His Royal Quadruplets, page 2
I’m only vaguely aware of the people that pass by me, carried by a sea of words I cannot understand. Violin music floats down from an open apartment window. I see two children riding bicycles that remind me of ones that Nicole and I rode as kids.
The children are laughing, and calling out to one another, and I feel a burst of hope spring up in my heart.
Maybe I could make it here. Maybe I could fit in—one day. Maybe I could live here, in this beautiful, bright, old-fashioned city.
Another cluster of locals passes by and this time I catch sight of a boy, about Andy’s age.
My heart constricts.
I think of Andy’s smile. I think of the way his arms feel when they’re wrapped around me, delivering one of the hugs that I live for.
How will I survive, without seeing the look of joy and excitement in his sparkling eyes when he tells me about the highlights of his day?
Somehow, I’m going to have to get the hundred thousand from my account to Nicole’s.
But how?
I’m going to have to be clever about it.
I did go to college, for about two years, but money laundering was definitely not part of my coursework. I’m totally out of my league here.
If I go through with my plan and transfer the money from my account to Nicole’s, that could put Nicole at risk. I’m okay with putting myself at risk, but Nicole? That’s a whole other story. She’s Andy’s primary caregiver. Andy needs his mother.
Living without a mother is painful. I know that from experience, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
There’s no way I can put Nicole into jeopardy. Then how am I going to get the money into her account? How can I make this work?
If I do make it work, I’m going to have to stay out of the States for a long, long time. Possibly forever.
The aching sensation in my heart slows my feet. I come to a stop in front of a chocolate shop. I can’t think about Andy and Nicole. My fearful worrying is not helping my situation. I need to clear my mind.
Maybe chocolate will help.
I take a full twenty minutes to browse through the shop, and eventually I pick out three beautiful chocolates. I savor the rich milk chocolate as I continue on my way.
A desire to see more of the city, along with my growing hunger, prods me onward. I follow the scent of freshly baked bread around a street corner and then over a bridge. The delicious smell draws me down a quiet alley. There are fewer people here. The scent of the baked goods grows stronger, and finally I round a sharp bend in the alley and spot a couple sitting down at a small table for two. There are two plates of fresh pastry between them.
I inhale the smell of confectioner’s sugar, spices, and flaky crust.
My mouth begins to water. There’s a sign, propped up next to the cafe door, but I can’t read any of the writing.
I walk past the sign and the couple and take a seat in one of the small tables that’s farthest from the cafe door. It’s nearing five, and though the seating area is empty besides the one couple, I’m sure the cafe will grow busier as the evening progresses. I want to be out of the way, and I think this table will be perfect. It’s at the very edge of the roped-off area of cafe seating, and instead of facing the street, the single chair at the table faces a green area adjacent to the cafe, complete with marble statues and flowering bushes.
I’ve been walking for at least a few miles now, and it feels good to find a seat in one of the wicker chairs and remove my purse from my shoulder. A little laminated menu lies between a vase of flowers and napkin holder on the circular tabletop. I pick up the menu with a vague hope that I’ll recognize a word or two on it.
Sukerbolle
Banketstaaf
Bossche Bollen
Nope. I have no idea what any of these words mean.
I know I could use my phone to translate them, but if I turn my phone on, I’m sure I will be inundated with messages from Derek.
That’s the last thing I want right now.
“Excuse me, mademoiselle!”
I turn to look over my shoulder and spot a waiter bustling toward me.
“Oh, good!” I say. “You speak English. That’s perfect. I was just looking at the menu, and I can’t—”
“Mademoiselle,” he says, cutting me off. “Do you have a reservation?”
“A reservation? No, I’m just—”
“Up! Up!” he demands, waving his arm. “We do not accept walk-ins. You must go.”
“Excuse me?” I say, looking around at the dozen empty tables. “Are you really that busy? I won’t be long, I promise. I’ve had an extremely long day, and I’d just love to sit for a minute.”
