Forbidden French

Later that morning, I take a guided tour of the villa with my grandmother and a few others. We stroll from room to room, learning about the artwork and the interiors. Then we go to lunch, which turns out to be incredibly dull. My grandmother sits among her friends. Royce seems caught up in conversation with a gentleman from Russia, and Emmett is so thickly surrounded by worshipping fans that I couldn’t fight my way through the throng if I wanted to. I’m bitter about it through the whole meal, scraping my food around the fine bone china until it finally feels appropriate for me to stand and leave, having finished two bites of a goat cheese and cucumber sandwich and nothing else.

I don’t notice Royce following after me until he calls my name. My initial reaction is slight annoyance, but I turn and try a smile on for size as he hurries to catch me.

“I was going to see if perhaps we could finish that walk we started yesterday?”

My manners kick in before I even have to consider them. “Of course. I’d love to.”

It feels so eerily similar to yesterday, the crunching of the gravel marking every awkward step, only this time I try harder to come up with topics of conversation we can discuss. I want to make this feel natural. I want to be walking alongside a friend, and to do that, we have to get past this beginning phase. After a few failed attempts to find mutual footing, I bring up the book I’m reading, and Royce’s face lights up.

“I love McCarthy’s writing, though I haven’t read that one yet.”

“Then I’ll lend it to you when I’m finished. I’m almost done.”

And just like that, we’ve begun to bridge the gap between us. I feel infinitely better, already imagining how happy my grandmother will be when I tell her about my afternoon.

Then, we turn the corner back toward the house and I come face to face with Emmett walking alongside Marie Shaw.

I’ve met her before, back in the States. She’s a soda heiress. Two years older than me, she’s slightly more than an acquaintance but not quite a friend. She’s classically beautiful, feminine and sweet. You could even say angelic with the sun beating down on her pale blonde hair oh so perfectly. The few times we’ve found ourselves in conversation, she’s barely uttered a word, not because she’s shy, but because she hasn’t deemed me worthy of the effort. She seems to have found her voice now though as she looks up at Emmett with shining eyes. It’s like he single-handedly hung the moon. I watch—barely suppressing a gag—as she drops her hand to his forearm, leaning into him to laugh, and I just don’t think anything could be that funny. What, is he a stand-up comedian now? Please.

“—should be fun.”

The tail end of Royce’s sentence stuns me back to reality. He’s been going on about something and I’ve totally missed it. In fact, I’ve slowed my pace so that he’s positioned slightly in front of me. Emmett’s gaze catches mine, followed by a familiar swooping feeling in my stomach. It feels like the brief pause at the peak of a rollercoaster just before it suddenly pitches forward. It’s so visceral that I look down as the path narrows. We have no choice but to shift to one side so Emmett and Marie can pass, and with that comes customary greetings.

“Royce.”

“Emmett.”

They nod to one another, and then it’s my turn to look at Marie and offer some kind of pleasantry.

“Hello Marie.”

“Elaine.”

Her tight smile says it all. She’s already looking ahead along the path, resenting the interruption. In fact, she drops her hand back onto Emmett’s arm as if to say, Shall we?

I look to Emmett, but his gaze is straight ahead. If he wants to say something more, I can’t tell.

Fine.

I’m the one who moves away first, slipping into a sour mood as I continue past them, wondering what Emmett’s angle is in going on a walk with Marie. Does she know that he never intends to marry? That she’s barking up the wrong tree? Or maybe Marie is different. Maybe she’s tempting enough to persuade him to change his stance, as solid as it may seem. What a bitter thought. Surely he would choose someone better than Marie.

Or perhaps I’m wrong. Marriage might not be what’s on her mind. I doubt any unattached female at this week’s party would hesitate before throwing themselves at the opportunity to have Emmett for a night or two. What a story that would be. I’m sure they’d love to tell their friends. Oh yes, he and I were together for a brief affair…

“Are you all right?” Royce asks, picking up his pace to catch up to me.

