Across the Aubreys’ spacious salon—Lucie couldn’t remember what they called the room—Paul stood with his younger sisters, laughing heartily.
Lucie wiped frosting off Josie’s face. “He’s loud because he’s happy.”
He was so happy, the man she loved. Her husband.
In Paris she’d fallen in love with a reserved man, guarded and slow to speak. Now he was friendly and open and talkative. She loved this part of him too. More importantly, she loved the man of integrity deep inside.
Paul said something that made his sisters laugh, then he turned away to speak to his parents, Lucie’s parents, and the Greenblatts.
Lucie had tried to apologize to Hal and Erma for losing Green Leaf Books, but they wouldn’t hear a word of it. They had a new bookstore in Manhattan and were using the proceeds to aid European Jews. They were simply happy to see Lucie come home.
Home. Lucie pressed a kiss to Josie’s curls. Someday America might feel like home, but for now she found home with the people she loved.
“There’s Johnny!” Josie pointed with her fork, flinging cake crumbs onto the white linen tablecloth.
“If you’re done, you can go play.”
“I’m done.” Josie slipped off Lucie’s lap. The past few days, the child had been thrilled to meet cousins and family friends. She especially liked two-year-old Johnny Lang, who listened to Josie’s stories with worshipful fascination.
Josie ran to the tyke with his crown of chestnut-brown curls. The boy’s parents, Peter and Evelyn Lang, skirted around the children and approached Lucie.
“We may have to hire your daughter as nanny.” Evelyn grinned and lowered herself into a chair beside Lucie, her hand on her pregnant belly.
“She’d like that.” Lucie hadn’t chatted much with these friends of Paul’s, but she felt an affinity with them since they’d lived in Nazi Germany before the war.
In his olive drab Army officer’s uniform, Peter adjusted his glasses. “I’ll warn you. My wife is here for business, not pleasure.”
“Business?” Lucie asked.
“I want to write your story.” Evelyn’s brown eyes gleamed. “Yours and Paul’s. I’m sure it’d be as big a hit as my first book.”
Lucie cut into her wedding cake and gave the reporter a sly smile. “The Nazis banned your book, you know.”
“Nothing makes me prouder. Now about your story—”
“It can’t be told.” Lucie gave her a compassionate smile.“Too many people in France would be endangered, even if we altered details.”
“After the war, darling.” Peter rubbed his wife’s back. “Cool those shapely heels of yours.”
“Shapely? They’re swollen up like melons.”
Lucie smiled and swallowed the bite of cake. Evelyn’s big belly and love of writing reminded her of Dominique Kahn. Dominique had sent regrets for the wedding for the best of reasons—she’d given birth to a healthy baby boy.
Warm hands settled on Lucie’s shoulders. She gazed up to Paul’s handsome face. “Hello, my husband.”
He pressed an upside-down kiss to her lips. “I will never tire of hearing that, my wife.”
And she’d never tire of hearing that.
“Now.” Paul squeezed her shoulders. “Before Peter bores you talking about teaching German to soldiers and before Evelyn talks you into writing your story—”
“She already said no.” Evelyn gave a little pout.
“I have a smart wife. And I would like to steal her away for a moment.”
Peter patted his wife’s stomach. “That’s a dangerous road, my friend.”
“Peter Lang!” Evelyn cried.
