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"He's going to be kept safe," Dom assured me.
"My wife is not to be touched," I informed him because I knew he was thinking that Elsa somehow would be a way to get to her father. "And no one follows her around, invades her privacy, and takes photographs of her either."
"It's not my call to make, Duncan," he said softly. "Your father-in-law is on the radar of law-enforcement and covert agencies around the world. By announcing your wedding to the world, he's just put your wife on a silver platter because not only arehisenemies going to go after her, but your enemies are as well. And you have more than a few."
He was right, but that was the price you paid to be an Archer. I didn't have a problem with it. I wasn't worried about my family's enemies, but I did worry about her father's. That was a world that was all the way on the wrong side of sensibility or morality.
"Moreau needs to let the world know she's an Archer to protect her," I told Dom.
"Or, he's announcing that he has the Archers under his thumb, and his daughter delivered you with a fucking pink bow. I hear you're having a daughter. Congratulations."
On that note, Dom picked up the invitation and walked out of my office.
I kept standing, wondering if there was any truth to what Dom was saying. Could Elsa have planned all this with her father? I couldn't imagine that.Butit was possible.
My heart felt just a tad heavy. Even though my investigator had been clear that Elsa had nothing to do with her father's shady business dealings, these things could be hidden. After all, no one knew that the Archers were not always working above the law, did they?
I rubbed my chest, feeling an ache bloom at the thought that all my time with Elsa, which had been absolutely perfect, had not been real.
Chapter 17
Elsa
"We should take them to a restaurant," I grumbled. "Or your place."
I looked at my tiny apartment. What was I thinking, inviting the entire Archer clanhere? I had also invited Angelique and Thierry, my closest friends. We were going to be nine people around my tiny table, which could seat six comfortably, eight uncomfortably; and nineveryuncomfortably.
It didn't matter when it was just friends, but the Archers were wealthy. Would they likecassoulet? Was the country French dish too pedestrian for them? I should've made something fancier—something with truffles.
"Elsa." Duncan wrapped his arms around me, my back against his chest. He put his hands on my stomach as I stood in front of the dining table, which looked like something out of a circus, with mismatched plates, water and wine glasses, colorful napkins, and wildflowers. What had always seemed likemy style, now looked tacky, unsophisticated.
"Can we make reservations at—"
"No." He kissed the skin beneath my ear, and I felt the zing of sexual awareness. "This is perfect."
"They're going to think it's cheap, and how do you say in English…vulgaire?"
"Vulgar?"
"Oui, they'll think it's vulgar."
"Do you know your French accent becomes more pronounced when you're upset and you also forget your English?" He turned me around to face him. "It's cute."
I glared at him. "Je suis nerveuse ici et toi, tu fais des blagues."
"See," he said amused.
I pursed my lips. I had just spoken in French when I told him, " I'm nervous and you're cracking jokes."
I sighed and leaned my forehead on his chest. I was getting used to Duncan every day. We were finding our way, getting settled. The wedding reception in a few days' time was making me jumpy—and I'd compounded my stress by inviting Duncan's family for dinner.
They were all in Paris to attend the wedding reception. Marcella Archer had spoken to me on the phone and had intimidated the hell out of me.
"You're in love with my son?"
"Yes."
"Good. Has he told you he's in love with you?"