I’ve been intentionally racing away, trying to put as much distance between me and Emmett as possible. If it wouldn’t seem so damn weird, I’d break out into a run. I suddenly have a font of energy I need to burn off.

“Yes, actually—” I suddenly stop and turn to face him. “There’s no need to walk me all the way back up to my room. I know the way.” I was trying to make a teasing remark, but it actually comes out borderline bitchy. I cringe and try for an easier tone as I continue, “I just mean, it’s okay if you’d like to go join your friends or…” I have no idea what else he’d like to do. What does he enjoy? “I’ll see you again, later at the pier.”

This evening Victor has hired a yacht to whisk us all around the lake while we enjoy a sunset dinner. I’m sure it will be magical.

Before Royce can protest, I lean in to kiss his cheek, and he goes totally rigid. I don’t have time to read into it though because I’m already turning and heading up the stairs back toward the villa. I want to go straight back to my room and shut the door. I want to hole up, want to pretend nothing is wrong and this tight ball of anxiety in my stomach is nothing more than a stomachache from too little lunch.

When I return, the book I left down on the lounge chair this morning is on the bed in my small room. A cream note rests on top. I’ve never seen Emmett’s handwriting before. Slightly slanted black ink, sharp and neat.

I won’t bring it up again.

It’s an apology of sorts, or at least a surrender.

I can’t afford to hold a grudge. It’s only the second day here in Italy, and without Emmett, I’m left with only the company of my grandmother. Sure, there’s Royce and the other party guests, but Emmett is a friend, as strange as it seems, and I can’t stand the idea of keeping him at arm’s length. I tried that this morning down by the lake, and it lasted all of five seconds. All he had to do was swoop in and, with a bit of charm, I gave him exactly what he wanted: my attention.

I’m inclined to believe he’s bored of the topic of Royce and me together, already having moved on. His walk with Marie proves that.

An evening on the lake calls for something special: a midnight blue silk mini dress that ripples like water when I walk. It has thin straps and a V-neckline that means I’ll have to be careful all night, no sudden movements, no bending over, or everyone will get more than an eyeful of cleavage. My only jewelry is a heavy sapphire that rests at the hollow of my neck, hanging on a delicate choker. I feel beautiful as I walk alongside my grandmother down toward the pier. On the gravel path, I take her hand in mine just in case. I don’t want her to lose her footing.

“You were smart to rest this afternoon,” she tells me. “It’s going to be a long night, and I’d think Royce would be eager to have you at his side all evening. You look enchanting.”

Guests loom ahead of us, gathered at the pier, waiting their turn to board the three-story vessel. On the upper deck, uniformed crew members wait in a straight line, one offering champagne, another offering signature cocktails. At the tail end, the captain introduces himself and beckons us on board. His good looks aren’t lost on my grandmother, who takes an extra minute to ask about the size of the boat, something I know she absolutely does not care about.

“This should be a wonderful cruise,” she concludes as we continue on. I swear there’s even a rosy tinge to her cheeks.

We take our champagne up to the top deck and find ourselves in the epicenter of the action. Linen-covered tables are overflowing with food. Bartenders man their stations, ensuring every guest has a fresh cocktail in hand. Soft music plays and people mill about. My grandmother is spotted right away, and we’re swept into conversation. I lose track of it, though, when Emmett arrives.

He’s wearing a dark blue suit, sans tie. Formal, and yet he wears his clothes like they’re an extension of his body, as comfortable to him as a pair of pajamas would be. He declines a glass of champagne and keeps moving. I can’t peel my gaze off him as he slips further into the party. A man stops him and shakes his hand, introducing himself with an eagerness that isn’t lost on Emmett. He’s polite though, well-mannered enough to give the man a few minutes of his time before stepping away. I’d love to know if he has a destination in mind. Maybe he’s trying to get to one of the bartenders, but he’s waylaid again, this time by Marie.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of people on the deck. It’s hard to not feel exhausted by the constant socializing that takes place during parties like this. I’m so used to my grandmother’s quiet house, the mundane normalcy of my day-to-day life. Sure, I attend galas and ballets and dinners, but nothing like this. From sunup until sundown, I’ve been surrounded by people.