“Up! Up!” he repeats, flapping his arms. “You do not belong here! We are a high-class establishment, and we serve private guests only. Not for tourists.”
His English is heavily accented, but despite the added lilt to each word, I can clearly tell that he thinks I’m not worthy of sitting at this table.
I’ve had about enough of that tone from Derek over the years.
I’m done with feeling unworthy. I didn’t fly across the globe only to be talked down to by another man with slicked-back hair and an attitude like he’s king of the world.
“I don’t belong here?” I say, repeating his words. “I’m a paying customer! Are you really telling me that every table is booked for the next half an hour?”
“No,” he admits. “We have space. It is early. But it is not space for you,” he sneers, looking down his nose at me. “Now, go.” He points to the street.
Irked, but knowing instinctively that I cannot win, I stoop down to gather my bag.
As I straighten up once again, I catch sight of a man just behind the waiter. He’s very handsome, tall and lean, with broad shoulders and just the right amount of muscle. He has light brown hair that sticks up straight and a bit haphazardly, and blue eyes that twinkle with kindness as he says, “Beg your pardon?”
The waiter whips around. “Luca!” he gasps, more to himself than anything. Suddenly, his face changes, and he is the model of humility.
“Sir! I didn’t see you there!” he says, in a completely different tone than what he was using to address me. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I couldn’t help but overhear that you were asking this young woman to leave.”
“Yes, sir. Of course. As you know, we cater exclusively to our private members, like yourself.”
“Of course,” the stranger says. “And you also serve my guests. Could you please bring a second chair over, so that I can join my friend?”
“Your… friend?” The waiter’s tone is now skeptical. He turns to me. “This is your friend?”
Just behind the waiter, the tall, handsome man—Luca, by the sounds of it—looks at me as well and delivers a wink.
I feel a flutter in my heart, and a smile threatens to play across my lips.
I hold it back and fix my gaze on the waiter. “Yes, I am!” I say as I set my bag down once again at my feet. “I’m here with… with Luca.” I turn to the handsome stranger, who is smiling now, and issue a wave. “I’m so sorry that I’m late, Luca,” I say. “I hope you weren’t waiting for long.”
“Not long at all,” Luca says. “I just took an extra walk around the block because I didn’t see you here when I first arrived.”
“It’s a beautiful day for walking,” I say, feeling stunned at the turn of events.
The waiter looks stunned, too, as Luca grabs a chair from a nearby table and places it next to mine.
Luca claps the waiter on the back. “On second thought, don’t worry about the chair. I’ve got it. But we will take a bottle of your best wine.”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter says. “Let me go get that right away.” He then turns to me and gives a subtle bow. “I’m sorry, ma’am, for my earlier behavior. I thought—”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it,” I say, grinning more broadly now.
As the waiter bustles away, Luca chuckles, and I laugh softly, too.
“Thank you,” I say. “That guy was about to lift me up by my tourist elbow and physically remove me from the premises.”
“I could tell,” Luca says.
He eyes me. I meet his gaze and am struck by the depth of his smoky blue eyes.
Once in a while, I meet a person who I feel like I already know. It’s a strange sensation that hits me deep in my core. This man, though I’ve never met him before in my life, feels strangely familiar.
I pull my gaze away and reach for the menu. “I had no idea this place was just for private members,” I say. “I couldn’t read the signs, and to be honest, I think my brain is a bit foggy from traveling. So thank you again. You rescued me.”
“It’s nothing,” he says, with a wave of his hand. “I think it’s a bit ridiculous that these places are so exclusive, but the food is so good that I put up with the bit of snobbery.”
I nod. “Prioritizing good food… I completely get that.”
He laughs. “A woman after my own heart,” he says.
I lift the menu. “The problem is, none of the items on this menu look familiar to me. I’ll have no idea what I am ordering.”
“I can help you with that,” he says.
