Page 50 of Dagger’s Shield

When we walked in, the woman behind the counter glanced up, immediately recognized Maëlle, and rushed over. I didn’t need to speak French to pick up on how happy she was to see her. She took Maëlle by both arms and looked her over. Maëlle laughed, answered, and hugged her back.

“This is Madame Nolette,” she said. “Madame, je vous présente mon fiancé, Killian Rourke.”

When she held out her hand, I brought it to my lips. “Enchanté, Madame.”

The woman studied me the way a grandmother sizes up a man who has turned up with the girl she helped raise. Whatever she said next made Maëlle laugh again.

A table of women near the window had watched us since we walked in. One of them said something behind her hand, and the rest laughed. Their attention didn’t interest me. Maëlle’s reaction to it did. She straightened, put her arm in mine, and rested her head on my shoulder. Other women had staked their claim on me before. It hadn’t bothered me, because it meant nothing. I was no more theirs when they did it than I would be the next morning.

With Maëlle, it was different. I wanted to be hers, not only while we were in France, but forever. It mattered to me. To her, it was an act, and knowing that, hurt in a way nothing ever had. I should remind myself that this was temporary. That it wasn’t real and never would be.

Except I wasn’t a man like her father anymore. And I had no intention of becoming him again. And that meant I might have a chance.

Madame Nolette seated us at a booth against the far wall, where the bench curved so we could sit beside each other.

“Since I’m your fiancé,” I said, “I assume this is meant to be a romantic dinner.”

“You may assume whatever you like.” She didn’t move away when I put my arm around her.

I kissed her neck, then her cheek. When she reached for her water, I took her hand instead, turned it over, and used my tongue on her palm.

“People are watching,” she murmured.

“Good.” I put my finger on her chin, turned her head to face me, and kissed her lips.

“Dagger…”

“Yes, my love?”

“You’re overdoing it.”

I smirked. “You haven’t seen anything yet, Maëlle.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Is that a challenge?”

She shrugged once and picked up the menu. “May I order for both of us?” she asked.

“Please do.”

“The wine I requested isn’t one of ours,” she said after Madame Nolette took our order herself. “My father would be wounded to hear me say so, but I’ve never tasted anything that comes close to its quality.”

“I can’t wait to try it.”

A young man who resembled the owner approached the table, uncorked the bottle, then poured a taste in Maëlle’s glass. She swirled, sniffed, then took a taste, rolling the wine around on her tongue. “C’est bon.”

“Tell me about it,” I said as he poured my glass, then hers.

“It’s made by Aubert Ravel. He owns a small vineyard in the hills above the village. The vines are very old, his production is small, and it’s the finest wine I’ve ever tasted.”

I took a sip. Then another. When I finished what was in my glass, Maëlle laughed out loud.

“You cannot finish the whole bottle before our food is served.”

“Of course I can. Then we’ll order another.”

She shook her head. “You are silly.”