“Let me take you to Paris,” said Jérôme.
Rosalyn shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I don’t mean right away. One day.” He paused. “Rosalyn?”
“Mmm?”
“Are you okay? Did I say the wrong thing?”
“It’s not that. It’s... I just need to get back to the festival. I can’t believe how late it’s gotten.”
Back at the plaza in front of the cathedral, they found that their little group from Cochet had dispersed. The feast had become a party as the afternoon turned to evening; strings of lights added a festive touch. They searched for Emma and Blondine and the others, but everywhere Rosalyn turned, it seemed to her that all she saw was Ritchie James, schmoozing vintners and snatching up accountssheshould have been trying to secure for Hugh.
Her stomach clenched. She was on that roller coaster again: from the heights of giddy joy while lying in Jérôme’s arms to feeling guilty and confused and overwhelmed, all at the same time. She glanced upat the strong, bewhiskered jaw of her escort, and remembered the sensation of his mouth on hers, moving down her neck, and then...How could she have done what she did?She barely knew this man.
She fiddled with the silver locket around her neck. She had been unfaithful to Dash, to his memory.
“Rosalyn, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s Ritchie James—I can’t stand that guy,” Rosalyn muttered. “He’s probably signing the accounts I should be going after.”
She chided herself; she hadn’t been fulfilling her responsibilities, had been running after ghosts and exploring the caves with Jérôme. And worse. Even though she had given her notice to Hugh, she was still officially employed as a Small Fortune wine rep, and this festival was the main reason Hugh had sent her to France in the first place.
“Well, think of it this way: You can always havemybusiness,” Jérôme said with a small smile. “Maybe I should seek representation in the U.S. after all. Or... maybe you could stay awhile, and redesign my labels.”
“All I had to do was sleep with you and you give me your business?”
He stopped short and frowned. “That’s a hell of a thing to say.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that.... I didn’t mean...” Rosalyn trailed off with a frustrated shrug. She had no words for the emotions pummeling her.
“Why are you suddenly angry atme? You have nothing to feel guilty for because of what happened in the caves, Rosalyn. We may have gotten a little carried away, but it wasn’t that surprising, was it? This sort of thing is inevitable.”
She snorted. “How very French of you.”
“Maybe Iambeing ‘very’ French, but a few intimate moments together—however wonderful—does not constitute a contract. I madeyou a business offer, nothing more.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I think perhaps I have misjudged things. Forget I mentioned it.”
“It’s just— Why does everyone seem to have an idea about how I should spend my life?” demanded Rosalyn. First Dash, then Hugh, then Emma... Rosalyn felt disloyal, inadequate, and so incredibly sad. At that moment, all she wanted was to be back in her hermitage. Solo. No connections, no expectations, no words. “Why doesn’t everyone just leave me alone?”
“Whatever you say, Rosalyn,” said Jérôme. “I certainly wouldn’t want to stand in your way.”
?Full of regret and weathering an onslaught of unnamed emotions, Rosalyn caught a ride back to Cochet with Monsieur Bonnet. But as soon as he dropped her off at Blé Champagne, she found that her desire for solitude was not to be satisfied.
Blondine was waiting for her, and the look on her face made Rosalyn ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry to tell you, Rosalyn, but Emma is sick.”
“What happened? Where is she?”
“André took her to Paris. She wouldn’t give me any details, but something’s very wrong. I wanted to go with her, but we have a huge sales meeting tomorrow that I can’t miss. Also, she yelled at me and told me not to come.”
“Sounds like Emma.”
“Rosalyn, I think it is very serious.”
Chapter Fifty-two
Rosalyn tried both Emma and André on their phones, but neither answered. Then she called the Hôpital Universitaire Pitié-Salpêtrière, where Emma had gone the last time she was in Paris; they confirmed that one Emilia Kinsley had indeed been admitted that evening. Visiting hours began at eight in the morning.