He scoots his chair closer to mine, and I feel butterflies stir in my stomach. I sense the heat of his body as he reaches toward the menu I’m holding and gently lifts it, turns it around, and then places it back in my hands.
“There we go,” he says. “The other side was breakfast items. Here we have appetizers, dinner, and desserts.”
His fingers brush mine as he releases the menu. I feel myself blush as I glance over at him. He’s only a foot away from me now, and his closeness is giving me a head rush. His profile is gorgeous—chiseled jaw, handsome chin, kissable lips, a fine nose, and those eyes that hold so much life and kindness.
I look away quickly before he can catch me staring. As I look back to the menu, I see that at last my hand has stopped trembling. I’m actually relaxing.
This attractive stranger has completely captivated me—to the point that my own troubles are beginning to fade.
It feels wonderful.
In fact, I think Luca may be just the distraction I need.
Chapter 3
Phoebe
I pretend to look over the side of the menu that Luca has presented to me, but really, I’m trying to resist the temptation to glance at him again and take in more of his handsome profile.
I think my ruse works, because he says, “I can translate for you, if you like. I know that the names of our local dishes must confuse you.”
I nod. “Thank you,” I say.
“Order whatever you like,” he says. “It’s my treat. I’m Luca, by the way.”
I look up at him and our eyes meet. “Phoebe,” I manage.
“It’s nice to meet you, Phoebe,” he says, his voice soft and intimate.
From the tone of his voice, you’d think the two of us had known each other for years. I feel excited, nervous, and comforted all at the same time. What is it about this man?
I point to an item at the bottom of the menu. “This looks like it has the word ‘chocolate’ in it. Is it a dessert item?”
He leans closer to read the item I’m pointing too. “Ah… that’s a chocolate pastry, similar to a croissant. The filling is very rich—a mixture of chocolate, cream, and hazelnuts.”
“Oh… that does sound good,” I say. “How about this one?” I point to another item.
Luca patiently describes three more desserts to me, and by the time the waiter arrives with a bottle of white wine, I’ve decided on the one that I want.
I giggle after trying to pronounce the dessert bread that I’ve chosen, Fryske Sukerbole, and Luca has to repeat my choice to the waiter so that he can understand. Luca orders a crepe for himself and two glasses of ice water as well.
After the waiter departs, Luca pours two glasses of white wine and hands me one. “Good choice,” he says. “You’re not going to be disappointed.”
I grin. “As long as it’s sweet, I think I’ll be happy. I have a bit of a sweet tooth—especially when I’m stressed.” I glance at my hand, which is curled around the stem of my wine glass. It’s still tremble-free. Being around Luca is certainly helping me to forget my troubles. This wine may help, as well.
I lift the glass and take a sip. The flavor is smooth, fruity and refreshing. It may be the best wine I’ve ever tasted.
“I hope you’re not stressed now,” Luca says. “It’s too beautiful of an evening for that.” He leans back in his chair, lifts his own glass, and sips as he examines me.
I feel his eyes roam over my features and then subtly take in my body.
Though he’s just called the evening beautiful, I feel like his compliment was also addressed to me. I adjust the straps of my tank top, happy I decided to wear one of my nicer black tops and a colorful skirt. For some reason that I can’t quite put into words, I want to impress this man. I want to please him.
I focus on my wineglass as I savor the feel of his eyes on me.
“I’m… well… I think I’m relaxing a bit,” I say. “It helps to be out in the fresh air…” With you, I want to add. I don’t. I leave it unspoken, but I sense that Luca picks up what I’m trying to convey. I like his presence, here at my table. I’m glad for this unexpected visit. I thought I needed some time alone to clear my head, but I’m surprised to realize what a welcome gift his company is.
I don’t know him, but I can tell how friendly he is.
I like that.
He sips his wine and remains quiet. His silence makes me feel comfortable. He’s giving me the space I need to open up.
“It’s been a difficult few days,” I admit.
