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Laurence turned a corner.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to the place you stayed at during the internship for the call.”
“Why?”
“Because spaces hold meaning to you. The Hudson was spoiled, and you don’t want to live there. We didn’t have a great start at the new place, but with your family around, I hope it’s better.”
My chest expanded, and I squeezed his knee. “It is. Thank you.”
Paul made a call to Gunnar. “Tonight. Okay.”
Good. I didn’t want to have to worry about it. It would be over soon.
Laurence parked in the private space.
We climbed out of the car and headed over to the front door, and once we were inside, Paul went over to the piano. “Let’s clear the air and enjoy ourselves, shall we?” He played on the piano. “What do we want to listen to?”
Laurence called out. “The Beatles, ‘The End’.”
Paul pounded wildly on the keys while Laurence shuffled across the floor, shaking his hands, then turned and did an air guitar. I doubled over laughing, but joined him, shaking my hips and lifting my arms. He took my hand, and we spun in a circle.
“Presenting, the new Mrs. Crane,” Laurence called out.
My heart leapt, and I turned and posed with my head over my shoulder and batted my eyelashes. I then looked at Paul, who grinned broadly as he watched us.
I did the swim over to him and shook my hips.
He waggled his brows.
“Mr. Crane, I love you.” I bent my head down next to his mouth and he kissed me.
We weren’t in the duplex, but we were home.
Paul’s phone chimed, and he ignored it, but someone kept calling. He huffed and stopped playing. “Hello?” he answered, and his eyes narrowed. “Break in?”
I grimaced, and Laurence came to stand next to me.
“Is anyone hurt?” Paul blew out his breath. “Fuck me. No, don’t call the police. I’ll be right there.”
“What’s wrong, Paul?” I asked.
“My office in Paris has been vandalized. Some things are missing.” His frown deepened. “I’m going to go see the damage.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Not yet. I have to make sure it’s safe first—”
“How is it safe for you?” My pulse sped up, and I shook my head. “No. You can’t go.”
He took my waist and smiled. “It’s okay. I won’t be hurt.”
How does he know? And no police. Why not?
The only way Paul would be so certain was if he knew who had done it. Who would do that to his workplace?
Someone with access. Someone he trusted. It’s personal.
