She hid her surprise. She knew he’d been insulted the last time she’d implied that he knew little about Europe, and figured it was perfectly reasonable for a man of his qualifications and experience to be able to identify a style at once. So she nodded.
“My parents and I spent a few months in the region. I was young, but I remember the music and the food.”
Glancing at her dish of yogurt which she had already begun to enjoy, he said, “Speaking of food, I see you’re eating. Is your stomach better?”
“It’s fine.”He’s just being polite,she reminded herself.No need to bristle like a porcupine.“My appetite seems to be returning slowly.”
Dustin nodded mildly and went on with his examination of the art and artefacts scattered about. He wore a basic short-sleeved t-shirt, baring that impressive assortment of tattoos that descended as far as his wrist, and, from what she could see above the neckline, to his back and chest as well. The man was a walking canvas.
Picking up a framed photo of her with her mom and dad—a tall, imposing White man next to a slender, beautiful Black woman—he stared for a long time, then commented, “You look like your mom.”
Chantelle nodded, not trusting herself to speak, because whenever the subject of her mother came up, she always got a little twinge deep in her chest.
Carefully, even reverently, he set it down again, but didn’t take his eyes off the photo, in which all were laughing. “You had a happy childhood.”
“I did.” Despite it being built on lies.
“I’m glad.”
“At least,” she amended, “when my parents were both alive and we lived here together.” She looked up and around herself, taking in the high ceilings and the ornately scrolled trim. “This is my happy place. It will always be.”
“Is that why you wanted to come here? To have your baby here?”
It was dangerous ground, but she said, “I’d want nothing more for him or her to experience the kind of childhood I did. I come here from time to time just to refresh and replenish: but I haven’t lived here since my mother married my stepfather, Simon.”
When he smiled at her, she was drawn to the warmth in his eyes, the way they creased at the corners. Sucked in by his gaze, she had to struggle to escape its thrall.His eyes are none of your concern,she reminded herself.Nor the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the hollow in his throat, or the width of his shoulders.
Nothing about him concerns you.
Hastily, she diverted her attention, keeping him at arm’s length with her words. “How were you able to leave your family at such short notice?”
“I told them about the convention. I’ve been meaning to attend an event of this size for years, but could never make the time.”
“I know about time getting away and before you know it another year has passed you by. Especially when you run a business.”
“Well, thanks to you, I can now take hold of my time and do what matters to me. I can slow down a bit from now on and do what’s important. I can finally get my own place and freedom to do as I please. I’ve quit my other jobs and can now refocus on my passion and business. Arabella will be fine.”
She felt a moment of warmth, knowing that her money had played a part in setting him and her family free from all that stress and worry. But this arrangement between him and her. It was all business. No need to make it an emotional issue. She asked, “So I guess you’re heading off to your convention?”
“In an hour or so.”
“I can send a driver for you.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’ve already brought my bags down to the foyer.”
“Bags?”
“My Airbnb, remember? I’ll go directly from the convention to my place. Then I’ll be out of your hair.” He bent down and patted Minerva’s head, and Chantelle opened her mouth to shout a warning. Minerva wasn’t what you’d call a friendly cat. She picked and chose her people. Last time one of her stepbrothers had tried to touch her, he’d almost lost a finger.
But to her everlasting amazement, Minerva closed her eyes, bumped her head against his open palm and rolled over, exposing her fluffy, vulnerable belly.
If that didn’t beat all.
“You don’t have to leave, you know,” she heard herself saying. “You can stay here.”
He was as surprised as she was that she had spoken. “Repeat that?”
She shrugged. “It’s a huge house, and there’s lots of space. You can have the use of the driver every day to get you to and from where you need to be. Enjoy your visit. There’s nowhere else in the world like Provence.”