“Stressful,” Luca says. “I’ve been there. I understand.”
I nod. “Yes. Extremely stressful.” I sigh.
At that moment, the waiter returns with two plates. He sets them between us, and then places tall glasses of ice water on the table as well.
As the waiter departs, Luca’s eyes meet mine again. “Is it something you want to talk about?”
I reach for my fork. I know that I can’t actually reveal my predicament, but I feel grateful that he asked.
“I… I think I may have made a slight mistake,” I say. That’s the understatement of the century, I think as I nip my fork into the bread. Could one hundred thousand dollars really be referred to as slight? “I’m not sure. It all happened really fast, and I’m still trying to process everything.”
Luca nods and doesn’t press me for details, which makes me feel relieved.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” he says. “I know a thing or two about that.” He slices into his dessert as well and takes a bite.
We both eat for a few minutes. I can see why this small cafe is so popular among Westegaard’s wealthy set. The baked good before me is absolutely divine—sweet, but not too sweet. Moist, dense and rich, it goes perfectly with the wine.
Luca’s words ring in my mind. He seemed sincere when he said them. He’s made mistakes in the past. What kind of mistakes? What is it, in his past, that he regrets?
He didn’t press me for details, so I know I can’t press him. Just as I don’t want to reveal my mistakes, he clearly doesn’t want to reveal his. I have to respect his privacy.
After a moment, Luca says, “I have learned one thing over the years, though. Mistakes can be fixed. It’s never too late to right a wrong.”
His statement settles between us, calming my nerves even more than the sugary carbs I’m eating. Maybe Luca is right. What I’ve done isn’t beyond fixing. After all, Derek does not even know that I took the money yet. Even if he found out, I could say it was a mistake. Maybe I could tell him that I tried to transfer ten dollars, for coffee that I purchased on my own card, but I typed in too many zeros by mistake.
Way too many zeros.
My head is spinning. I tell myself that I don’t need to figure this out right now. This isn’t a time for making any big decisions. I’ve done enough of that over the past few days. Right now, I just need to try to clear my head, relax, and enjoy the good company I’m keeping.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I attempt to focus only on the sweet dessert, the refreshing wine, and the sensation of sitting so very close to my handsome new friend.
I get the distinct feeling that Luca is enjoying my company as much as I’m enjoying his.
As the minutes pass, the golden sun sinks lower in the lavender sky.
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful sunset,” Luca says. “We’ve had a few days of rain, but tonight is going to be warm and clear.”
“I can’t believe the sun is already going down,” I say. “My internal clock is completely out of whack. I feel like it’s about noon. On top of that, I just had a nap, so I sort of feel like I’m just getting my day started.”
I lift my arms and stretch and sense Luca’s gaze drift over my body. A tingle of pleasure flits through me.
“I have an idea,” Luca says as he reaches for my now empty wine glass and begins filling it. “Let’s have one more glass of wine here, and then I’ll show you some of the city. I know the perfect place for watching the sunset—the Michel de Soult bridge, which is just a few blocks to the east. Then I can show you around for the rest of the night. What do you think?”
I lift my glass and grin as I bring it to my lips. “That sounds absolutely perfect,” I say.
An hour and plenty of laughs later, I feel more relaxed around Luca. He pays our bill and then leads me down a series of winding streets, each more beautiful and quaint than the last.
I feel like I’m walking through a picture postcard of a European town as we walk past historic buildings, beautiful gardens, riverside parks, and antique stone bridges. The spot Luca had in mind—a little lookout alcove on a long, curving bridge made of white stone and decorative iron—is indeed the perfect place for watching the sunset.
I snap several photographs of the sun as it slips below the river and cityscape, but most of my focus is on the feel of Luca as he stands next to me, leaning against the bridge’s railing. I can feel his hip, in the place where it is ever so slightly brushing against me. Just as the sun finally dips below the horizon, he reaches for my hand.
