Chapter 21
twenty-one
. . .
Bridger
Everything had been worked out before we even left Rosewood River for Paris. My meeting was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and the antique dealer wrote back that they could meet with us tomorrow afternoon.
Emilia had finally relaxed, after asking Lars endless questions about the safety of the plane.
She’d then chatted for an unusual amount of time with the flight attendant because she couldn’t believe how fabulous the onboard snacks were.
She’d then grilled me some more about what we’d be doing and where we’d be staying, and then, without warning, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
She was a fascinating woman, to say the least.
I’d worked in the seat beside her for the last few hours while she slept.
I couldn’t help but look over at her a few times.
There was something very angelic about Emilia.
She looked incredibly peaceful in her sleep.
Her cheek was pressed against the pillow on the seat, her dark hair standing out against her fair skin as it framed her face before falling down around her shoulders. Her lips were pink and plump, long black lashes curled where her lids were closed.
She was stunning, no doubt about it.
Her scent was consuming my every thought, as jasmine and vanilla had now become something I craved. I hoped that taking this trip together would get her out of my system.
Typically, the more time I spent with someone, the more annoyed I’d become.
I wasn’t a patient man, so I was just waiting for that irritation to set in.
I’d actually found it very endearing that she worried about the cost of the mantel, even though I’d made it clear that she could spend whatever she needed on this project.
Yet, she was still being diligent about everything she purchased. It said a lot about her.
“Mmmmm.” A soft moan left her lips, and I quickly turned to look at her. Her hands moved together and found their way beneath her cheek, resting against the pillow.
Emilia Taylor looks like a fuckin’ angel.
I’d been surprised that she wanted to sit in the seat beside me, when we had the whole plane to ourselves. I figured she’d want to stretch out. But I think she’d been nervous about being on a small aircraft, so she’d taken the seat next to mine.
I spent another hour working on the proposal for my meeting tomorrow with a technology company that was interested in some software we’d recently developed.
Emilia moved beside me and sighed, and I glanced over to see her stretching her arms over her head and yawning.
“Hey,” she whispered. “How long did I sleep?”
“A few hours. Cecilia is about to bring dinner out, so you woke up just in time.”
I tucked my laptop back in my briefcase, just as two trays of filet mignon, scalloped potatoes, and salad were set in front of us. We’d both ordered a glass of chardonnay, and we reached for our glasses at the same time.
“I can’t believe I slept so long,” Emilia said. “This looks delicious.”
“You’re clearly tired. Are you not sleeping enough?”
She shrugged. “I’m excited about this new project, so I’ve been working late every night, and then I’m up early to get to the flower shop.”
She cut into her steak and groaned after she took the first bite. “This is so good.”
“So what’s the deal with your mother being so critical?” I asked. I’d thought about what she’d shared last night, and it fit with what I’d witnessed that day at her flower shop.
“I don’t really know? It’s just her thing, I guess.” She was quiet, as if the topic was painful to talk about.
She’d mentioned my family being perfect, and me not being able to understand her situation, which I’d thought about ever since she said it.
“I know it looks like my family is perfect, but nothing is perfect, Emilia.”
She nodded. “I’d say you guys are pretty damn close, from what I’ve seen. That’s probably why ‘The Taylor Tea’ writes about you so much.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, cutting another piece of steak and popping it in my mouth.
“You don’t see them writing about me, do you? People love to hear about perfect people. Perfect lives. They try to find faults and cracks, and they love to see people who are doing well fall, unfortunately. It’s human nature. So it’s actually a compliment that you’re always a topic.”
Something about her words made my chest tighten.
“Everything isn’t always as it seems.” I reached for my wine glass and took a sip as she peeked up at me through a curtain of dark hair.
We sat in silence for a little stretch, before I added to my thought. “My parents aren’t my biological parents.”
She set her fork down and turned to face me. “I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t know about it. It’s not really something we advertise. I mean, my parents are Ellie and Keaton Chadwick in every way. They’ve raised me from birth.”