I break off from the group and slip around the side of the deck, curious about the areas of the yacht I haven’t seen. I don’t have to go far to find a bit of peace and quiet, but it doesn’t last. I’m barely halfway done with my glass of champagne when Victor rounds the corner, spots me leaning against the rail, and hurries over, not even bothering to mask his look of delicious triumph.

“The jig is up, I’m afraid. I saw you with your man earlier. I feel like a congratulations is in order. You’ve managed to ensnare the most eligible man of the weekend. Hell, the whole of the European continent, actually.”

Apparently, he’s as excited about my betrothal as my grandmother is. I wonder what he knows of Royce’s family.

I smile. “I’m happy you approve.”

He scoffs. “Approve? Wholeheartedly, my dear. In fact, I’ll do whatever I can to expedite the wedding. Have it here if you must—just get a ring on that man’s finger now.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I’m not worried about him fleeing our engagement if that’s what you mean.”

He waves away my worry. “Of course not. With a face like yours, he’ll be hoisting you over his shoulder and rushing you to the altar himself.” He shakes his head, a warm smile on his face. “I’m so happy for the two of you. What a pair. The gossip pages will be hungry for every salacious detail. I think a full-page spread in Vogue is in your near future. I won’t even have to put in a good word with Anna. She’ll be coming to you.”

I’m not sure how to reply to his effusive support. I didn’t realize he had such a high opinion of Royce.

“And his father,” he continues. “Does he approve?”

Royce’s father? I hadn’t even considered it.

“Oh…I think so?”

“Don’t worry. Frédéric can be brusque at times, and that’s putting it politely. I can’t imagine he’s been all that welcoming, but he must be pleased with the match. I can’t think of a better pairing myself.”

I hold out my hand, doing a poor job of masking my confusion. “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me. Frédéric?”

“Frédéric Mercier.” He laughs. “Your future father-in-law…how much champagne have you had, dear? Should I bring you some water?”

“No.” I force out a laugh, though it comes out slightly quivering. I’m trying to play this whole exchange off and doing a terrible job of it. “I’m fine. I just…”

I have no idea how to put this to rights, how to explain to him that I’m not engaged to Emmett and, furthermore, I’m not sure what gave him that idea.

“Janice!” Victor suddenly exclaims, waving to a party guest behind me. “Where do you think you’re off to? Don’t you dare disappear on me. I’m going to have the crew bring us up a round of espresso martinis!”

I use his distraction as an opportunity to slide past him and hurry down the railing toward the back of the yacht. Before, I had no plans to rejoin the party. Now, there’s no way I will. How many others suspect what Victor has just shared with me? Is it because of last night or our conversation earlier today by the pool? Have I missed something?

Surely Victor is only grasping at straws. Emmett has spent more time with Marie than he has with me, not to mention Royce was the one to lead my search party before dinner last night. Did Victor not take that into account?

My mind works overtime trying to determine some elusive fix to this problem. Already, I feel anxiety twisting my stomach. I go back into the boat and find myself in a quiet sitting room. I take a seat on a couch, wringing my hands.

I don’t know how long I sit there, spiraling, before I’ve exhausted myself. I heave a deep sigh and decide it’s enough. While worrying, there’s nothing I can do about the situation right now. I might as well distract myself. I’ve never been on a yacht this size, and though I’m not sure what the rules are for events like this, I decide it can’t hurt to do a bit of exploring.

Soon, I’ve given myself a tour of the second level, and then I slip down one floor below, peering into the spacious cabins. I’m not disturbing anything, careful to keep things exactly like I found them.

