anything he loved more than shopping, it was food. So unfair he never got fat.

His eyes gleamed. “Yum. Go on to the car and I’ll be there in a minute. Oh, here, take some of these bags, please. Wait till you see the leather messenger bag I bought.”

Finding the car, she stowed the shopping bags in the back. She climbed into the passenger seat and set the bag with the bread on the floor between her legs. She checked her email for the hundredth time since they’d landed, but nothing yet.

A few minutes later, Daniel got in the car, started the engine, and pulled out onto the road. He thrust his hand out in front of her. “Bread, please.”

She grabbed a loaf out of the bag, tore a chunk off, and handed it to him.

He bit into the bread and chewed. His mouth full, he mumbled, “Okay, now spill.”

“I could have sworn I saw
him
back there.”

Daniel swallowed the bread and glanced at her. “Him who?”

She shot a look at him. “
Him
.”

“Who,
Roman
? The guy who broke your heart?”

She nodded. “Thank God it
wasn’t
him. I’m not ready.”

“Last I heard he’d moved to Milan several years ago.”

“That’s what the gossip magazines said.”

“Wait a minute. Back up. You read the gossip rags now?”

“No,” she said. “I just remembered seeing a while ago that he’d moved there.”

“Uh huh. Well, I heard it was after he broke up with that model he’d been seeing. She went nuts and sicced her husband’s bodyguards on him.”

“She wasn’t married . . .”
Oops, caught
.

He snickered. “Thought you weren’t keeping track of him.”

“Kind of hard not to when he’s splashed in all the magazines.”

“
Fashion
magazines, darling.”

“Some regular magazines . . . depending on who he’s dating.”

“Yeah, like actresses, models, socialites. He’s in high demand, and not just for his designs, if you know what I mean.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she squirmed.
Boy, do I ever know about that.
“I know nothing about the fashion world. I know pastry. I wear chef coats most of the time—”

“And you totally rock them, Sugar.”

She laughed. “Just one more reason he and I weren’t suited. Besides, he made his choice a long time ago. I wasn’t good enough for him.” She grabbed the bottle of water in the cup holder and drank, soothing her parched throat.

“He was an idiot fifteen years ago, and he’s an idiot today. And if I ever come face to face with him, I’ll tell him just that.”

“You would not. You’re too nice.”

“Look, he hurt you in more ways than one. If you hadn’t been so upset, been in such a hurry, the accident may not—”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She looked out the window at the acres and acres of sprouting grapevines they passed. The countryside was so charming, and now she was too preoccupied to give it the appreciation it deserved.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s painful. We’ll be hidden away at the chateau soon enough, Sugar. You’re gonna be so busy baking for the wedding events you won’t know if you’re coming or going.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m so glad you came with me. Why the hell I agreed to be a bridesmaid
and
make the wedding cake and pastries for the events, I’ll never know.”

“She’s your favorite cousin, that’s why.”

“She’s my only cousin.”

“True.”

Daniel steered the car through the portico and drove up the long drive to the Gaillard Chateau and Winery. Nearing the chateau, he braked. They both looked out the window at the old stone building. It loomed against the sky, tall, gray, and imposing. And so very French.

“Sugar, I don’t think we’re in Atlanta anymore.”

Roman Duchaine sat on the small antique settee, drumming his fingers on his knee. He shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position. He flicked a disgusted glance at the uncomfortable piece of furniture. This was made for women, not men of his height.

Tucked away behind the carved folding screen, the bride-to-be was changing into the gown, chattering to Mignon, his assistant. He hoped Constance liked the wedding dress he had created. He’d labored over the design, wanting it to be perfect for her, and his cousin.

It had taken him by surprise when Francois chose to marry this American. He had hired her last year to promote the winery, and fallen quickly for her. He who had always sworn to remain single after his disastrous first marriage. But she had turned out to be good for Francois, and his twin daughters, Melisande and Arabella. Francois’ emails since they met had been full of anecdotes about Constance. She brought light and a Southern charm into the dark chateau, and into his cousin’s life.