I looked at him. “Would that be so bad?”
His eyes danced from one of mine to the other and back for several beats. He said nothing, just searched me for what I didn’t know. Then, slowly, like the sun rising after a hurricane, his face lit up. “You know what? If that’s what you want, then that’s what I want too. Besides, hell, I’ve been shot more than Tupac.”
I squealed from joy and hugged him. He squealed because it hurt and pushed me away.
“Sorry, sorry.” I gently patted him while he took great gulps of air, trying to clear his head of the pain. When his eyes had cleared of tears, I said, “For what it’s worth, I hate flowers.”
He turned to me, his face contorted with confusion. “Then what?”
I pulled out my phone and showed him my banking app. It provided me with a rough estimate of my total holdings. “Here’s my current balance.”
“This … this is in what? Yen?”
“No, silly, that’s Euros.”
A wave of quiet washed over the room. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he asked.
“Grand-père insisted I make you sign a prenuptial agreement before I told you. But I don’t want to do that.”
“I insist that you do.”
“Pourquoi?” I’m not certain why it hurt my feelings. Perhaps it was because I thought the simple revelation of my grandfather’s wishes had permanently changed things and reduced the sweet, clear jazz of our relationship to the droning drumbeat of a business meeting.
“Why? Because I want to love you for you, not because you’re rich.”
I folded my arms. “I thought you already did.”
“I do. This makes sure I never take you for granted.”
“It feels like blackmail. I always thought that what was wrong with Jette’s marriage. Her husband was always jealous, always wanting the riches he couldn’t have.”
He pulled me to him with his good arm and set a smile to his lips that quickened my heart. “One day, when I’m old and gray and I die in your arms, you’ll understand what a treasure you’ve already given me.”
“So, it’s not just because I’m French?”
“No, silly woman. To be honest, the more I’m with you, the more French I’m becoming myself.”
I kissed him, pulled myself away, and lifted my gown over my head. “You know,” I whispered, “you have no injuries below the waist.”
“Then, get on the love train, baby.”
He kissed me again as I climbed aboard. Next stop, forever.
The Little Burgundy: A Jeanne Dark Adventure Page 34