Here is what I’ve observed so far: it’s astounding, really, to see how much bad design a person can cram into a multi-million-dollar vessel. It’s like the owner hired four interior designers to give suggestions and then decided, What the hell? Let’s do it all. Every bathroom is decorated using a different color scheme. Black marble, white marble, gold marble—the sky’s the limit. Some bathrooms incorporate all three. The last one was actually wall-to-wall turquoise with pink tile floors and black hardware. The one before it was a dark brown with red accents. There’s no cohesion, no overall stylistic design. It’s…a madhouse, and I’m fully invested in discovering what oddity I’ll stumble upon next. I’ve just taken hold of the handle of a door that I think leads to another cabin, maybe a bunkroom for children, when Emmett’s voice scares the life out of me.

“Are you allowed to be down here?” he taunts.

I whirl around as I slap a hand to my chest. It feels like my heart is going to beat right out of me.

He smiles, registering my reaction with a shake of his head.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” he adds.

It’s silly. I won’t. I’m an adult doing nothing wrong, but his threat still hits the mark. I redden like I’ve just been caught breaking rules by St. John’s headmaster.

“I was just looking around,” I explain as he continues down the hall toward me.

“You were snooping,” he argues.

I lift my chin. “It’s not illegal.”

When he reaches me, he peers around my shoulder, his chest nearly brushing mine. “Have you found anything interesting?”

I open my mouth to tell him yes, but then I realize yet again, we’ve found ourselves in dangerous territory.

“You should go back up to the party.”

There, I’ve acted exactly as I should.

It’s Emmett who doesn’t listen, Emmett whose eyes narrow as he steps closer.

“Why?” he presses.

I search for a response beyond divulging Victor’s suspicion about us. I don’t know why I go mute rather than admitting the truth of our situation. Perhaps I’m worried about how he would respond to the rumor; a barking laugh could feel as searing as a knife. Deeper than that though is a heavy reluctance to continue to push Emmett away. I put up a good fight this morning, acting as if I wanted nothing to do with him, but it was just that: acting.

The truth is, I want him here. Maybe that’s why I slinked away from the party in the first place, so he could find me, though I’m careful to not delve deeper into that thought.

In the end, I settle on something bland.

“Because it’s inappropriate for us to be down here alone together.”

There.

He looks less than concerned about propriety. “You’re already bending the rules…now, tell me what you’ve found. Judging by the upper deck, I’m sure it’s insane. The whole place is filled with ancient relics.”

This is the moment I might come to regret later. Rather than making one last-ditch effort to resist him, I give in.

“There’s a bathtub that looks like it could be made of solid gold.”

His eyes alight with mischief. “Can’t be. It’d weigh too much.”

“I swear it. Come look.”

I lead him back to the main suite’s bathroom, and he stands beside me as we stare down at the truly heinous tub. It’s Liberace’s dream.

“It could be,” he says, tilting his head in wonder.

“See?”

“How many people do you think could fit inside it? It looks huge.”

“Get in and we’ll test it,” I say, already stepping in, mindful of my short hemline. If he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t as I climb over the lip of the tub, he has the good sense not to let me know.

I take a seat and stretch my long legs out before me then look up at him expectantly. He hasn’t moved.

“What?” My question is full of mock innocence.

“I was wrong about the size. You barely fit.”

“Not true. We’ll both fit, easily.”

“I don’t think you realize how tall I am.”

“I do.” Then I reach out for his hand. “Now come on. Don’t be such a chicken.”

He rolls his eyes but still allows me to tug him into the tub. There’s no clumsy climbing on his part. He steps in deftly then lowers himself down and takes a seat across from me. At first, we’re crammed, and I’m worried he’ll gloat about being right. Then he takes my ankles in hand and lifts them up so he can settle down beneath them. Finally, he rests my legs up on top of his.

We’re draped all over one another.

It’s so incredibly intimate and inappropriate, and worse, I don’t realize it until it’s too late. What seemed fun and silly now just feels like a tacky attempt to try to get close to him. I’m no better than the tittering fan club that’s surrounded him all day.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

I can do nothing but nod and tug down my dress in a futile attempt to cover more of my legs. I can’t squeeze my thighs together tightly enough, not with his hold on my ankles.

As if he realizes exactly what I’m thinking—how on edge I already am—he begins to slowly slide his hands up my calves. I know he doesn’t mean to send a cascade of shivers down my spine, but they’re there and I’m sure he realizes it.

