“No, you weren’t,” Lucien replied. “But again, I hardly see how my preferences—or shortcomings as a man—apply to you.”
“Because I have more shortcomings.”
“You worry that you can’t be faithful to Francesca?”
“No,” Ian responded grimly. “It’s not that at all. She’s everything I want. Another woman would never do, now that I’ve touched Francesca.”
Lucien experienced a flicker of envy.
“I don’t understand your hesitance, then. If you know you can be faithful to Francesca, what’s the problem?”
Ian grimaced and glanced away. Lucien sensed his hesitation . . . his bitterness. “I feel that I might poison her somehow after a lifetime of association with me. I thought you might understand. I know how ashamed you are of what your father did, of his crimes. I, too, have a sort of . . . taint on me that I feel I can’t make disappear. It’s in my blood,” he added irritably, glancing at Lucien. “I know. I realize how melodramatic I sound. But Francesca is so . . .”
“Fresh. Genuine. Lovely,” Lucien supplied when Ian faded off.
“She is light itself. And I’m not.”
For a second, neither of them spoke as Lucien absorbed Ian’s words. A powerful kinship with the other man rose in him, an amplification of a connection that neither of them spoke of but seemed to mutually sense from their first meeting. They shared dark souls, stained from the moment they first drew breath in this world.
“I just feel that if Francesca and I marry, no matter how happy we are, a dark cloud hovers on the horizon. My decision to bind her to me could change things, open up”—Ian paused as if trying to find the words—“un sac de nœuds.”
Lucien smiled sadly at the French phrase—a sack of knots. He thought of Elise out there in the kitchen. He sighed resignedly. Well, sometimes there was nothing for it. Knots must be untied, one by one, no matter how intimidating the task. He would not back down from his personal sac de nœuds now that it’d been shoved in his face so provocatively by gorgeously packaged trouble.
“Who isn’t afraid of the future when making such an important decision?” Lucien asked quietly. “You must believe in yourself and your ability to make your own fate. Everything else is bowing down to fear.”
A strange look came over Ian’s fierce expression, a distant light dawning in shadow. “You think it’s just a matter of cold feet then?”
“I do. You must trust in yourself. You must trust in Francesca.”
Ian’s glance was like a blue-skied storm. “In Francesca, I have complete trust.”
In myself, I have precious little.
Lucien remained seated as his friend gave his thanks and left the room, the unsaid words ringing like a familiar echo in his head, the voice his own—not Ian’s.
* * *
The lunch rush had died out by the time the elegantly dressed woman who had introduced herself as Sharon Aiken entered the kitchen.
“Lucien has asked to see you in his office, Ms. Martin.”
Elise paused in the process of arranging vegetables on a plate of grilled shrimp and pearl couscous.
“Can’t it wait?” she asked warily. She’d been expecting the summons from his royal highness, but that didn’t make hearing it now any easier.
“Lucien says Evan can finish up for you. There’s only one table left to serve. He says for you to report to him immediately. He has a polo match later this afternoon, and he wants to speak with you before you become involved in the dinner prep.”
“Of course,” Elise said, taking pains to keep her voice cool and professional when she noticed the pointed curiosity in Sharon’s expression. Obviously Lucien had warned the manager that Elise might try to wriggle out of a meeting with him.
You have given me no other choice. Consider your challenge accepted, ma fifille.
The memory of Lucien’s low, ominous threat played back in her head for the hundredth time. Well, the moment had come. What was he going to say? What was he going to do about her bold decision to show up here today, pretending to be his new chef? Part of her still couldn’t believe she’d done it. Another part—the part that had stared hopelessly at the rundown décor in the Cedar Home Extended Stay Hotel last night—told her that she’d had to do something, no matter how crazy or brash, to try to keep her dream for a future from dying. She would not concede failure this time. Lucien was a fearsome presence, but he was a familiar face in a country full of strangers. He was furious at her, but he would help her when no one else would.
Wouldn’t he? He sent you away once before.
Yes, but he’d said something about the dinner prep to Sharon, as if he expected Elise to be completing her day there. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Her brain had been spinning in overdrive ever since Ian Noble had walked into the kitchen earlier. She’d sensed Lucien’s edginess, even though he’d outwardly appeared calm. The voice of the strange man she’d heard in Paris echoed yet again in her brain.
You’re not feeling guilty, are you? About what you plan to do with Noble?
Had Lucien relocated his entire life to Chicago because of Ian Noble? If so, why? What did Noble have that Lucien wanted? It made no sense to her, given everything she knew of Lucien. Lucien was an extremely wealthy man in his own right, so she couldn’t imagine that his motives were financially motivated. Although extreme wealth never vanquished greed. If anything, it did the opposite, she thought, reminded of Lucien’s father.