A small smile tugged at her lips. “Just you asking makes me feel a little better. My father didn’t have an interest in my mother’s opinion.”
“Your opinion matters a great deal, Calandra.”
There was magic in those words. Powerful, seductive magic coupled with a devastatingly handsome man who wanted to be a father to her child.
“Then we’ll find opportunities to get to know each other better over the next few days.” She nodded toward the myriad of streets and shops that lay just beyond the port’s edge. “I have a one o’clock with a prospective caterer.”
Alejandro frowned. “I already had a caterer lined up.”
“A caterer whose owner was tossed in jail last night for driving drunk and is now facing a PR nightmare.” She set enough euros on the table to cover her bill and stood. “You’re welcome to walk with me if you’d like.”
Five minutes later, they strolled down one of the many charming alleys Marseille had to offer. A casual walk with at least three feet of distance between them. It didn’t stop every nerve ending in her body from sizzling.
“Who do you have in mind to replace my caterer?” Alejandro asked.
She started to respond, excitement humming at the prospect of finding the perfect vendor who fit seamlessly into the plan.
Until a flash of sunshine caught her eye.
She couldn’t help it; her head jerked around. There in the window of a small boutique was the most exquisite gown she’d ever seen. Buttery yellow and sleeveless, with a sweetheart bodice that followed the curves of the mannequin like a lover’s hand, layer upon layer of gauzy skirt that fell to the floor...
A dream. A dress that would make any girl feel like a princess.
She looked away. Not her. She’d never been a princess. Efficient, professional, all work and no play. That was Calandra Smythe.
“Calandra?”
She blinked and looked away, continuing forward.
“Sorry. For the catering...”
Her voice trailed off as Alejandro’s hand settled on her shoulder.
“What?”
His eyes searched, probed, delving so deep she barely resisted squirming under the intensity of his gaze.
“What?”
“The dress.”
“It’s just a dress.”
“It may be just a dress, but you do have a special event coming up. Something other than black, perhaps.”
“Black is a versatile color.”
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than black. Well,” he added, his voice lowering and making her stomach flip-flop, “once.”
She refused to blush. “I like black.”
“Yes, but why?”
She barely resisted squirming under his scrutiny. No one had ever asked why before. Everyone else had just labeled her as falling into the goth phase or joked that she must attend a lot of funerals. One young man she’d rejected in college had said she dressed in the same color as her soul. Dramatic and petulant, but the comment still crept under her skin. Johanna and Aunt Norine were the only ones who knew that to her black meant armor. Strength. Security. It had since the day of Mother’s funeral, when she’d walked into her father’s study in her black mourning dress and wielded power over him for the first time in her life.
“I just do.”
“You hide so much of yourself.”