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“Life isn’t perfect.” She sighed. “I forget that sometimes. Try to paint everything as perfect, to find the good so much I don’t accept that sometimes things will be hard.”
So had he. He’d been so used to living a charmed life that the loss of his mother had devastated him. He hadn’t known how to cope. Distraction had become his therapy, indulgence the balm to his pain. No matter that it had to be constantly reapplied, with increasing frequency and excess. It had been better than falling back into the black void he’d lived in for weeks after his mother’s death. A nothingness that had pulled him deeper until he’d wondered if he would ever surface.
They returned to the chateau. She thanked him for the walk and started to go upstairs. Even with just a few steps separating them, he felt her loss. It wasn’t simple desire but something deeper, something that made him want to spend time with the woman he was coming to know. He’d never wanted someone this way before. It unnerved him. But unlike the affairs he’d conducted before, his feelings for Rosalind felt...healthier. Stronger. Something more than just satisfying a sexual urge.
Something he wanted to explore, to savor in the precious little time they had left.
“Are you hungry?”
She paused, one hand on the railing. “Yeah, actually. I didn’t even realize I was until you said something.”
“Let me surprise you.”
She smiled even as she tilted her head to the side. “Surprise me? With what?”
“That would ruin the definition of a surprise.”
She laughed. “I suppose it would.”
“I’ll meet you on the patio in ten minutes.”
“All right. I’ll just grab—”
He took the stairs two at a time, gently but firmly reached for her hand and stopped her.
“No work, Rosalind.”
“But—”
“If you were caught up on absolutely everything and had ten minutes to yourself, what would you do?”
Her lips quirked. “Well, after yesterday...”
“Besides that,” he said even as his body went hard. “I’m not opposed to a repeat performance. But food first.”
She ducked her head almost shyly. “I would read.”
“Then grab a book from the library and a glass of wine from the kitchen and go read on the patio while I prepare lunch.”
“Wine?” she laughed. “At lunch?”
“You’re in France. A glass of wine at mealtimes, savored with good company, is acceptable.”
She reached up, smooth a lock of hair back from his forehead. Her fingers brushed the top of one of his scars. He didn’t flinch.
“Thank you.”
He made quick work of making, heating and packing food into a wicker basket he’d seen tucked in a cabinet. He added a couple more things before walking out onto the patio where Rosalind reclined on a lounge with a book and a glass of rosé.
“What’s this?” she asked with a huge smile as she sat up.
He held up the basket and, for the first time in months, he returned her smile with a genuine one of his own. “We’re going on a picnic.”
They traipsed back out onto the grassy plain at a safe distance from the cliff’s edge. He laid out the red blanket he’d filched from one of the guest bedrooms before setting out the food and the bottle with the remaining rosé. They dug into the salad, enjoying the contrasting flavors of sharp feta with sweet watermelon and cherry tomatoes. The creamy polenta and seasoned shrimp brought about exclamations of pleasure from Rosalind. Watching her enjoy her meal, how she lingered over a bite, drew out a sip of wine, made him think of the countless meals he’d had at five-star restaurants around the world. He couldn’t remember one he had enjoyed more than this picnic by the sea.
“That was incredible.”
Rosalind lay back onto the blanket, sliding her hands beneath her head as she watched the sky.