“Should we add water?” he teases.

My eyes widen with alarm. “Don’t you dare.”

His mischievous smirk makes me suddenly aware of the deep ache in my lower belly. We’re so out of place here. His designer suit looks so strange in the gold bathtub.

“Don’t tempt me like that. I’m not the saint you think I am.”

“Oh please. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. You returned my book to me, handwritten note and all.”

“And what thanks did I get for it?”

“What kind of thanks do you want?”

The match strikes so suddenly that we both go mute.

Teasing banter gave way to sexual innuendo so seamlessly that I can only sit with red cheeks, praying he’ll change the subject and soon.

Instead, his brown eyes hold such sincerity as he ups the stakes once again.

“What are you willing to give?”

I have no answer. If I open my mouth, it will only get me in trouble. The things I want to say right now are things I’m unfamiliar with. Uncharted territory is putting it lightly. I’m playing with fire, and Emmett hasn’t released my legs, his grip so firm it almost gives the impression that he wouldn’t let go of me even if I wanted him to. It’s like he has me trapped and, innocent prey that I am, I didn’t even realize it until this moment.

A prying question spills out of me. “What were you doing with Marie this afternoon?”

His gaze hardens. “The same thing you were doing with Royce—taking a walk.”

“You seem to have a type.”

His arched brow is an invitation to continue.

“Blonde.”

He smiles and looks down as if appreciating some private joke.

“Have I nailed it?”

His dark eyes peer up from beneath his brows teasingly. “Close…”

“I’ll keep going then, see if I can’t pin it down exactly.” I start ticking off attributes on my fingers. “The women are on the tall side. Impeccable dressers. Well educated and from the right families. I’d imagine they all speak at least two languages, have five to ten years of experience working some fancy job…and they’re all proficient in Excel.”

He laughs. “What a sexual creature you’ve painted.”

I get hung up on the word sexual even though I know he’s only teasing.

“You make it sound like I’m all over town with a different woman every night. The last girlfriend I had was three years ago.”

“Three years ago? Are you that picky? Or does it have to do with your commitment phobia?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Ah yes. No time for sex when you’re plotting world domination.”

“I never said that…”

He runs his hand gently around and behind my leg, teasing the back of my knee until I squirm.

“Stop,” I tell him, gripping the back of his hands to try to force them away.

He grins like a conqueror then leans back, getting comfortable again. His hands stay where they are, touching me in a way that feels so deliciously wrong.

“I wonder what your next girlfriend will be like…” I muse, picking up the thread of our conversation. “Obviously she’d have to be incredibly wonderful to deserve you.”

He knows I’m trying to goad him, but he leans into it. “Yes, exactly. She has to intrigue me and seduce me, and on occasion, even outwit me. I want a partner, not a plaything.”

“I’ll be sure to alert the press so women can start queuing now.”

Sick of my teasing, he retaliates by tugging on my legs so I slip further down into the bath. My dress hikes up to show the tops of my thighs and the faintest peek of my panties.

“Emmett.”

He ignores my warning. “Is this payback for this morning? Your way of turning the tables on me?”

I smile, letting him think that. It’s easier than admitting the real truth: that I feel unbearably jealous over the hypothetical woman who will earn his attention. Marie or Miranda or any other woman down the line—I’ll hate them all.

“Since you seem so eager to know, Marie found me as I was leaving the villa after lunch and asked me to take her down to the pond. I tried to beg off, but she insisted. It was a twenty-minute walk that felt like it dragged on for ten hours. There, you see how easy it is to be honest? Now you try.”

I swallow, unsure of what he means.

“I’ve been honest.”

His expression says, Have you?

“Ask me a question then…”

“Has Royce ever kissed you?”

“On the cheek, all the time.”

Said cheeks burn red hot.

He waits, making me squirm.

I look away. I’m not as strong as him. I can’t deliver the truth while meeting his gaze.

“No.”

