the next thing without sounding pathetic? Come with me, please? I don’t want to go back to the house alone?
But I don’t say anything, because I can’t tip him off that anything ever happened between his father and me. If he knew, he’d only question why I’m here.
I’m surprised Gautier isn’t questioning me on that, either, but I guess that’s what this Sunday drive was supposed to be. I have a feeling if he takes me away in his car like he wants, I might not come back.
So I just nod and turn around, running back over the lawn toward my mother, who is still drinking her mineral water outside. So far so good.
“What was that about?” she asks as I run inside. I grab some paper, an envelope, and a few euros I had kept between the pages of The Jungle Book, folding them over and slipping them in my bra; then I grab a pair of slides by the door, quickly slipping them on my feet, not wanting to spend an extra second in here in case Gautier shows up.
“I’m going out with Pascal,” I tell her when I run back out. When she looks disapproving, I add, “We’re talking business.”
“Aren’t you supposed to go with Mr. Dumont?” she asks. “He told me this morning that was your plan.”
Well, it’s better than ever that I thought of a new one.
“Duty calls,” I tell her and blow her a kiss before running back across the lawn to Pascal, who is still waiting by his door.
I made it.
His glasses are pushed up on his head now, his dark hair flopping to the sides, and I can see his striking eyes as they take me in, his smile amused.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he muses thoughtfully, still looking me up and down, and now I can really feel the heat in his gaze. “It’s kind of nice seeing you like this. You looked so free and happy running toward me, I must have let it go to my head for a second.”
“Well, don’t,” I tell him, but I can’t help but smile back at him. “Your head would fall off.”
He doesn’t need to know that I was literally running away from something.
I follow him to his Audi, noticing that he’s in his weekend clothes as well. Not exactly relaxed—just dark jeans and a black dress shirt—but at least it’s not a damn suit. It also shows off his ass in a way that his suit jackets never let happen.
Stop staring at his ass, I tell myself, but then I decide, why the hell not? He’s looking at my ass all the time. I actually like looking at him, just not when he can see me.
He’s almost at the car when he stops suddenly, almost causing me to collide with his back.
“Why do I have the feeling you were staring at my ass?” he muses, turning around and taking a step toward me, staring down at me with a sort of lazy curiosity. Gosh, his eyes are pretty in the sunlight and on a Sunday. Must be a different Pascal than I’m used to.
“I would never be so disrespectful,” I tell him, straight-faced.
His arched brows raise. “I wouldn’t mind if you were.”
“Staring at your ass or being disrespectful?”
He runs his hand along his strong chin in mock contemplation. “Both.”
“Where are you going?” Gautier’s voice bellows across the driveway, and my stomach sinks in response.
I look over my shoulder to see him stepping out of the house, walking toward us.
I glance up at Pascal, and he stares down at me, and there’s something in his eyes that warns me, like he can read the fear inside me, like he’ll handle it.
“I’m taking her to Paris,” Pascal says casually, putting his hands in his pockets and striding toward his father with a casual ease that I know is a front.
Gautier stops and waves his arm at me. “Well, you’re going to have to cancel. I told Gabrielle I needed to talk to her.”
“You can come along,” Pascal says, and even though it’s a horrible idea, it at least means I won’t be alone with him. “You can talk to her all you want.”
“I wanted to talk to her in private,” Gautier says, and the icy quality to his voice tells me that he does not want to elaborate.
Pascal glances at me. I give him nothing; I just hope he stays stubborn.
“Whatever you have to say to her, you can say in front of me,”