Pink lips parted, expression almost pained yet tender, she cupped my cheek as we moved together. “Lucian.”
Just my name. Just her. All I ever needed.
I made love to Emma all night, tumbling and rolling about in bed, licking and sucking and laughing with her. We got so messy it took two showers just to get clean. Then we did it all again.
When the sun came up, we were on the floor, wrapped up in a comforter. Emma’s hair stood out at odd angles, so adorably mussed that my heart flipped over at the sight. There were days I couldn’t believe she was mine. But I’d never take her for granted.
Emma opened her eyes and instantly focused on me. A smile spread over her face, transforming it from beautiful to breathtaking. Because that look of love? It was all mine too. “Hey, you.”
“I love you,” I said in return. “Have I told you that lately?”
“Every day.” She touched my temple. “And with every treat you set in front of me.”
I’d been baking and creating nonstop lately—as soon as we’d moved into our new house, which we’d christened La Vie en Rose. Which really didn’t fit for a house, but Emma had declared that she would always think of me when she heard that song. And since I thought of her when I heard that song—remembering the exact moment I stripped for her while it played, a part of me knowing even then that she would come to be my everything—the decision was made.
I’d been trying out dishes for Black Delilah, where I’d soon be chef de pâtissier for an excited Delilah. Turned out we worked well together. Since we were both headstrong and opinionated, it might have been a disaster. But I loved her creative vision, and true to her word, she gave me the freedom to express myself.
Emma was often on set now, playing the part of Beatrice in a role that would, without a doubt, make her a superstar. She came home exhausted every night. I would feed my girl and then tuck her up in bed and love her for as long as she’d let me.
Now, however, we were in danger of running late. With a grunt, I got up and winced. “Next time, we’re staying on the bed.”
“Hey, you were the one that rolled off of it.” She stood as well and grimaced. “Okay, you’re right. That was a monumentally bad idea.”
“Let’s take a hot shower, but then we have to hustle.”
Today was Mamie’s seventy-sixth birthday. After months in Paris, she had arrived back at Rosemont yesterday. We’d planned a family party for her on the terrace, and Emma and I needed to pack up the gâteau Saint-Honoré I’d made for her.
By the time we arrived at Rosemont, Tina and Sal were on the terrace putting the finishing touches on the table. Turned out they had decided to make Rosemont a bed-and-breakfast, but for people who needed refuge and healing. It would run from September to just before Christmas.
“Let me see,” Tina said, reaching for the pastry box. Carefully, she took it to the kitchen and opened it up. “Ah, there it is. Hello, lovely. I will be introducing you to my belly shortly.”
It was a simple gâteau with a pâte feuilletée base topped with a piping of vanilla crème pâtissière and ringed by caramel-covered pastry puffs filled with hazelnut crème chiboust. Emma called it my most creamiest of creamy desserts.
Sal smacked Tina’s hand away from the box. “Stop talking dirty to it. You’ll have your chance later.”
“No one wants to hear that later either.” Anton strolled in and cut his sister a reproachful look. “If you put me off the Saint-Honoré, I’ll leave a toad in your bed later.”
Tina’s nose wrinkled. “What are we, twelve?”
“You two might as well be.” I took the gâteau and put it in the walk-in wine fridge to keep cool.
“Like we don’t know about the weird cream kink you and Emma have going,” Tina said.
I glanced at Emma, and she lifted her hands. “Hey, I’ve never said a word. You know, about our kink.”
Chuckling, I shook my head.
“You didn’t have to say anything, love,” Sal said. When I cut him a quelling look, he quirked a brow. “What? You two were loud in those early days.”
“We still are.” With that, I headed back outside and found Amalie waiting.
“Ah, mon ange.” She kissed both my cheeks. “I have missed you.”
“Missed you too, Mamie. You’re looking well.”
She waved me off with casual grace, then grasped my arm. “Have you asked her?”
“Not yet.” Amalie had sent me the engagement ring Jean Philipe had given his bride. The deco cushion-cut diamond ring was just Emma’s style, and it meant something to me. I wanted her to have a piece of my family’s history.
“Soon, eh?” Amalie coaxed. Her grin was smug. “I knew you two belonged together. I just knew.”