Coming Home (34 page)

“I can barely understand him,” she whispered to Lucian.

“You’ll get used to it. All Irishmen have thick accents, but your ears will adjust.”

“We’re in
Ireland
?”

“What better place to show you the breadth and scope of the mountains? Welcome to Carlingford.”

Ireland was stunning. There were so many novel shades of green. The locals were lovely. They made new friends every night, laughing over pints at various local pubs. She laughed harder than she ever remembered laughing in her life. Lucian was at ease and she adored this freer side of him.

There was never time to be hung over, because before she knew it she was drinking again. Beer did funny things to her. It made her fearless.

One evening they were at a small pub, and the locals took turns singing. None were particularly good, but it was all in fun, until Lucian insisted she give it a shot, that is.

“I am
not
going up there.”

“Have you ever sung in public?” he asked, brow arched in challenge.

“I’ve never sung, period.”

“Well, this entire trip is about trying new things. What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know any songs.”

“That’s not true,” he argued.

She honestly didn’t know any songs well enough to sing. “Uh, yeah, it is.”

He shook his head and stood, a devilish gleam in his eye. He approached the three-man band and whispered something to them. The men discussed and nodded in unison.

Lucian went to the microphone and said, “I’m here with a beautiful woman tonight, but she’s being a little shy. You see, I promised her I’d help her experience everything she never tried before. It just so happens she’s never sung. She knows a song, but may need some help. Who’s up to helping her?”

The rowdy patrons cheered and lifted their mugs in the air. There was no hiding from their enthusiastic calls. Slowly she rose, shooting him a glare that promised retribution, and went to the stage. When Lucian tried to step down, she dug her fingernails into his arm. “Oh, no. You’re not leaving me.”

The man on the guitar began to play. She panicked when she didn’t recognize the song. She knew she wouldn’t!

Suddenly a man with a strange drum joined, and twinges of familiar rhythms flickered in her brain. She recognized it . . . sort of.

“Shall we start you off, lass?” the guitar player shouted. She nodded and he grinned. When he sang, it only took a moment for her to place the song.
“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip.”

Her mind prickled with recognition as her shoulders began to bob slowly to the cheery beat. It was her favorite television show! She jumped in, belting out the line about the mighty sailing mate and the brave skipper from that three hour tour.

The audience echoed back the chorus.
“A three-hour tour!”

The music picked up and so did her energy. It was a rush, singing like that. The next verse was sung with much more verve. By the time they were calling out the characters, everyone was shouting along.

She grabbed the microphone and tugged on Lucian.
“The millionaire . . .”

He tugged her back, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he stared into her.
“And his wife . . .”

Heat pooled in her belly, full of excitement, at that look of promise in his gaze. A smile tugged at her lips, and her voice fell away as she stood suspended in his arms, paralyzed by his potent stare. The patrons finished the drunken rendition on their own. Slowly, he leaned down to press his warm lips to hers, and everyone else fell away.

As the last verse was sung, she was dipped back and kissed properly, in front of the entire crowd.
“Here on Gilligan’s Isle!”
They burst into applause and she blushed furiously.

After that night, Lucian never made mention of wives or marriage or anything else pertaining to wedding rings and the like. She was surprisingly disappointed, but still having the time of her life.

On their last night in Ireland, she watched the sun set over the mountains of Carlingford. Blushing clouds settled over the peaks as the sky faded from vibrant shades of burnt sienna to deep violet. She’d miss the simplicity of Ireland, but was anxious to see where Lucian would take her next.

As she suspected, life and work called on Lucian even as oceans separated him from the city of Folsom. He’d started using their quiet mornings to tend to business that couldn’t wait for their return. She didn’t mind, because he also set her up with an iPad that had an interesting program that let her videoconference with Jason.

Their online lessons were not as long, but just enough to keep her mind sharp. Jason would go over some examples, holding a notepad in front of the screen, and then she would complete her assignment in the workbook she packed. Lucian looked over her work and was impressed with how quickly she was learning.

