Coming Home (The Surrender Trilogy 3)

His expression was unreadable. When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’d like to meet him.”

“You’ll be disappointed.”

“I might surprise you. My expectation of parents is astoundingly low.”

He laughed without humor. “My father isn’t a nice man.”

“Maybe he’s changed.”

“He hasn’t.”

She sighed. “Lucian, there is so much I wish I could have showed Pearl. Those moments to wish are

over now. Don’t let them slip away from you too. It isn’t him you’ll be punishing. You’ll be the one

outliving him and it will be your regret to bear, not his. Let me meet your father.”

His chest rose as he drew in a slow breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to stay more than a day.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

As his lips banished her grin, his hands slithered under her robe. She giggled and pressed her thighs

together. “Open for me,” he commanded against her lips.

Her thighs slowly parted and his fingers slipped inside her heat. She arched, hands tightening over

his shoulders. His mouth trailed down the narrow column of her throat and found her breasts. Soon

they were naked on the floor, equally satisfied and breathing heavily, all thoughts of the days to come vanishing in the presence of their priceless now.

***

Lucian was acting strange as the limo rode through the streets of France. She’d never seen him

behave that way before. It took her longer than it should have to realize he was nervous. She wanted to put him at ease.

“You have a hotel here, right?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

“Yes.”

“Does it look the same as the one in Folsom?”

“It’s bigger.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you have a penthouse you keep there?”

“No. I rarely come to France anymore.”

She was silent. Her mind worked to think of a neutral topic. “Have you spoken to your sisters?”

“No. I should probably call.”

“Do you think Jamie and Toni will get married?” she blurted.

He squinted at her. “Are you trying to stress me out?”

“No, just asking.”

His legs shifted in his seat as he fidgeted with his tie. It was the first time since they left the States that he’d dressed up. It was a show of power.

“I don’t know,” he said after a long contemplative moment.

She frowned. “Don’t know what?”

“About Shamus and Antoinette. I don’t see it, but then again, my sister always seems to get what

she wants, and she’s always wanted Shamus.”

He picked up her hand and his finger brushed over the knuckle of her ring finger. She wondered if

he’d ever propose again. “We haven’t played chess in a while,” she said, remembering how he’d asked

her.

“The last time I played, I lost.”

“Perhaps you should try again.”

“Perhaps.”

The limo turned onto a rounded stone driveway, and an old mansion came into view. He sucked in a

deep breath and sat more stiffly. “Brace yourself. Claudette will likely squeeze the life out of us.”

“Who’s Claudette?”

“My father’s maid.”

The car slowed to a stop and the chauffeur opened the door. Evelyn climbed out and stretched.

Lucian paid the driver and took their bags. They climbed the stone steps and he rang the bell.

A female voice sang a French greeting and the door opened. If this was Claudette, Evelyn loved her

on the spot. She was short, round, soft and gray haired. Her face drooped, eyes wide, as her mouth fell open. “Lucian!”

“Hello, Claudette.”

“What . . . what are you doing here?” Her accent was thick.

“This is Evelyn Keats. We were in England and decided to visit.”

Claudette stared at Evelyn and back at Lucian. She rapidly shot off words in French that sounded as

if she were praying. “My goodness, you have a woman!”

Lucian smiled. The maid trilled and lunged, her arms gobbling him up in a hug. Her small form

somehow engulfed his towering body, and Evelyn grinned. He laughed and the maid released him.

“What is this?” she demanded, pointing to his cast.

“That’s nothing, a small accident. It will be coming off in another week or two.”

She tsked and suddenly Evelyn’s face was being pinched between chubby fingers that smelled of

pastry. “And let me look at you, mademoiselle. Oh, you are quite lovely. You must be charming too,

to capture garç on’s heart.”

As the maid threw her arms around her, Evelyn whimpered. They were relieved of their bags and

bustled into the house. “Your father is resting. Shall I wake him or would you like to settle in first?”

“We’ll settle in upstairs first.”

“Oui,” she said. “You can use the room you stayed in last time. Will that do, garç on?”

“That will be fine,” said Lucian, his voice level.

The maid’s speech volleyed between French and English, sometimes using both languages in one

sentence. It was overwhelming. When Lucian switched to French, something inside of Evelyn

quivered.

As they carried their bags up the stairs, she admired the banister. The house was old, like Lucian’s

home in Carlingford, and Evelyn was strangely homesick for Ireland. Who would’ve thought she’d

ever have a right to such emotions when she never had a home?