She was breathing so hard when she’d finished she nearly missed Wolfe’s soft grin.
‘Oh, you are horrible!’ she spluttered. ‘You were playing devil’s advocate with me!’
‘You have a fire in your belly I guess you would never show your father.’
It pained her to acknowledge he was right. She had built a wall up where her father was concerned and she used it to keep him out. To show him that she didn’t need him. More than that, she was afraid he would shoot her down in flames if she tried and failed in replacing Frédéric.
She was a grown woman who had never got over wanting her father’s approval. She’d moved to Paris so she could avoid facing that.
Feeling dismayed by her unexpected realisations she shook her head. ‘He doesn’t respect me.’ And, boy, did that hurt.
‘So make him.’
Ava’s startled gaze connected with Wolfe’s.
‘And if you stop pretending you’re not sensitive about things when you are, that might help.’
She felt her mouth fall open at his gentle ribbing and quickly snapped it closed. She wanted to argue that she’d mastered that unwelcome aspect of her nature years ago, but just looking at Wolfe made her awash with a certain type of sensitivity she couldn’t deny.
She turned away, only to have him grasp her shoulders and turn her back before she’d taken a single step. He reached out and secured her chin lightly between his fingers, his eyes glittering down at her in the glow of the mood lighting. ‘Maybe you need to think of your duty as being to your people now, Ava, not your father.’
Her breath caught. He hadn’t called her Ava since that morning at Gilles’s. Trying to hold on to her equilibrium, and reminding herself that there was nothing intimate behind his unexpected tenderness, she gave a rueful quirk of her lips. ‘I never looked at it like that.’
‘Because you’re focusing on the past. That’s gone. It’s only the future that counts.’ His tone was firm, the words delivered with such a resounding sense of resolution she knew he had said them before.
‘You’re right.’ She let the silence build between them as her head spun with ideas. His words ‘make him’ settled inside her. Perhaps if she stopped reverting to the recalcitrant teenager she had once been that would be a start. ‘I cannot keep fighting my father. It is not only futile, but he’s sick. And I do have obligations now that require my full attention.’ She released a noisy breath and smiled wearily. ‘Do you think perhaps I have felt sorry for myself for long enough?’
Wolfe’s head came up, surprise lighting his gaze, as if he hadn’t expected her to admit to such a flaw. Then he laughed. ‘You’re one out of the box, Princess.’
She smiled back at him, warmed by the admiration in his voice. Warmed by the fact that he somehow made her feel valued.
She was instantly transported to the single night they had shared together. As much as the passion between them had shocked her, it had also thrilled her. She wondered— No, Ava. Not only was Wolfe not interested in fostering a long-term relationship with a woman, he had said himself that their ‘ship’ had ‘definitely sailed’.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WE ARE NOT stopping, Ava, and that’s that.’
Ava knew her father’s face had taken on the stony hue that had used to scare her as a child, but she steadfastly kept smiling at the sea of people waving flags along the tree-lined boulevard as the royal coach trotted slowly down the centre of Anders.
Every year citizens and tourists came out in droves to celebrate Anders Independence Day, with a plethora of sumptuously themed floats and gaily designed costumes. This year there was a more sombre mood to the proceedings, with many of the floats carrying her brother’s picture. It made Ava want to reach out to her people to make up for Frédéric’s loss. After her conversation with Wolfe three nights ago she knew that she could either let her insecurities control her or...try.
So she had.
And it felt like a blessed release finally to make some of the hard decisions she hadn’t realised she’d been actively resisting. One had been to inform her artists that she would be helping them find new representation when her gallery closed down the following month, and the other had been to start sitting in on business meetings with her father’s advisors. The workload was intense, and there were aspects of ruling her country that made her head spin, but she felt as if she was making inroads. Slowly.