Chapter Sixty-Seven
Luc
I’m coming, baby.
“H ey, baby, how’s Connecticut?” I lean back in my chair, the evening sunlight spilling through the glass window. Her voice on the line makes everything feel lighter.
“Connecticut is great. I visited my mom yesterday.”
“How did it go?”
“It was good,” she says after a pause. “We talked about a few things, but I’ll tell you more when I get home.”
Home . That one word holds more weight than she realizes. Paris is home to her now.
“But you won’t believe what happened.”
“I’m guessing you’re about to tell me,” I tease, leaning forward with a grin.
She laughs, that sound I’ll never get tired of. “The Duchess of Valmont reached out to me.”
“The Duchess?” I sit up straighter, trying to keep up. “What did she want?”
“She loved my wedding dress and wanted to know who the designer was because she wanted them to design her gown for an upcoming gala.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “She wants me to design her dress?”
“Yes, you.” Her laughter is soft. “Of course, you.”
I shake my head, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t know, baby… a duchess? That’s not exactly my scene. What if I can’t pull this off?”
“Lucien Kingley, stop it. You’re an artist. Look at what you created for our wedding—it was breathtaking. You can do this.”
“But designing for a duchess is different,” I say, still unsure. “What if I screw up?”
“You won’t.” She says it so firmly, so confidently, it almost erases the doubt buzzing in my chest.
I laugh nervously. “You sound so sure.”
“Because I am sure.” Her tone is softer now, like she’s willing me to believe it, too. “You’re brilliant, baby. You have this talent that’s unmatched. The Duchess saw it, too. She chose you. Now, show her why she made the right choice.”
Her words settle deep in my chest, pushing past my doubts.
“Okay.” I smile despite myself.
“Good. Because I can already picture it,” she says with a grin in her voice. “The Duchess of Valmont walking into her gala, stunning in a gown designed by my husband. They won’t know what hit them.”
“Your husband?” I repeat, a grin tugging at my lips. “I like the sound of that.”
“Yes, my handsome, talented, very sexy husband. I’m telling you, baby, you’re going to be bigger than Christian Dior. Your designs are going to be on the biggest runways.”
My laughter comes with a growl. “Mi sol, you can’t say things like that when you’re not here for me to thank you properly.”
She chuckles, and the sound only makes my body ache for her more.
“Now hurry up and come home before I come get you. I fucking miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Now go call her. She’s waiting for your call.” Her response is a little breathless, and it sends another wave of desire rushing through me.
“Okay, I will. Talk to you later. I love you.” I say it, not expecting her to say it back, but it’s okay. I’ll wait for as long as she needs.
“I love you, too.”
Everything freezes, every nerve in my body on edge. “What did… what did you just say?”
There’s a pause, long enough to make me question if it was real. And then, “I said…I love you,” she repeats quieter this time, but I heard her clearly.
Have you ever seen someone miss a step and tumble down a flight of stairs? That’s how my heart feels right now. I’ve been waiting to hear those words for so long, and now that I have, I need to see her. To look into her eyes when she says it. To kiss them off her lips. I need to hear them while making love to her.
“I love you so much, baby,” I say, already moving from my chair. “Stay right there. I’m coming.”
The call ends before she can protest.
I grab my briefcase, my feet leading me toward the door. I dial my assistant as I head for the elevator. “I need you to arrange a flight to Connecticut immediately.”
“Sir, that’s going to be difficult with such short notice—”
“Make it happen,” I snap. “The jet needs to be ready by the time I get to the airport. It’s a fucking emergency.” My tone is sharper than usual, but I can’t think straight now. I’ll apologize later.
The elevator door closes behind me, her words replaying in my mind. I love you.
My hand reaches around my neck to loosen my tie that suddenly feels too tight.
If I could have any superpower, it would be to teleport myself to her. The idea of waiting hours to see her feels like torture.
I close my eyes, gripping the briefcase tighter.
I’m coming, baby.
The hours on the plane blur together. My heart pounds with every replay of her voice in my head. It’s late when I land, my body aching from exhaustion, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is her. I need to see her. I need to hear her say it again. The thirty-minute drive to the hotel feels like a lifetime. Every red light, every traffic stop is a new test of my patience. My knees bounce against the floor of the car.
“Can’t we go any faster?”
The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror but doesn’t answer. I check my phone again, and it’s only been five minutes. How is that even possible? I groan, leaning back against the seat.
By the time we reach the hotel, it’s 1 a.m., and my chest feels like it might burst from the tension. I take the elevator up, every second dragging, until I finally stand in front of her door. My hand shakes as I knock and wait. Each second feels longer than the flight itself. Just as I’m about to knock again, the door opens slowly.
And there she is.
My whole world. My heart, standing in front of me in human form.
She’s wearing a simple shirt and shorts, her hair loose and slightly messy, her eyes heavy with sleep. But she’s perfect. So fucking perfect that I can’t breathe. My lungs feel like they’re caving in, and my legs might give out at any second.