by Ava Miles
~ Dare Valley Meets Paris Mini-Series ~
Volume Three
Margie & Evan
© 2015 Ava Miles
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Margie Lancaster knows the truth about Evan Michaels and all his billionaire bad-boy ways. Despite the secret looming between them, she seeks to understand why he would gamble away a month of his life in a card game to become a “normal” person again. Soon, she discovers the man who supposedly has everything really isn't happy. As she learns more about this genius inventor hiding behind a lifestyle that secretly bores him to death, she falls even more deeply in love since Evan is doing everything in his power to court her in the City of Love herself. And the clock is ticking on her remaining time with him in Paris before she must return to open her new bakery in Dare Valley.
To Paris—for welcoming me back into its magical arms--and to all the marvelous people I've encountered there while writing these pages.
And to my divine entourage, who continues to show me how magical adventures taken in faith can be life changing.
Chapter 1
Discovering Evan Murray wasn’t the man she’d believed him to be had broken Margie’s heart.
As she stared out the window of the Paris apartment where she was staying during her baking apprenticeship, she continued to turn the problem around in her mind, looking for answers. Ultimately, she had to admit there had been signs he was keeping something from her. She’d chalked it up to them getting to know each other better.
In her wildest dreams, she’d never imagined he was a jet-setting billionaire—more a member of the wealthy elite than her estranged parents were.
Or that his real name was Evan Michaels.
He’d finally admitted he had money, but this…this was something different.
The streets of Paris didn’t look as welcoming to her now as she stared off into the distance, still numb from crying. Couples strolled hand in hand, and the sight of their happiness made her feel like her heart was being run over by the yellow cabs passing below.
Her phone buzzed again, and she knew it was Evan. She’d promised to call him after she got back from work, but hours had passed since she’d discovered his true identity in a fashion magazine at Boulangerie Ma Belle. She still couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. Belle had invited her to come home with her and Andre, but this was the kind of news that needed to be processed alone. Her boss, the master baker, was so enraged by the news of Evan’s deception that he’d offered to beat him up for her. If she hadn’t been so upset, it might have been sweet. Even though she’d only known the couple a few days, they already felt like old friends.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Margie and Evan had been entwined in bed after making love for the first time. She’d gone to her apprenticeship feeling as if she could barely make it through the hours she’d committed to working without seeing his seductive smile, feeling the sweet touch of his hand to her cheek as he stared at her. Evan didn’t stare at her so much as he stared into her.
Now confusion reigned inside her. She’d looked Evan up on the Internet after excusing herself from the bakery. Could this be the man she knew?
Her phone buzzed again, and she finally made herself leave the window. The phone was sitting on the small coffee table in front of the green sofa. She sank onto the cushions and tucked her legs under her before picking up the phone.
There were four texts from Evan. The first text had come an hour after her shift was supposed to have ended at the bakery.
Missing you like crazy. You must be baking more heavenly baguettes. I can’t wait to see you and share your bread like we did last night. Text me when you’re finished, and I’ll run over.
She brushed away more tears as she remembered feeding him the baguette she’d made with her own hands. They’d eaten the bread in bed together, and the act of sharing it had fed the soul connection between them—the one she couldn’t explain, the one she’d decided not to risk by asking lots of questions.
Like whom he worked for as an inventor. At least he hadn’t lied about that part. He was a famous inventor, so famous he’d made billons on top-secret devices used by the defense arms of major democratic nations. And the friend he’d talked about, Chase Parker, ran his company so he could focus on inventing.
According to Evan, he’d found his lost creative fire in Dare Valley, but that couldn’t be true if he was this successful, could it? When she thought of how she’d teased him about the painting tool he’d invented to increase the efficiency of the painting of her bakery in Dare Valley, for which she’d paid him a mere fifteen dollars an hour, her cheeks flamed. Little had she known that inventing wasn’t just a hobby for him.
Now she did, and she felt like she was staring at two men on a Janus coin. One was the endearing geeky guy she’d fallen in love with, who shared her excitement over Hot Cross Buns and moaned while eating her cinnamon rolls. This new one, the billionaire, wore designer clothes, raced fast cars, and hung out with famous fashion models. This Evan partied with the crème de la crème of the jet set in places like Monte Carlo and Saint-Tropez.
She’d grown up around people like that, and she hadn’t missed the lifestyle after leaving behind her parents’ legacy of squandering money and living from one party to the next. It wasn’t hard to imagine what Evan’s normal life was like. Except he didn’t seem like he would find the jet-setting high-society life fulfilling.
Something else confused her too. After reading about him online, it was hard to imagine why he would have chosen to be celibate for a month while in Dare Valley. There was photo after photo of him with some of Europe’s most gorgeous models, women who redefined the words cheekbones and pouty lips. He’d said it was a spiritual thing, like taking a time out. Since she’d done something similar a few years before, she hadn’t thought it odd.
And yet…
He wasn’t the playboy the media portrayed him to be. He was too sensitive, sweet, and romantic. Playboys didn’t confess to being geeks, and they certainly wouldn’t admit to having received makeover help from a friend.
