“What did I do to deserve this five-star treatment?”
I squat next to her and tuck her short, blond hair behind her ear. “We’ve been so caught up in things since we got here that I haven’t done enough things like this.”
“Is this goodbye?”
The question is a whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“Now that we know who was behind the murder, there’s no need to work together anymore.”
I lick my lips and watch her face intently. “Is that what you want? To go our separate ways?”
“It’s the way it is. We did our parts. It’s done. Now, we move on.”
I nod and stand, walking out of the bathroom. She didn’t answer the question. She didn’t say that parting is what she wants.
It’s definitely not what I want.
I pull out the steaks, potatoes, and salad, get everything plated and ready to eat, then walk back in to check on Nadia.
She’s not in the bath.
She’s in the bedroom, packing her bag, wearing nothing but a robe.
Excellent.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing, obviously.”
I nod once. “Why don’t you eat before you do that? I have dinner ready.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Just humor me.”
I take her hand once more and tug her behind me to the kitchen, where our food awaits. She sniffs and then softens.
“You know I can’t resist steak.”
“I know.” I hold a chair for her, then sit next to her and start cutting into my ribeye. “How is Annika tonight?”
“She was sleeping when I left. We went through some things in Rich’s office, but then the police came, and then his family. It was just a mess. I got everyone but Ivie out, fed her, and then poured her into bed. Ivie’s staying the night with her.”
“She’ll have a rough few weeks, but then she’ll be able to move on with her life.”
“I know. How do you move on from that, though?” She takes a bite of salad, seeming to think it over. “She was convinced that she knew him, was head over heels in love with him, and it turns out he was scamming her the whole time. How do you ever let yourself trust again? Fall in love again?”
“I think it takes a lot of time and healing.” I pass her a hot roll. “She may need some therapy. Does your family have access to a psychologist?”
“Yes, my father has one on staff. She’ll have a lot of support and anything she might need available to her, of course. I just feel for her.”
“You love her.” I take her hand in mine and squeeze.
“Yeah, and I can count on one hand the number of people who mean something to me in this world, and she’s in the top three.”
“Who are the other two?”
She frowns, pulls her hand out of mine, and returns her attention to eating. “How are Shane and Rafe?”
“Shane’s back at his place in the mountains, and Rocco was pulled to something in Seattle.”
“I can’t believe you guys still call him Rocco.”
I shrug a shoulder, watching her eat. Her lean throat moves as she swallows her food, her eyes heavy with fatigue.
She’s magnificent.
And after tonight, she’ll know without a shadow of a doubt that I do not want to say goodbye.
“I’m thinking Paris,” I say, earning a surprised glance.
“For what?”
“For our first stop.” I eat some potatoes. “A week at the Ritz would be nice. And then I think we should spend another week in the south of France, on the beach. There’s a lovely resort there that I’ll arrange.”
“Did you hit your head today?” she demands.
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
She takes another bite of steak and watches me. “So, you’re going to take a several-week vacation in Europe? Awesome. Have fun.”
“Not me.” I wipe my mouth on a napkin. “We.”
“Who’s we?”
“You, my lovely Nadia. And me. Us.”
“But I thought you said—”
“I didn’t say anything. I asked you if it was what you wanted, and you didn’t answer the damn question.”
“Okay, fine. I don’t want to say goodbye. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes, actually. It is.”
“But I don’t see an alternative. I live in Atlanta. You live in Seattle. We’re not working together anymore.”
“The last time I checked, we’re both adults.”
“You know that it doesn’t matter for us. Our lives aren’t ours, Carmine.”
“Do you really think our fathers will lose their damn minds if we spend some time together on vacation? I think they have enough to worry about.”
She doesn’t respond to that.
“So, we’ll spend some time in Paris, and then in Cannes. We’ll shop, we’ll eat, and we’ll explore. And I’ll make love to you day and night, damn it. I’m going to soak you into every pore of my body. When it’s all over, you’ll be sick of me.”
“Doubtful,” she whispers.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying. There’s an onion in my salad.”
I scoop her into my lap and kiss her softly. “Let’s enjoy each other for a while. No pretenses, and no tracking down murdering assholes.”