One Kiss in... Paris. Robyn Grady

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СКАЧАТЬ dirge rather than a choir. From the little she’d seen, this establishment was well run, with genuine carers who were dedicated to their work. Still, any comprehending child would rather be with his parents in a real home if there were any way, even if that father had once abandoned him … wouldn’t he?

      Hand cupped to his mouth, Mateo called out.

      “Bailey, the girls want to meet you. The boys too.”

      Laughing, Mateo ruffled Remy’s hair and Bailey and Nichole moved forward.

      “Have you known Mateo long?” Nichole asked as they walked together and bands of birds warbled nearby.

      “Not very.”

      “He’s a good man.”

      Bailey grinned. “I keep hearing that.” She’d even said it herself.

      “He gives others so much joy. He deserves every happiness.”

      Bailey heard the tone in Nichole’s voice … the suggestion theirs might be a relationship that could bloom into love and marriage. Perhaps she ought to set the older woman straight. She and Mateo might be lovers, but that didn’t translate into anything permanent. He didn’t want anything permanent.

      As they met again and Mateo took her hand and introduced her, Bailey reaffirmed to herself—right now, she didn’t want permanent either.

      After the children dispersed, Nichole Garnier showed them around the buildings and grounds.

      Although the kitchen facilities, plumbing and sleeping quarters were all twenty-first century, the exterior was undoubtedly restored medieval; and the interior, including the lower chapel, retained much of its original decoration, including intricate paintings. Having grown up in a young country like Australia, Bailey was in awe of the sense of history these children were surrounded by every day. The hallowed atmosphere made her feel insignificant, humbled, and at the same time part of the very heart of this sacred place, as if she, herself, might have strolled these soaring halls in a former time.

      They enjoyed a lunch of soupe a l’oignon and quiche aux legumes after which the children sang for their adult audience. Although she understood little, Bailey couldn’t remember a performance she’d enjoyed more. At the concert’s close, she and Mateo provided a standing ovation while the children all bowed and grinned.

      Mateo had a meeting with Nichole in the afternoon, so Bailey spent time with the children playing escargot—a French version of hopscotch—and le loup and cache-cache, or hide and seek. One little girl, Clairdy, stole her heart. Only five, Clairdy had white blond hair and the prettiest violet colored eyes. She never stopped chatting and singing and pirouetting. By the end of the afternoon, Bailey’s stomach ached from laughing and her palms were pink from applauding.

      For dinner they gathered in the dining hall. When Nichole said a prayer before the meal, Bailey’s awareness of her surroundings swelled again and, from beneath lowered lashes, she studied her company, particularly the man seated beside her. How amazing if she could see all the world with Mateo. Even more incredible if, in between, they could stay here together in France.

      Bailey bowed her head and laughed at herself.

       If fairy tales came true …

      After the meal, she and Mateo said good-night to the children, Madame Garnier and the others, saying they would be back the next day, then slipped outside and back into the convertible. As they drove down those same dirt ruts, Bailey searched her brain. At no time had Mateo discussed where they would be staying.

      “Have you booked a room in town?” She asked, rubbing her gloved hands, relishing the car’s heat.

      “I own a property nearby.”

      “Well, it can’t be the Palace of Versailles,” she joked, thinking of his three story mansion in Sydney. But he didn’t comment, merely smiled ahead at the country road, shrouded in shadows, stretching out ahead.

      Within minutes, Mateo pulled up in front of a farmhouse, similar to the one they’d stopped to study earlier that day. With the car’s headlights illuminating the modest stone facade, Bailey did a double take. No immaculate grounds. No ornate trimmings. This dwelling was a complete turnaround from Mateo’s regular taste.

      As Mateo opened her car door and, offering a hand, assisted her out, Bailey slowly shook her head, knocked off balance.

      “We’re staying here?”

      “You don’t like it?” he asked, as he collected their bags.

      “It’s not that. In fact …” Entranced, she moved closer. “I think it’s wonderful.” She had only one question. “Does it have electricity?”

      “And if it didn’t?”

      “Then it must have a fireplace.”

      “It does, indeed.” His smile glowed beneath a night filled with stars as they walked to the door.

      “In the bedroom?” she asked, imagining the romantic scene.

      “Uh-huh.”

      She studied his profile, so regal and strong. “You never stop surprising me.”

      At the door, he snatched a kiss. “Then we’re even.”

      A light flicked on as they moved inside and unwound from their coats. The room smelled of lavender and was clean—he must have had someone come in to tidy up—with a three seater settee, a plain, square wooden table and two rattan backed chairs. Bailey’s sweeping gaze hooked on the far wall and she let out a laugh.

      “There’s a fireplace in here too.”

      He’d disappeared into a connected room, reemerging now minus their bags. Crossing over, he stopped long enough to brush his lips over hers before continuing on and finding matches on the mantel.

      “Let’s get you warmed up.”

      Feeling warmer already, she unraveled the scarf from around her neck while taking in the faded tapestries on the walls as well as the flagstone floor, hard and solid beneath her feet. Feeling as if she’d stepped into another dimension—another time—she fell back into the settee and heeled off her shoes.

      “How long have you owned this place?”

      “I stayed here the first year,” he said, hunkering down before the fireplace. “I came back and bought it soon after.”

      She hesitated unbuttoning her outer shirt. “Eight years ago?”

      He’d struck a match. His perplexed expression danced in the flickering shadow and light as he swung his gaze her way.

      “Why so surprised?”

      “Why haven’t you pulled it down and built something more your style?”

      When his brows pinched more than before he turned and set the flame to the tinder, Bailey’s stomach muscles clenched. She wasn’t certain why, but clearly she’d insulted him. He was all about working hard to surround himself with fine things. Possessions that in some way made up for being cast СКАЧАТЬ