Evelyn was surprised that they didn’t return to the jet when they left Ireland. They took a boat called a ferry, and then a train. She’d seen trains before, but never rode on one. Their next stop was England, and it was the most magical of all.

There were castles and villages hundreds of years old. It was as humbling as the ocean. Where the sea made her feel small in the presence of such unstoppable motion, England made her feel ordinary, lost in some span of countless time. Such emotions might not appeal to others, but they certainly appealed to her.

Her entire life, she only wanted to be ordinary. Lost among so much history made her feel exactly that. Ordinary. It also made her realize how fleeting their time on this earth was. Urgency rushed at her, tucked like a secret in those many still moments they found in England, and she wanted to embrace life and all of its greatness.

They’d taken a tour to Stonehenge, and it was there that she found something she never knew she wanted.

Her gaze locked on the impressive structures, wonder filling her as she tried to imagine the strong hands that had once placed them there, hands that belonged to hearts that loved and minds that held memories of their own.

“Do you think this is magic?” she asked, taking in the open space untouched by passing time.

“The stones?” Lucian asked.

“No. All of it.” Her hand swept out over the encompassing distance. Waves of green rolled over the hillsides. There was so much immeasurable beauty and nature. It was so different than the structures she’d grown up under in the city. The impressive skyscrapers of Folsom, crafted by visionaries and demigods, paled in comparison to this impressive creation.

This openness was God’s work, and no man could ever encompass such magnificence. Perhaps that was why these stones were so notable. They didn’t try to overcompensate or compete with what already existed. They simply rested humbly in the presence of the greatness that already was.

“No, not magic, traces of history left untouched.”

“Do you believe in God, Lucian?”

He took a long while to answer. “I believe there’s something that created all this. But I’m not sure if I believe in a being that watches over us.”

Her gaze went to the clouds rolling in the distance. “I actually spent a lot of time in churches. Sometimes, going to church was the only way to keep warm. People think every religion’s different, but if you really listen, they’re all teaching the same thing.”

“What are they teaching?”

“Be kind. Be good. Be humble.”

His arm draped over her shoulder. He pulled her close and kissed her temple. “
You
humble me, Evelyn.” He squeezed her shoulder.

***

They’d been traveling for three weeks. The mansion in England was breathtaking. She found Lucian reviewing travel plans the evening before they departed, and she knocked softly on the study door. “Lucian?”

He grinned, plucking his reading glasses from his nose. “I thought you were in bed.”

“I was.” She slipped into the room and he pulled her onto his lap. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?”

“Are we returning to the States tomorrow?”

“Yes, but not to Folsom.” She wrung her fingers and he stilled her hands. “Did you want to see something else before we left?”

She took a deep breath. He’d showed her so much while in Europe, but there was one place he never mentioned and one person she’d like to meet. “I thought it would be nice to visit Paris.”

He stiffened. “Just Paris?”

She turned in his lap and gripped his face with gentle hands, her eyes pleading. “He’s your father, Lucian. You said he was ill the last time you visited. We’re in Europe. Why not just make the trip?”

His expression was unreadable. When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’d like to meet him.”

“You’ll be disappointed.”

“I might surprise you. My expectation of parents is astoundingly low.”

He laughed without humor. “My father isn’t a nice man.”

“Maybe he’s changed.”

“He hasn’t.”

She sighed. “Lucian, there is so much I wish I could have showed Pearl. Those moments to wish are over now. Don’t let them slip away from you too. It isn’t him you’ll be punishing. You’ll be the one outliving him and it will be your regret to bear, not his. Let me meet your father.”

His chest rose as he drew in a slow breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to stay more than a day.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

As his lips banished her grin, his hands slithered under her robe. She giggled and pressed her thighs together. “Open for me,” he commanded against her lips.

Her thighs slowly parted and his fingers slipped inside her heat. She arched, hands tightening over his shoulders. His mouth trailed down the narrow column of her throat and found her breasts. Soon they were naked on the floor, equally satisfied and breathing heavily, all thoughts of the days to come vanishing in the presence of their priceless now.