It’s a faint admission, and my embarrassment bleeds into real annoyance. I see no point in shying away now. I turn back to boldly face him.

“Do you want the real truth? I’ve been kissed by men but never with passion and never in a way that’s made me want to race to do it again. I’m boring and sheltered compared to the glitterati you surround yourself with, and I’m not eager to change that. I like my life.”

To punctuate the end of my tirade, there’s a long whistle followed by a colossal BOOM that makes me jump. Another BOOM swiftly follows as a fireworks show begins. I’m sure Victor’s planned the whole thing to a T, gathering everyone to a special spot up on deck. I feel bad that we’re missing it. Hopefully it’s not obvious we’re not there.

There’s another long whistle and the sound of sparks crackling outside. We don’t speak. We stare at one another, both of us doing a lazy perusal as if we not only grant permission for the intrusion but welcome it. From this close, I can spy the subtle details in his eyes, the slightly lighter brown that rings his pupils before it turns to an almost inky black. I study his mouth, the delectable curve of his upper lip and the taunting fullness of his bottom lip. I take in his closely shaven jaw and the way the muscle ticks there as he swallows. I’m an artist studying her living subject, trying to determine how it’s possible for a person to make me feel as much as he does.

He doesn’t look happy as he takes me in. He’s troubled by something. Maybe it’s the wrongness of the situation. The fun has seeped out of us, and now we’re just two exposed souls. Outside, the fireworks continue, a cascade of explosions.

Having had enough, Emmett lets go of my legs and starts to extricate himself from the tub. He reaches for my hand, but I’ve already taken ahold of the side to lift myself out. Not wanting to be rude, I shift my weight to take his offered hand instead. It all happens so fast then: I accidentally lose my footing before I have his hand, gripping anything I can find, which happens to be the faucet knob. It twists easily, as it’s meant to, and suddenly cold water splashes out onto my lower back and legs.

I squeal and hurry to turn it off, but it’s too late. The damage is done, the back of my dress completely soaked. That’s what I get for playing in a bathtub.

Emmett curses under his breath and impatiently grabs for me, swiftly lifting me up and out like I’m filled with feathers instead of bones. On the marble floor, I drip water, too stunned to be much of any help. He’s the one who finds a towel to dry me off. He’s the one to turn me around to assess the damage. He sighs heavily and shrugs out of his jacket.

“No—”

The protest isn’t even fully formed before his warning gaze meets mine.

“It’s cold out and I won’t allow you to stand on deck shivering.”

His commanding tone is so unlike anything I’m used to. This is the man who was just tickling the backs of my knees in the bathtub…

“People will wonder.”

“And you’ll tell them nothing. It’s no one’s business. You’re hardly the first person in history to borrow a jacket.”

And with that, the argument is over. Emmett has won.

He confirms I’m comfortable and dry enough, and with a nod, we start to head back toward the party neither of us seems all that eager to rejoin. He keeps me in front of him with a comforting hand on my shoulder, and then as we ascend the narrow staircase to the main floor, he shifts it down onto my lower back.

The moment we’re at the top, he pulls away, and I’m left to make do with the warmth of his borrowed jacket. I love the weight of it. The heady scent of cedarwood and geranium feels luxurious—a scent I’d want to linger, a candle I’d burn all night. The hem is an inch longer than my dress on the bottom. If I stopped to button it all the way up, it’d look like I was wearing nothing at all underneath, and when I peer over at Emmett, it’s like he’s just had the same thought.

I brace myself for the impending awkwardness of seeing party guests again, but the main salon is empty. As suspected, everyone is gathered on the deck watching the fireworks show, save for a few crew members positioned near the bar and the sliding doors. Expertly trained in the art of being discreet, they act as if they don’t even see us. The sliding door sweeps open and a spray of fireworks lights up the sky. A few people exclaim in excitement, but my gaze is fixed on Victor, who hovers near the back of the group, turned away from the gathered crowd. He watched us walk through the salon, maybe even caught our ascent up the stairs, and his impish wink makes me sick to my stomach.