“Why would you do that?” Her hand shook as she sipped. Tears brimmed her mink lashes. “I’ll never be able to pay you back. Never.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
The waiter brought their next course and she turned her face to the window to hide her distress. Gabriel waved him off from pouring fresh wine.
The single braised lamb chop with watercress and candied pistachios was decorated with a sprig of rosemary, pearl onions and dots of orange and mint sauces. Gabriel thought it looked appetizing, but Luli looked at her plate with misery. He didn’t dare tell her that the lamb had been flown in fresh from New Zealand this morning and the six vintage wine pairings they would sample with each course were thousands of euros each.
Minutes ago, she’d been incandescent, fully enjoying herself. Her mood had started to dim when she had asked if she was a project for him.
“Luli.” He set his hand palm-up on the table, wanting her to look at him. “I told you I don’t pay for sex. I don’t buy women. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I keep thinking I’ll wake up in my room. I wish I would.” She pinched her arm.
That bare cell of a room with not so much as a family photo or a glimmer of vibrant beauty that was her? No.
“I shouldn’t have started this,” she said with a despairing shake of her head. “I wanted to take control. I thought I could handle it, even if it was difficult. It was very hard when I arrived in Singapore, but I got through it. I’m a strong person,” she insisted, but sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “This is too much.”
Her gaze finally met his and the rawness she exposed clawed at his heart.
“Whatever you think you can turn me into, I’m not.” She looked to the windows, then the other direction, then the ceiling, as though she sought escape and realized she was cornered. Her breasts rose against the binding of her dress, plumping with each shaking breath.
“Luli.” He wiggled his fingers. “Give me your hand. This is culture shock. That’s all.”
“Culture shock!” She blinked and a tear fell to glisten diamond sharp on her cheekbone. Her hands stayed in her lap.
“Culture assault,” he corrected dryly. He should have anticipated it. Even his top executives dropped their jaws and bumbled with nerves when they caught a glimpse of how he lived. “Would you like to leave?”
“Does it matter what I want? Why did I think I should fight so hard or reach so high? It’s not as though I could make myself matter by wearing new clothes and going outside. I’m still nothing.”
“We’re going all the way to existential crisis? Come on, then. We’ll take this somewhere more private.” As he helped her into the car moments later, she heard him tell his driver, “Cancel the helicopter. We’ll go to the apartment.”
* * *
“Where were you going to take me in a helicopter?” she asked twenty minutes later, when he joined her on the balcony of his modern penthouse.
The colorful reflections on the Seine were smudged lines through the sparkling cityscape below. The Eiffel Tower was so big before her, she could have reached out and touched it.
She was still overwhelmed, still feeling like she was on stage, wearing this gown, but the bricked patio was about the size of Mae’s courtyard. The darkness turned down the volume on how alien the world had become, giving her a chance to catch her breath and grapple her emotions back under control.
“I was going to take you to my château. Do you want anything? I could order take-out noodles and roast pork. That might feel more familiar.”
“You have a house and a flat here?”
“I’ve been restoring the château since I bought it two years ago. I’ve never stayed there. It was built in the sixteen hundreds as a folly for the King’s mistress and has become one of mine. I have to park my money somewhere.” He leaned his elbows on the wall and studied the city below them.
At the word mistress, she had to ask. “Why did you want to take me there?” For seduction?
“It’s pretty. I thought you’d like it. At least I thought that a few hours ago, when I made the arrangements and you were having fun spending my money.”