Never again. I wasn’t going to fall for a man just because I admired the way his ass filled out his jeans. There had to be more. A connection past the physical. Which definitely meant not lusting over a pair of jade-green eyes under stern brows.

Amalie gazed out over the extensive ground. “It’s really too much property for one woman. Ridiculous, really. But there’s something about Rosemont that sinks into one’s bones and soothes the heart. Besides, there is plenty of room for guests.” She laughed at the obvious understatement, and I smiled.

“So, my dear”—she placed her cool hand on top of mine—“you stay for as long as you wish. Let yourself heal.”

The kindness sent an unexpected wave of emotion rolling over me, and I found myself blinking rapidly. “You shouldn’t tempt me like that. What if I never left?” Because right then and there, I wanted to stay forever. Hide away like a child.

She smiled, wide and knowing. “Something tells me you never stay knocked down for long.”

Before I could answer, Sal came out of the house, rolling a food cart laden with silver-domed trays and coffee service. I jumped up to help him, and he tried to shoo me off. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, but let me help anyway,” I said.

He shot a grin at Amalie. “Don’t you love her already, Ama?”

Amalie’s eyes, so unnervingly like Lucian’s, beamed. “Yes, I believe I do.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I didn’t do well with compliments, which was unfortunate given that people loved to fawn over famous actresses. Not that Amalie and Sal were fawning. They genuinely seemed pleased to meet the real me. But insecurities were hard to shake.

“I could end up being a screeching harpy,” I felt compelled to say.

Amalie laughed. “Goodness, but I hope you show a bit of temper now and then. I suspect you might need it soon enough.”

With that, she took a phone with a brilliant rhinestone-covered case and tapped out a message before slipping it back into her pocket. “Now then, where were we?”

Amalie seemed entirely too pleased with herself. I didn’t have to wonder why; a few moments later, her grumpy grandson strode around the corner with a harried expression, as if called to an emergency. When he saw his grandmother sitting with a pleasant smile, his steps slowed, and those wintergreen eyes narrowed in annoyance. And I knew he’d been tricked somehow.

But he didn’t turn on his heel and leave. He visibly braced himself and strode forward, the glint in his eyes promising retribution.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lucian

I knew better. I really did. When Mamie texted that she needed me and to hurry, I did just that, dropping the project I was in the middle of and coming to her aid. I knew it was time for her to have coffee and cakes with Emma. But all I could think was what if Emma had gotten hurt, tripped, or—fuck—fell off the side of the hill.

Ridiculous. I was such a sucker.

All made apparent when I practically ran onto the terrace and found my grandmother, Sal, and Emma sitting in obvious safety and contentment. Emma glanced at me and then away, as if embarrassed. She probably was—for me. Because it was clear to everyone there that my sly grandmother had tricked me.

There was the rub; I could make it obvious, turn back around, and leave, but it would send a message to Emma that I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. And I just couldn’t do that. I could try to avoid her, but I couldn’t be rude.

It felt downright painful to approach the table. The woman had somehow flipped a switch in my body, making me aware of every inch of her. She breathed, and I noticed, damn it.

“Mamie,” I said to my wily grandmother. “You texted.”

She was without repentance. “Ah, yes. It is time for coffee. Have a seat.”

My back teeth met with a click, the joints of my jaw aching as I bit back my annoyance and took the empty seat across from Emma; Mamie was crafty enough not to put me next to her, where I could pretend she wasn’t there, but right where I could see her. And fucking want.

For her part, Emma’s gaze darted around, as if assessing the scene and figuring out how to act accordingly. I didn’t blame her; it was always awkward to be pulled into someone else’s meddling schemes.

My grandmother was evil. I’d always known this. Hell, it used to amuse me when she turned those evil powers on others, which was probably why I was suffering through this coffee time from hell right now. Karma. It was a bitch.

I glanced at the path that would take me away from here. Not much chance of that now.

Mamie turned her eagle eyes on me. “Titou, your cup.”

Suppressing a sigh, I handed her the fragile china coffee cup that was too small for my hand and would shatter with one wrong move.

Indigo-blue eyes settled on me, golden arched brows rising delicately. “Titou? Is that your nickname? You don’t look like a Titou.”

Sal snickered, choking on a mouthful of coffee, and Emma—damn it, even her name was cute—grimaced, as if it just occurred to her that maybe she’d been rude.

Mamie trilled out a kind and gentle laugh. “In a roundabout way, it means little boy.”

Emma’s eyes widened as her gaze flicked to my body. A flame ignited in my chest. I ignored it. But I couldn’t ignore the slight husk in her voice. “Little boy?”

Hell.

Mamie smiled indulgently. “Well, he was little at the time.”

“Must have been when he was two,” Sal said sotto voce.

I cut him a glare, and he winked at me before blowing a kiss.

“Two?” Mamie shook her head before sipping her coffee. “Non. My Titou was small for quite some time. It wasn’t until he started playing—” She cut herself off so quickly she nearly choked, her papery skin going pale.

Inside me, everything clenched and rolled. I was almost used to the sensation, it happened so often now. Almost didn’t make it remotely better.

A small wrinkle pulled between Emma’s brows, as she caught on that something was off.

But Mamie rallied quickly and pulled a wide, tight smile. “Playing, running, and so on must have given him an appetite for growing. And speaking of appetites, let us eat. Emma, darling, you simply must try one of these.”

Mamie liked a wide selection of treats, so there were assorted macarons, a plate of butter cookies half dipped in bittersweet ganache, candied-orange-and-cardamom cakes, and, my personal favorite, a paris-brest with praline cream and raspberries.