If there hadn’t been so much evidence to the contrary, she would have said Evan Murray was the real man, and Evan Michaels the fake. There was more to the story. There had to be. What situation would inspire a billionaire to show up in Dare Valley, pretend to be a normal guy, rent a room from her, paint her bakery, and embark on a celibacy kick?
She knew her friends Rhett and Jane, the ones who’d supposedly convinced Evan to make the trip, probably knew the truth, and the fact that they’d kept it quiet cut her deep.
She forced herself to scan the final three messages from Evan. The last couple had arrived close together.
Hey! Since you’re a stranger to Paris, I’m getting a little worried here. Are you lost? Did a pickpocket snag your phone? Are you napping? I know you didn’t get any sleep last night. Please text me so I know you’re okay.
His concern normally would have made her as warm and airy as rising bread on a warm stove. But not right now. She felt paralyzed.
What was she supposed to do about him? About them?
His next message had her taking some deep breaths.
Don’t think I have stalker-like qualities. I’m worried, okay? I just checked, and the bakery is closed. Are you home? Are you sleeping? It’s been four hours since you were supposed to have left.
She glanced at the clock. It was nearing seven at night, she realized. There was no way she wouldn’t have contacted him by now if she hadn’t learned this news. He would know it. In his shoes, she would have been worried sick. Hadn’t
she been concerned when he came home late one night in Dare Valley? She felt a pinch of guilt.
But how could he have made love to her without telling her this? The thought was enough to restore the edge to her anger.
His last text confirmed she had to respond—at least briefly—to assure him she was okay.
I’m sitting at the café around the corner from you. I didn’t have the heart to ring the call box to your flat in case you fell asleep. I’ve decided to think you’re okay, but if I don’t hear from you by two a.m. when you have to be at the bakery...well…I’m going ape-shit crazy here.
She had to give him some points for not wanting to wake her. One thing she believed to be true was that Evan deeply cared about her. She just didn’t understand why he was keeping secrets.
Then it hit her. She’d poured out her sob story about her rich parents, telling him how much she hated their lifestyle. Then there was her reaction to the rich guy in the sports car who’d cut her off at the Denver airport. Was Evan afraid she’d see him differently once she knew he was a billionaire? Did he fear she’d turn her back on him?
She didn’t think she’d misread how deeply lonely and sensitive he was. Of course, she’d blamed that on him being an artist. But a lonely and sensitive guy would be afraid she’d reject him, and Evan had hinted at years of rejection before the makeover that had helped him become the man he’d always wanted to be.
What the hell was she going to do?
Buy time, she decided. She could use her jet lag, lack of sleep, and her new baking hours as an excuse until she had time to think things through. Too many emotions were running through her for her to make a sound decision now.
And she wanted to talk to Rhett and Jane to see what they knew. They owed her that much.
Bracing herself, she started to compose a reply. It would have to be something that wouldn’t alarm him. After erasing three different replies, she bit her lip and finally sent one off.
Didn’t mean to scare you. I did fall asleep and am still so tired, I can’t move. I’m sorry to bail, but I think I need to catch up on my rest tonight so I won’t be a zombie for Andre. I’ll be refreshed tomorrow and will let you know when I’m free. Thanks for understanding.
The latter part sounded a little stilted, but she didn’t feel up to second-guessing herself. Her phone immediately buzzed with his reply.
Whew! Thank God you’re okay. I was hoping that was all it was. My mind has been spinning horrible stuff. Can I get you anything? Drop off a meal? I promise I won’t stay. I know you need to sleep even though I want to be with you. I don’t think I’ve ever missed anyone this much. Is that crazy?
The screen blurred as tears filled her eyes, and she pressed the phone to her aching chest. He did care about her. She had to trust that.
She wiped the tears away and tried to think of a suitable reply to his message.
I’m too tired to eat. I’ll grab something before I head to the bakery. Get some rest too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
His reply didn’t come as quickly this time. In fact, she stared at her phone for a good seven minutes until it came through. She could almost hear his mind whirling, and since she now knew what an intricate mind it was, she expected he was trying to decipher her signals like he would a rough invention he’d created.
Okay, I’ll stop pestering you and let you get back to sleep. Don’t forget to set your alarm so you make it to the bakery on time. And…I’ll count the hours until we’re together again. Bonne nuit, cherie.
Her tears rose up again like a flood. She loved the practical man who’d reminded her to set her alarm. She loved the shy man who was so endearing and sweet he’d use a word like pester. And she loved the romantic man who’d said he was counting off the hours until they could be together.
When she was spent, she decided to call Jane rather than Rhett. Surely one woman would understand another woman’s predicament. The cost of an international call would be a small price to pay.
She explained why she was calling, and Jane immediately said, “Evan hasn’t told you yet? I was worried something like this might happen. Rhett and I wanted to tell you, but we’d made this bet…”
And so the whole story came out, leaving Margie light-headed.
