“She isn’t due for another two months, but…”
Anything can happen. Yes, I understand, and she’s too far along to be allowed on a flight. “As happy as I am to see you, you shouldn’t have left her. Not now.”
“Russell is staying over and Josh’s nanny is sleeping in.”
“Why are you here, Damian?” I study him carefully. “I’m guessing it’s not for business.”
“I came to check on you.”
“Check on me?” I exclaim. “Why?”
“It’s not like you to say you’ll call and then not do it. I had to be sure everything was fine.”
“Everything is fine.” I rub my forehead. “I can’t believe you came all these miles just to see for yourself.”
“Is it?” he asks, still studying me with a serious expression.
“Yes.” I plaster a bright smile on my face. “Better than fine.” I wave my arms. “See for yourself.”
He looks around the space. “Nice place.”
“Maxime went to a lot of effort with the renovations. Would you like to see it all?”
“Sure.” He drops his laptop bag on the reclining chair under the stairs.
I take him on a tour of the inside, followed by the summerhouse and greenhouse on the terrace.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask when we step back inside. “I was just going to have one.”
“Yes, please.” He steps up to the dress form and tilts his head as he takes in the dress while I pour another glass of wine. “Thank you,” he says when I hand it to him. Nodding in the direction of the dress, he says, “This isn’t your usual style.”
I smile. “I’ve evolved.”
He regards it thoughtfully as he takes a sip of his wine, and then he winces. I cringe inwardly, but keep a straight face. It’s a cheap wine and not the best quality. At least I can get away with not being French and a little uneducated when it comes to the local wine cultivars. I don’t want Damian to know about our financial concerns. I don’t want to give him any reason to doubt my happiness. His life depends on it. So do Lina’s and their children’s.
Setting the wine on the table, he rounds the dress. “I didn’t know you went back to dressmaking.”
“Designing,” I say with pride, trying to appear confident.
“It’s…”
“Do you hate it?” I ask, wringing my hands together.
“Actually, it’s quite stylish. I’m just battling to see you in it.”
“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my new brand.”
He raises a brow. “You’re developing a brand?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “I’m trying to.”
“Good for you.”
I move toward the table where my phone lies. “Let me call Maxime and tell him to come home earlier. We can have dinner together.”
“No,” he says with a little too much force. “Don’t disturb him.”
I know what he’s doing. He doesn’t want to give Maxime a warning that he’s here. He wants to study our relationship dynamic with the advantage of surprising Maxime.
“Tell me about this hasty marriage,” he says, unbuttoning his jacket.
Our marriage is the last thing I want to talk about. I take his arm and lead him to the sofa. “It just kind of happened.”
His look is piercing. “Yes?”
“On the spur of the moment,” I add in a happy tone.
He opens his mouth, but the sound of the key turning in the lock saves me from answering whatever my brother was going to ask. The door opens, revealing Maxime on the threshold with a single pink rose in his hands. His gaze immediately finds Damian. For a moment, the two men give each other a measuring look. Not a speck of shock registers on my husband’s face. He steps into the room like my brother is visiting every day, dropping his bag before removing his jacket.
I walk to him with my stomach wound tight, praying he’ll play along when I go on tiptoes and put my arms around his neck. To my relief, he bends down to kiss me.
Giving me the flower, he says, “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” I whisper.
Maxime rests his palms lightly on my hips, giving a gentle squeeze before setting me aside to face my brother. “Damian. If I’d known you were going to pay us a visit I would’ve left the office earlier.”
Damian gets to his feet. “I didn’t want to slow down your business. I know how it is to get a new venture off the ground.”
“Very thoughtful,” Maxime says with a smile, but the gesture is nothing but empty politeness. He glances at the wine on the table. “Would you like a whiskey?”
“No, thanks,” Damian says. “Wine is fine.”
I haven’t done it since Maxime fetched me back to France, but I walk to the kitchen and pour my husband a whiskey after putting the flower in a thin vase. It’s not out of consideration, but to escape the two men’s scrutiny for a few precious moments.