Liam
The car turnedoff the main road and began the long approach toward Chantilly. It was just before seven. Andrea sat beside me in a backless black dress. Her hands rested loosely on her lap, fingers pressed together.
Fuck. She looked stunning.
Seeing her here like this, next to me—I felt like I could finally breathe.
I knew it was just part of the agreement she’d signed, but somehow, that mattered less by the day.
Did she know that? Could she see it in my eyes?
Had she seen how I’d traced every divot and curve of her skin, unable to stop myself? How I’d wanted to rip that robe off her delicious body and taste her again?
I wanted her. Fuck, I wanted her.
Enough to take my eye off the ball and abandon this charade if it made her uncomfortable.
Thank God she hadn’t flown home. Having her on my arm meant more than impressing Hugo.
“You look beautiful, Andrea.”
She turned away from the glass and caught my eye before dropping her gaze to her hands, a small smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.
Through the trees, the château emerged by degrees—first the glint of stone, then the arc of the moat catching the light. We crested the rise and the full façade came into view, turrets rising against the evening sky. I heard her inhale softly.
As we passed through the gates, she sat up slightly. The driver stopped, and for a second, neither of us moved.
“Ready?” I asked.
She gave a nod, and I got out and came around to her side, watching as she stepped down carefully, heels clicking on the wooden flooring laid over the old courtyard stone. She moved so gracefully, so different from how she’d been when I’d met her in the lift that morning in July.
Ahead, the terrace of the Cour d’Honneur was alive. Lanterns lined the balustrades, the sound of strings carrying across the water. Waiters moved between clusters of people gleaming in rich fabrics.
“Andrea—”
She turned her head toward me, her eyes wide.
“I wanted to thank you. For dealing with all this, for everything…”
“Oh. It’s okay, Liam. It’s beautiful, the whole thing. Thank you for inviting me.”
A voice rang across the cobbles. “Liam Roth, is that really you?”
Nick was waving, glass in hand. Tall and lean, with reddish-brown hair, he looked almost exactly as he had at twenty-three—just more sure of himself. He hurried toward us, Juliette following, pale-blue gown glinting in the low light. They looked good together. Always had.
“Can’t believe you made it.” Nick pulled me into a hug. “It’s been—what—ten years? You look great, mate. Really well.” He stepped back, looking me up and down. “Something agrees with you, anyway.”
“Stopped living on nothing but Pot Noodles and Guinness.”
Nick laughed. “Must be working, whatever it is. God, how did we survive? And you must be Andrea.”
She smiled and held out a hand. “Nick, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Liam’s told me so many stories. I hope they’re all true.”
Nick chuckled. “I’m afraid they probably are. But I’m happy to fill in any gaps. Oh, my manners, sorry. This is Juliette.”
“A pleasure.” Juliette stepped forward and shook Andrea’s hand, a light French accent softening her vowels. She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Liam. It’s been so long. I’m glad you’re back in Europe. And for good reason, apparently.” She smiled at Andrea, then looked back at me.
“Yes.” I rubbed my cuff links. “We’ve, ah… Andrea and I have been able to spend a lot more time together since I’ve been back. It’s worked out well.” I smiled in a way I hope looked convincing. “And of course, congratulations, both of you,” I said. “You took your time, Nick. I was starting to think you were keeping her on retainer.”
