Darcy pursed her lips. “Seriously, Julien,pleasedon’t go there. We’re the only stability he has in his crazy new life.”
“Okay, okay. I was just messing with you. He’s not my type, anyway.”
“Not your type? You mean he doesn’t have a pulse?”
“Your humour just goes from strength to strength tonight, Darce.”
Across the aisle, out of a window, Julien could see the glittering lights of Paris in the far distance. Almost there.
Darcy tracked his gaze. “There’s something so special about coming back here, isn’t there?”
Julien blinked. For her, Paris was only fond memories of them all attending La Sorbonne and living together in their inner-city apartment. Of late nights, bright lights, and one or two too many glasses of red wine. For him though, it was where he grew up. Where his mother died. And now, where Béatrice was buried, next to her.
“It certainly has some charms.”
“Where shall we take Cinn?” she asked, all excitement—so much so that he caught a fraction of it himself.
Julien glanced down at Cinn’s sleeping head, still resting on his chest. Likely he’d want to do all the usual tourist rubbish.Joy.
Becoming lost in thoughts of how he could avoid the particularly tragic ones, Julien zoned out until Darcy said carefully, “Maybe it would be best for Cinn to stay with us at the hotel. Elliot, my parents, and I are all on the same floor. We can try and get another room for him.”
At the thought of dealing with the experience of his family home solo, of being left alone for hours and evenings and mornings when the others were at their hotel, liquid ice shot through his veins and his heart lurched into freefall. Having Cinn accompanying him throughout the weekend was the only reason he wasn’t in a depressed spiral about the whole thing.
“No need.”
“But Julien, your father—”
He groaned. “Will be perfectly polite towards him. He’s going to be thrilled to meet our infamous new shadowslipper. Give me two more hours of not thinking about him, please.”
The lights flickered on in the cabin as the crew prepared for landing, but Cinn remained blissfully asleep on his chest, his warm head and his steady breathing soothing Julien’s now-anxious mind.
He even remained unbothered when Elliot woke up with a yawn, took one glance at them, then scowled before composing his expression into one of nonchalance.
“I didn’t want to wake him by moving him.” It was the truth. Mostly.
Elliot’s leg shot out, in an arguably accidental stretch, to jab Cinn’s own. He jolted awake, instantly pushing himself up from Julien’s chest.
“Sorry,” Cinn mumbled, a dash of mortification breaking through his sleep-drunk, hazy expression. He leaned back against the headrest.
Julien gritted his teeth, purposefully avoiding looking at Elliot.
He never could have anything nice, even for a moment, apparently.
eleven
Cinn
Cinn stumbled through Paris Orly’s passport control and customs, attempting to speak as little as possible. Which was easy, given that his whiskey-operated brain had nothing useful to say, anyway.
Head down, he followed the three pairs of feet as they swiftly traversed the airport and headed out into the chilly night.
Someone pushed a bottle of water into his hand, and he looked up to see Darcy’s kind eyes twinkling. “I would blame Julien, but to be fair, he didn’t actually tell you to drink all five double shots.”
He downed the entire bottle, the icy cold doing nothing to clear his head.
“Get a good night’s rest,” Darcy continued, ushering a tired Elliot into the nearest taxi with its sign illuminated green.
Feeling like an abandoned child, Cinn’s arm itched to stretch out to keep her with him. Why couldn’t they all stay at Julien’s together? He was more than slightly nervous to meet the formidable Lucien Montaigne. He spun to face Julien too quickly, resulting in powerful arms steadying him.