“So they adopted you after you were born?” she asked, and it was impossible to miss the empathy in her dark blue eyes.
“My biological mother is Ellie’s sister. Her name was Bridget, and I was named after her. She died giving birth to me.” My gaze locked with hers as I waited to see the shock and horror on her face. The acknowledgment that my birth was a tragedy.
But it never came.
Just more empathy and sadness as her eyes welled with emotion.
“I’m so sorry.” She swiped at the tear moving down her cheek. “What about your dad? Where is he?”
“He couldn’t handle the grief. He and I moved in with my now parents, and apparently, he spiraled immediately.
I hadn’t seen him in years, and then he lost his battle to drugs and alcohol eventually.
I think he probably blamed me for her death.
I’m fairly certain that I was a reminder of what I took from him. ”
She blinked several times and shook her head. “No one would blame a baby for that, Bridger. He probably just couldn’t handle losing his wife.”
I blew out a breath.
Why was I telling her this shit?
I didn’t even talk about it with my siblings. Obviously, they all knew what had happened, but it was never discussed. At least not with me.
“Anyway, I’m just letting you know that no one is perfect. So don’t be so hard on yourself.”
I took another sip of wine. The conversation was way too heavy for my liking.
Hell, I preferred silence.
But here I was telling her things that I despised talking about.
“Thank you for sharing something so personal with me.” She used her napkin to dab her eyes.
“If it ends up in that fucking column, I will have a fancy toilet delivered daily to your home just to torture you,” I said dryly.
I expected her to get mad at me for even suggesting that she wrote the column after all this time.
But she didn’t.
Instead, her gaze softened, and she reached for my hand, placing her small one over my large one and squeezing it.
“You can trust me, Bridger.” She didn’t pull her hand away, and I didn’t move mine.
Because for whatever reason, I did trust her.
And those words didn’t come easily to me.
Emilia Taylor was not who I’d thought she was.
I’d been wrong about her for years.
As if she could read my thoughts, her lips turned up in the corners and she smiled. “Thank you for trusting me, too,” she whispered.
Cecilia startled me when she came up beside me and cleared my tray.
Emilia pulled her hand away and reached for her wine glass.
After Cecilia had cleared everything, she let us know we were starting our descent.
“I can’t believe we’re almost in Paris. This is wild,” Emilia said, staring out the window.
“Are you excited?” I asked.
“I am. I’ve dreamed about coming here for a very long time. And the fact that we’re going so close to Christmas is even more special.”
“Why?” I asked.
She turned to look at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. I used my hand to press against the bottom of her chin, closing her mouth. “It’s not polite to gape at people, Emilia.”
She chuckled and smacked my hand away, and I quickly responded by wrapping my large hand around her wrist and catching her off guard.
Why did I feel the need to touch her?
I couldn’t help myself.
It wasn’t even a want at this point. It was a need.
She flailed her hand to get her wrist free, but my fingers wrapped around hers. Holding it still. “Tell me.”
She didn’t fight me as I placed our hands on my knee.
“The city will be illuminated with lights. The Eiffel Tower and Champs-élysées are supposed to be even more spectacular this time of year. They have holiday markets, and ice skating in the park,” she said with a goofy smile on her face. “I was up most of the night reading about it all.”
“This is why you’re so tired?”
“Probably. But who even cares. We’re almost in Paris. I don’t care if I sleep at all while we’re there. I want to see as much as I can in the one day we have.”
“We could stay an extra day if you’d like. I can work from there.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t let her mouth fall open, which made me laugh.
Quick study.
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“I would have to text Beatrice.” She shrugged. “Are you sure you can handle three days being stuck with me, Bridger Chadwick?”
My tongue swiped out along my bottom lip, and I closed the distance between us. I spoke against her ear, my lips tracing the shell of her lobe. “I’m sure. Text Beatrice.”
She nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.
Okay, angel.