“From a different time.” She smiles at me, and it’s like the rays of the sun. “So you think we’re done with him soon?”
“Almost positive,” I tell her.
She looks down at my hand, where it’s brushing over the smooth skin of her calf. “Come with me to Gloucester sometime soon. I’ll show you the Mather & Wilde factory and the ocean,” she tells me.
It makes it momentarily hard to breathe. For Paige, that invitation is like being offered space in her inner circle. In the place that was her refuge and her tribute to her parents.
“We’re going to West and Nora’s wedding in September. We can go up there afterward,” I say.
Her smile widens. “I’ve been texting with Nora, you know.”
“I’ve heard.”
“I really like her. Amber too. We have a group chat.”
“What’s it called?”
“Monaco Poker Babes.” She grimaces. “We’ll come up with something better. I’m workshopping it.”
I laugh. “I’m sure you will. And did I hear, last night, that you were learning French on an app on your phone?”
Her eyes widen. A beautifully pretty flush creeps up her cheeks, and I want to have her again. I want that warm skin beneath my lips with such a fervor that it takes my breath away.
“You were spying on me?”
“You were doing itin my bed.”
“Yes, but you weren’t there.”
“I was on my way in, and you’re stalling.” I tilt my head. “You’re trying to learn French?”
She reaches up and starts braiding her long locks. “Maybe I just don’t like it when you argue with me in French.”
“Mhm. I can do other things than argue in French.”
Her flush remains, and her lips form a beautiful littleO.“Well. Yeah. Maybe that, I’d like. But I still think I’d want to… understand.”
“I can teach you.”
A smile spreads across her face. “With what time?”
“I have plenty of time. Oceans of it. I’m practically drowning in it. Thank you for giving me a worthwhile task. Finally.” I trace the smooth skin behind her knee. “Repeat after me.Mon mari est le meilleur homme du monde.”
Her eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean…?”
“Hi, my name is Paige? Yes, yes it does.”
She laughs and puts her foot square on my chest, as if to push me away. “You liar,” she says, but she’s grinning.
I wonder if this is happiness, right here. It feels like it. Fills up this room until it’s as bright as the summer sunshine outside. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt it before.
You don’t deserve it, a voice reminds me.
There’s a careful knock on the door, and Antonella sticks her head in. “Signore, sono arrivati i suoi ospiti.”
I thank her and then stand. “Showtime,” I tell my wife, and lift her off the desk. She kisses me once, right at the door, before disappearing down the stairs with a grin. I follow her.
It’s a small dinner. Leelyn and Sylvie are there, of course, and so are Enzo and Vittoria. A few of the designers who regularly summer around Milan and Como are here too. It’s small. Intimate.
