metal credit card made of actual platinum. It had an electronic chip on one end, his logo on one side and her name on the other. She shoved it back in its pocket, not ready to contemplate that she had funds at her disposal. “I, um, I’ve learned a lot from you. I like to imagine that one day I’ll have my own money and will manage it wisely and create my own fortune, instead of doing it for someone else.”
She smiled at the silly dream of it, but she had needed something to get her through the endless days of feeling like the girl in the tower. A fairy-tale fantasy of building her own castle was a lot more fun to dwell on than facing the reality of her situation or worrying there was a darker future in store for her.
Never in her wildest imaginings had she pictured this.
“I think your grandmother was proud of you,” she said.
His dark brow went up with skepticism.
“I don’t mean that as flattery. Maybe I should say she took a certain amount of credit for your success.”
“Her DNA made me what I am? Perhaps. God knows I didn’t get any hidden talents from my father. But I’m beginning to think she owes her success to you.”
“I would never make such a claim.” Not without expecting a sharp rebuke from Mae.
The plane leveled off and the ultrapleasant attendant appeared with a fresh drink for Gabriel and a fresh smile for Luli. “May I bring anything to ensure your comfort?”
“The lavender thing is popular. You should try it,” Gabriel advised.
She was curious. She nodded.
“There’s a lovely iced-mint cookie that pairs with it. I’ll bring that, too.” The attendant melted away.
“You don’t have to be so...nice.” Luli wondered what the attendant was going to say to the rest of the crew behind her back. “Do you feel sorry for me or something?”
“You told me what you were worth, Luli. Act like you believe it.”
* * *
Gabriel came to Paris at least once a year and almost always with a woman. He didn’t consider his sexual partners as objects to be “kept,” but he liked to think of himself as a generous partner in bed and in boutiques. More than one lover had accused him of offering material items in lieu of his thoughts and feelings, which he couldn’t refute. He had developed the habit of keeping both of those things firmly to himself.
If asked, he blamed his martial arts training for his circumspection. Deep down, he knew it was simply his nature to be aloof. He had never cultivated close friendships and had always felt a step apart from regular society. Did it stem from a broken heart after losing his mother so young? From fear of turning into the drunken shell his father had become? That was likely part of it, but people who spoke their thoughts aloud or permitted emotion to rule them only got back more of the same. Physical feelings of hunger and sexual desire were distraction enough. He had no wish to yearn.
And sometimes, when he was in a particularly introspective mood, he suspected that the wealth he had accumulated was both a strategy against wanting any of those abstract things that seemed to be so important to other people and a buffer against the world at large. He shouldered immense responsibility for people’s jobs and the infrastructure that served their lives and influenced whether the stock market went up or down on a given day, but he employed armies of people to look after all of that. He spoke to very few people in any meaningful way. A professional of some kind or another could be hired to do almost anything that he didn’t care to do himself so that’s what he did.
But he couldn’t do that with Luli.
She didn’t fit the compartment of employee or lover or any other label he had previously slotted people under—not even estranged blood relative. He’d gone and married her, which made him personally responsible for her. People could be hired to feed his fish, but who would feed her if he didn’t see to it?
Who would tell her, “It’s okay. Go.”
She stayed put, only her nose poking out the open jet door like a cat testing the air, sapphire eyes taking in the pale pink clouds of the evening sky, the car on the tarmac below and the people waiting beside it.
“There’s someone in a uniform down there,” she reported and backed into him.
The feel of her was erotic and enticing and caused a strange sensation to flutter through Gabriel. It wasn’t unlike the aggression that had gripped him in that moment with the butler. Protectiveness, he realized as his hands went to her upper arms in both an effort to reassure her and a claim of warning to anyone who might threaten her.
“The customs agent.” He made himself release her. “It’s fine. Go ahead.”
She cautiously went down the stairs before him. His assistant met her with a smile and an envelope. “Your passport, Mrs. Dean.”
“Really?” She hurried to look inside.
“If I may?” the customs agent asked, taking the passport long enough to glance at the stamp inside it. “Merci. Enjoy your stay.” He handed it back to her. “Mr. Dean, nice to see you again. Toutes nos félicitations.” He tipped his cap and walked away.
“Thank you,” Luli said with bewilderment to his retreating back.
“Your birth certificate is in there with your marriage certificate and my contact details,” his assistant continued. “Please reach out at any time with questions or concerns. I’m Mr. Dean’s feet on the ground here in Europe, but I can quickly direct any inquiries to another party if it’s outside my bailiwick.”
“Thank you.” Luli’s eyes were big as beach balls, glossy and bright. She blinked rapidly.
Gabriel nodded his thanks and steered her into the back of the car.
Luli’s hands shook as she tried to pull the certificate from the envelope without damaging its pristine condition.
“It is my birth certificate,” she said to him with awe. “This is me.”
“Good,” he commented.
Her hands continued to shake as she took great care folding the document exactly right so it fit into a pocket of her blue wallet. She transferred her passport and his assistant’s card and their marriage certificate into the same pocket, then secured the zipper, anchoring the little tab with her thumb.
“Are you cold?” He reached to take hold of her hand, only wanting to test her temperature.
She twisted her hand to squeeze his tightly and turned a wet look on him. “Thank you,” she choked, using her free hand to press the wallet into her navel.
“Why are you crying?” Alarmed, he reached for the box of handkerchiefs, each square of ultrasoft bamboo dyed a different shade from ruby to emerald to amethyst.
“Because—” Her voice broke. She dabbed one beneath her eyes, then beneath her nose. “I don’t know how I’ll pay you back for this, but I will. I promise.”
“For what? It was nothing.” He had paid a premium to fast-track
