Falling For His Unlikely Cinderella (Escape To Provence 2)

No man had ever looked so good wearing thigh-molding jeans and a T-shirt that covered his powerful shoulders and chest. This time it was her pulse that raced of its own volition.

She smiled. “I appreciate that. Since I wasn’t up on it, I’ve been saved a trip to the hospital this afternoon.” Before long she’d be going there for something that had nothing to do with a broken bone.

He laughed, exhibiting a refreshing sense of humor. “I should have asked your name yesterday.”

“It’s Camille Delon, but those who know me call me Cami.”

He flashed her an answering smile. “Bonne après-midi, Cami. We weren’t officially introduced yesterday. I’m Raoul Fontesquieu.”

Raoul Fontesquieu? It couldn’t be. But it had to be. There could only be one. She’d heard his name clearly over the radio.

Cami swallowed hard as reality set in. She clung to the side of the ladder where she stood. “I heard about the death of your grandfather. I’m so sorry. I never knew either of mine. You and your wife were lucky to have enjoyed him this long.”

Her comment seemed to bring a subtle change in his demeanor, causing her to realize there were hidden emotions swirling inside of him. Prompted by his silence she said, “Let me congratulate you for being named the new CEO of your family’s company. It was all over the news yesterday.”

In an instant a frown broke out on his striking features. “I’m afraid bad news travels fast when it’s false.”

“What do you mean?” The comment had taken her back.

His lips twisted. “I’m divorced, and won’t be accepting the position as CEO. In time, I won’t be associated with the company at all. However, I’m assuming that the truth will be corrected before the week is out.”

“Those are pretty colossal mistakes for the media to make.” She was still trying to take it all in.

“Indeed.” A strange smile appeared. “I came in here to ask if you would take a look at the nursery and tell me what you think about the color I’ve painted it. Is it too deep, or not light enough?”

It surprised her that he wanted her opinion at all. She couldn’t help be excited. Everything about him had fascinated her even before she’d learned his identity. “Since I haven’t started cleaning the ceiling yet, I’ll come now.”

Cami followed him down the hall. When they reached the entry, she took in the soft blue that had covered the off-white walls of the room. “It’s perfect, monsieur. You did an excellent job. Are you sure you didn’t head a house painting company in a former life?”

It was an outrageous comment to make knowing who he was, bu

t she hadn’t been able to resist. Not after realizing he was one of those royals her father had told her about years ago, even if their titles were defunct.

His laughter resonated in the room. Almost at once his body and expression relaxed, turning him back to the charismatic, virile man she’d hadn’t been able to forget during the night.

“Call me Raoul, and tell me the truth.”

“I promise you I just did,” she assured him with a smile. “The blue color you’ve chosen has created a soothing ambience any child would love. With the white cove moldings, I can picture the white furniture you picked out fitting in beautifully.”

His black eyes gleamed. “Thank you. Now that I have your seal of approval, I’ll have everything I’ve bought delivered on Friday. By Sunday I’ll bring my son home to live with me permanently.”

She could hear his excitement. “Where is he?”

He shifted his weight. “You’ve met Arlette Gilbert. She’s his grandmother and has taken care of him from birth.”

She blinked. But where was Madame Gilbert’s daughter? According to the report on the radio, Raoul had been married to a woman named Sabine Murat. Cami was so confused.

By now she’s learned enough to realize there were volumes of information he’d left out: like why his son hadn’t lived with him from birth; why the divorce; where the birth mother was; what the reason was for the false news report that went out to the whole world.

But she didn’t have the right to ask those questions. Cami was one of the cleaning ladies. In another couple of days, she’d never see him again.

“Your son is blessed to have a father like you who loves him so much and has painted his room. That’s a story you can tell him when he’s older. I lost my father at twelve.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You were so young.”

“It was awful. For a while I thought my life was over. Hang on to the relationship with your son for dear life. Nothing’s more important.”

“I agree.” Again, the emotion in his tone conveyed he was a man of deep feelings.