After hearing about the side bet Evan had lost to Jane at poker—a bet requiring him to live in Dare Valley anonymously for a month on a small stipend…and, oh, stay celibate—she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. What would make a man like him bored and directionless enough to risk such a gamble?
She found herself admiring him for his resilience. Leaving his billionaire lifestyle behind couldn’t have been easy, even if only for a month. No one in her parents’ circle would ever have done it.
And yet Evan had followed through on the gamble and, in the process, captured her heart.
“I take it things have gotten pretty serious for you,” Jane said when Margie failed to respond.
“Yes,” she responded, her throat raw.
“I’m sorry for not telling you, Margie,” she said. “Evan said he was going to if you met up with him in Paris.”
“Maybe he just hasn’t gotten around to it yet.” That was easier to believe even though it still made her angry and sad. “I’ve only been here for three days. It was mere happenstance that I found out.”
“I’m not making excuses for him,” Jane said. “He should have told you.”
“I agree, but I think he’s afraid I won’t like him anymore.” Margie flashed back to the tense expression on his face as she shared her story about her parents.
“If he cares for you, he has to tell you.” Jane clucked her tongue. “I had to tell Matt I’d been Rhett’s poker babe. It wasn’t easy, but it didn’t stop him from caring about me.”
“How long did you wait to tell him?” Margie asked.
“Ah…longer than I should have, in hindsight. I…wanted to make sure I could trust him first.”
It was implied Jane had waited until she was sure of Matt’s feelings. Perhaps Evan had similar motivations.
“Thanks for telling me, Jane,” she said. “I need to go.”
“Margie, again, I’m sorry about all this. I know Rhett will be too.”
Rhett had given her more than one oblique warning about Evan before she left for Paris. At the time she’d written it off as overprotectiveness. “Tell him not to worry.”
“Rhett will want to take Evan to the woodshed for hurting you.”
Just like Andre. “Please tell Rhett I’m a big girl. I…want to handle this alone. And don’t contact Evan about this, okay? We…need to work this out.”
And they did. She just wasn’t sure how. After all, she was only in Paris for ten days, so it wasn’t like they were planning a future together. They both understood this thing between them would need to end. At least she thought they did. Her life was in Dare Valley, and his life was here. Now that she knew all his life here entailed, it was even clearer how far apart their lives were—geography aside.
“I’ll tell Rhett,” Jane said. “He won’t be happy, but I’ll make sure he understands.”
“Thanks. Now, I’m going to sign off before I have to take out a loan to pay for this call.”
“I’ll let you go. Good luck.”
After Jane hung up, Margie set her phone back on the coffee table and glanced at the clock. It was nearing eight now, and she had to be at the bakery at two. Maybe she should get some sleep after all, not that she was hopeful on that end. Her mind was racing like one of those fast cars Evan apparently liked to drive.
But still, as she stretched out on the couch, she remembered Evan’s practical reminder to set the alarm. The thought brought a batch of fresh tears to her eyes as she did as he’d suggested.
***
Evan was freaking out. There were no two ways about it.
As he sat at the outdoor table at the café near Margie’s apartment, Evan wanted to believe everything was okay. But he couldn’t.
All
his insecurities were looming large, and he kept thinking about how the girl he’d liked at MIT had stopped liking him because he’d been too…hell, too open about his feelings. And he’d never given himself over to a woman like he had with Margie. Until last night, he realized, he’d never made love to a woman before. Being with Margie had stripped him bare and then filled him all up at the same time.
When he hadn’t heard from her at first, he’d worried something was wrong. Had she lost her phone? His worry had only grown as the hours stretched by. She didn’t know Paris, and while he’d always thought it to be a safe city, his mind started to imagine the worst. So he finally gave in to the urge to make sure she was safe at the bakery. The sight of its dark lights and “fermé” sign had felt like a punch in the gut, as had the revelation that came next.
He hadn’t fully processed it the night before, but he loved her. He really loved her.
And now he felt raw and exposed, particularly since she didn’t know the truth about who he was. But maybe, just maybe, she’d forgive him if she felt the same way. Perhaps her heart would soften the news.
But her text about being tired had burrowed under his skin like a worm, and he couldn’t ignore the feeling she was blowing him off. What if she had decided to take a step back?
The thought killed him.
They had so little time left before she left Paris—seven days—and all he wanted to do was spend every moment with her. He didn’t know what he was going to do when she left. She’d given him back his creative fire, and now that fire inside him burned for her.
He decided to head home and regroup. Maybe painting would clear his mind so he could figure out the best way forward with her. He’d been testing out his latest iteration of the Paint Prep Mistress on his own apartment. Desperate to unlock the secret possibilities he knew were locked within his new creation, within the act of painting, he had taken to painting his living room wall various shades over the past weeks.
Thirty minutes later, as he stroked the walls the same shade of periwinkle Margie had selected for her bakery, the one he’d painted for her, he realized their time was too precious for him not to seek her out and find out what she was feeling. And tell her what he was feeling, all the garbled up mass of it lodged in his chest.
