She’d be shot, and she shuddered.
Josie found the full-length mirror in the far corner, and she did pliés, watching herself.
Lucie leaned against Paul’s side. “I won’t ask you to tell me what you do for the resistance, but does it—does it take lives?”
“Saves them, I hope.” He brushed one finger along the side of her hand.
“I’m glad.”
The record ended, and Lucie dashed over to flip it. “Those are beautiful pliés, Josie. I love how you keep your heels glued to the floor.”
“I’m trying.”
Across the room, Paul leaned against the wall, strong and compassionate.
She hurried back to his side. “What have I done? I thought the whole thing was clever and romantic and exciting, but I can’t control the messages that come through. I was stupid.”
“Stupid?”
Lucie twisted her hands together. “I’ve always been stupid. Why did I think—”
“Hey, now.” Paul grasped her arm above the elbow. “You’re not stupid, not in the slightest. Don’t confuse education with intelligence.”
“Oh, I know you can be smart without going far in school, but I didn’t go far in schoolbecauseI’m not smart.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Paul touched her cheek and turned her face to him.
Footsteps pattered across the room, and Lucie whipped her gaze away to find Josie. The girl ran to the mural and mimicked a painted ballerina’s arabesque.
“Lucie.” Paul stepped in front of her, his gaze piercing. “Do you think I’m smart?”
What a silly question. “Of course.”
“All right, then. I, as an intelligent person, consider you my equal. You’re well-spoken and well-informed. Never once have I thought you weren’t bright.”
Lucie scrunched up her face. He hadn’t seen her stumble through math homework or daydream during history.
Paul gathered her hands in his. “Your intelligence shows in so many ways—how you understand people, your knowledge of books, your creative solutions, like this ballet lesson.”
Lucie edged over so she could eye the petite ballerina, now copying a painted curtsy.
“If that doesn’t convince you...” He squeezed her hands. “Do you honestly think I would have revealed my secret to a stupid woman?”
Her gaze flew back to him. He had a point.
Paul glanced back to his daughter, then at Lucie. He pressed a kiss to her lips. Too short. Too sweet. “I never want to hear you talk that way again about the woman I love.”
Her knees went limp. “Love?”
Paul blinked, then his eyes stretched wide. “Didn’t I say that the other day? In the Tuileries?”
He’d said many fine things, and his lips had communicated many more fine things. “I—I would have remembered.”
His Adam’s apple slid to the knot of his tie and back up. “Do you mind?”
Where was her voice? She struggled to find it. “Why would I mind hearing that from the man I’m falling in love with?”
Paul’s voice rumbled in his chest, and he rested his forehead against hers and sought her lips.
