CHAPTER 2
Nathanael brought the car to a skating stop outside the small, elegant restaurant. The wordsLa Fleur de Bruxellesglowed in elegant script above the door. Flower of Brussels. It used to be one of their favorite restaurants; his and Shaundra’s. Nathanael was of Belgian descent, his father was born in Antwerp, so he was always partial to a bowl ofmoules-friteswith a side ofendives au gratin.
Before their lives had been shot all to hell, they came here at least twice a month if they were in the country for an authentic Belgian dinner, and then went home to make love in the spacious modern mansion they had shared before he left.
He kept his eyes on Shaundra’s face in the rear-view mirror, noting with satisfaction her outraged gasp as she realized where he had brought them.
He was beyond irritated. His question about who she’d been planning to meet had gone unanswered, and he did not appreciate that. Not one bit.
Jealousy and possessiveness rose inside his chest like boiling lava. Threatening to spill out and flow down the side of the volcano, obliterating everything in its path.
She looked searingly hot, draped to be admired, in that dress that was so short he wanted to wrap her up in his jacket before any other man could so much as look at her. Her beautiful, thick black curls, which clung to her scalp, had been cut shorter since he’d last seen her on the day she’d given birth, he noticed. And their tips had been dyed platinum blonde. On one hand, he was drawn to this charming new look—but on the other; he wondered who the hell she’d done it for.
And further wondered if he could kill this son of a bitch and get away with it. After all, he had enough money and formed enough connections to make it happen. If he pulled a few strings…
“I asked you a question!” Shaundra snarled from her seat in the back. She was pulling on the door handle to no avail. He’d engaged the child locks and she couldn’t get out unless he let her out.
He’d gotten lost in his reverie and missed what she’d said. “Sorry?”
“Don’t play dumb, Nathanael. Why am I here?”
“You worried your boyfriend will think you stood him up?” The idea that Shaundra was dressed up this well, looking this damn fine for some random asshole, made him want to find the son of a bitch and punch him out. He’d only found out about this date of hers hours before. His best friend and business partner, Alexandre, had called him, fulfilling one of the stipulations of the bro-code:always let a brother know when the wives are up to something.
Earlier during the day, Alex, who was back at his family’s massive estate in Aix-en-Provence, France, had overhead a three-way Zoom call between his wife, Jacyn, his sister-in-law Naisha, and Shaundra. The three women were planning a killer outfit for Shuandra’s ‘big date tonight’. To hear Alex tell it, the women had spent more than half an hour brainstorming everything, from shoes to dress to jewelry andunderwear,for fuck sakes. With Naisha swearing by a particular brand of push-up bra that would ‘keep the twins up where they belong’, especially since Shaundra was still breastfeeding. William had called him soon after to relay an almost identical account of what Alexandre had told him.
That was when Nathanael had lost his damn mind. He’d immediately called Shaundra’s chauffeur, Monty, and switched places with him, setting a plan in motion that had led to this moment.
He got out and opened the door for Shaundra, who sat in the back seat, looking ravishing as all hell, and glaring at him with all the rage of a wolverine caught in a thunderstorm. “Shall we,ma moitié?”he suggested smoothly, with a courteous gesture.
“I am not your other goddamn other half. That ship sailed when you walked out the door with a suitcase.” She crossed her arms. “And like hell am I going in there with you!”
He squatted before the open door, and said softly, sweetly. “You will get out of this car, Shaundra, or I will take you in my arms like I did on our wedding day, and carry you inside.”
She looked at his face in horror, seemingly trying to determine whether he was serious. She groaned when she understood that he was. Defeated, she wriggled her delectable butt along the back seat and exited the vehicle, slapping away his proffered hand.
He took no offence. Though he was disappointed that he couldn’t make good on his threat.
She glanced at the entrance to the restaurant. “It’s closed,” she snapped. “You wasted your time kidnapping me to bring me—”
“I did not kidnap you, mon cœur.” He took her arm and began escorting her up the short flight of steps.
“Feels like it.”
The door opened at their approach, and immediately the owner, Monsieur Maes, was there, with a welcoming smile. He should be smiling, Nathanael thought, given that just two or three hours before he’d called up the restaurant and offered him a ridiculous fee to book the entire place to himself.
Nathanael kept his eyes on Shaundra’s face as they swept past the hostess’ station and went directly into the main dining area. Only one table was set—magnificently so, with exquisite linens and china, antique flatware and fresh flowers. A bottle of wine was already breathing on the tabletop, and next to it, a crystal ice bucket with a bottle of his favorite champagne. A lovely, crisp Laurent-Perrier.
Bien fait, Monsieur Maes,he thought.
Shaundra’s eyes were the size of tea plates, and it delighted him to see the wonder in them. So beautiful. She wasso beautiful.Even if she was dressed this way for someone else.
“Would you like to order?” their host asked with a grand show of courtesy.
Shaundra glared at Nathanael. “I’m not ordering any—”
The look he gave her clearly conveyed the message:Not in front of others, please.
The message was received, and she piped down, plopping into her seat but still looking mutinous. He ordered for them, suggesting a creamy mushroom vol-au-vent for starters, followed by roast lamb, and, of course, for dessert there would be Belgian waffles with hand-whipped cream and chocolate-dipped strawberries.