***

Lucian was acting strange as the limo rode through the streets of France. She’d never seen him behave that way before. It took her longer than it should have to realize he was nervous. She wanted to put him at ease.

“You have a hotel here, right?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

“Yes.”

“Does it look the same as the one in Folsom?”

“It’s bigger.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you have a penthouse you keep there?”

“No. I rarely come to France anymore.”

She was silent. Her mind worked to think of a neutral topic. “Have you spoken to your sisters?”

“No. I should probably call.”

“Do you think Jamie and Toni will get married?” she blurted.

He squinted at her. “Are you trying to stress me out?”

“No, just asking.”

His legs shifted in his seat as he fidgeted with his tie. It was the first time since they left the States that he’d dressed up. It was a show of power.

“I don’t know,” he said after a long contemplative moment.

She frowned. “Don’t know what?”

“About Shamus and Antoinette. I don’t see it, but then again, my sister always seems to get what she wants, and she’s always wanted Shamus.”

He picked up her hand and his finger brushed over the knuckle of her ring finger. She wondered if he’d ever propose again. “We haven’t played chess in a while,” she said, remembering how he’d asked her.

“The last time I played, I lost.”

“Perhaps you should try again.”

“Perhaps.”

The limo turned onto a rounded stone driveway, and an old mansion came into view. He sucked in a deep breath and sat more stiffly. “Brace yourself. Claudette will likely squeeze the life out of us.”

“Who’s Claudette?”

“My father’s maid.”

The car slowed to a stop and the chauffeur opened the door. Evelyn climbed out and stretched. Lucian paid the driver and took their bags. They climbed the stone steps and he rang the bell.

A female voice sang a French greeting and the door opened. If this was Claudette, Evelyn loved her on the spot. She was short, round, soft and gray haired. Her face drooped, eyes wide, as her mouth fell open.
“Lucian!”

“Hello, Claudette.”

“What . . . what are you doing here?” Her accent was thick.

“This is Evelyn Keats. We were in England and decided to visit.”

Claudette stared at Evelyn and back at Lucian. She rapidly shot off words in French that sounded as if she were praying. “My goodness, you have a woman!”

Lucian smiled. The maid trilled and lunged, her arms gobbling him up in a hug. Her small form somehow engulfed his towering body, and Evelyn grinned. He laughed and the maid released him. “What is this?” she demanded, pointing to his cast.

“That’s nothing, a small accident. It will be coming off in another week or two.”

She tsked and suddenly Evelyn’s face was being pinched between chubby fingers that smelled of pastry. “And let me look at you, mademoiselle. Oh, you are quite lovely. You must be charming too, to capture
gar
ç
on’s
heart.”

As the maid threw her arms around her, Evelyn whimpered. They were relieved of their bags and bustled into the house. “Your father is resting. Shall I wake him or would you like to settle in first?”

“We’ll settle in upstairs first.”

“
Oui
,” she said. “You can use the room you stayed in last time. Will that do,
gar
ç
on
?”

“That will be fine,” said Lucian, his voice level.

The maid’s speech volleyed between French and English, sometimes using both languages in one sentence. It was overwhelming. When Lucian switched to French, something inside of Evelyn quivered.

As they carried their bags up the stairs, she admired the banister. The house was old, like Lucian’s home in Carlingford, and Evelyn was strangely homesick for Ireland. Who would’ve thought she’d ever have a right to such emotions when she never had a home?

She followed Lucian down a wide hall and he opened the door to a bedroom. The furniture was made of thick, dark wood. The smaller pieces perched on ball-and-claw feet. The bed was adorned in dark velvet drapes pulled back at the four posts, and a chair and ottoman sat in front of the empty fireplace.

He placed their things on the bed. There wasn’t much. Lucian had the majority of their clothes delivered to the jet. “You know,” she said, shutting the door. “It’s very sexy when you speak French.”