Chapter 29
Tara
It’s ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Gustave de Valois—Count, aristocrat, patron of the arts, fixture of European gossip pages—has been working as a server in my father’s restaurant for a month.
A whole month.
He balances plates now without dropping them, he says “gracias” with a French accent, and he even laughs when my cousins mock his attempts at rolling tortillas.
And I love it.
Every day I tell myself not to give in, not to let him back into my heart. And every day he chips at the walls I built.
One night, after the dinner rush, I find him sweeping. Yes, Count de Valois sweeps the floor and does it damn well.
“Bonjour, mon amour.” He leans on the broom like it’s a cane. “How’s the Liotard doing?”
“Very well.”
“Come here.” He crooks a finger and beckons.
I walk up to him, swaying as I do. Alarm bells are going off in my head. This is wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
I stop a foot away.
“Closer,” he murmurs, his eyes heated. My body responds. My clit throbs.
I should walk away. I should tell him that no amount of sweeping or smiling or French charm will erase what happened.
He tips his head slightly, eyes searching mine. “Tara.”
“I’m afraid of getting hurt,” I whisper.
He sets the broom aside and steps forward until we’re toe to toe. His voice drops to a whisper meant only for me. “Believe me when I tell you that I will never hurt you again, not intentionally.”
Before I can respond, his hand slides up my arm—slow, reverent—and cups the side of my neck. His thumb traces the line of my jaw, his breath warm against my cheek.
I freeze, every muscle coiled tight.
“Gustave—”
He stops, waiting, eyes locked on mine. He’s waiting for me to give him permission, and that’s what undoes me. The patience. The quiet certainty that he’ll take no more than I give.
So, I lean in.
The kiss is soft at first—testing, cautious—but the second my lips part, it deepens. His hand slides into my hair, the other wrapping around my waist as if to remind himself I’m real, that he’s allowed to hold me again.
For a moment, the world outside the restaurant doesn’t exist. There’s no gossip, no Louvre, no Simone. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator, the brightness of lime and cilantro lingering around us, and the way my pulse races beneath his touch.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. His forehead rests against mine, both of us caught in that fragile space between forgiveness and desire.
“I missed you,” he says simply.
My throat tightens. “Am I going to regret this?”
He smiles wanly. “Non, mon amour. I’ll never let you do that.” His voice is low and raw when he continues, “I was a fool. Worse, I was a coward. I let the world dictate my life. I let them cost me you. Jamais plus*.”
“And what if I don’t move back, Gustave? What if Paris is behind me?”
He doesn’t even blink. “Then I’ll make it work from here. I’ll fly back and forth if I must. I’ve already told my parents that I love you, Tara. They know and—”
“And they disapprove, don’t they?” I close my eyes as I cut him off.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I feel so terrifyingly sad that he has to change his life, give so much up to be with me. How can it be worth it?
“My parents are not important to me. You know who is?”
“Who?” My voice is small.
“You and Aubert.” He strokes a finger down my cheek. “And he adores you. Your family has all but adopted him.”
My laugh comes out shaky. “But your family—”
“Can go fuck themselves,” he finishes. “Mon dieu, Tara. Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that I don’t care?”
I step away from him.
I see the hurt in his eyes. It’s devastating. I don’t want to cause him pain. I didn’t even think I could.
Stop lying to yourself, Tara. He’s here. He’s been here, sweeping Mi Tierra’s kitchen floor, making friends with your family, being here with you and for you.
I move closer and put a hand on his chest. “I don’t want you to give up your life for me.”
He grabs my hand. “Can’t you understand that you give me life? Without you, what I have isn’t worth living, Tara.”
My whole being is flooded with his warm words. “How would it work? You’d live on planes? That’s insane.”
“Is it? I don’t think so. I have the resources to live on planes and do whatever the fuck I want.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll call my lawyer—see how soon I can get a visa to live here…a Green Card?”
I am stunned, no other word for it.
This man, who was born into gilded salons, is in my father’s Mexican family restaurant with rolled-up sleeves, discussing visa paperwork while holding a freaking broom.
He leans over, kisses me softly, then speaks into his phone. “Oui, Anthoine.”
“Tara,” Papi calls from the doorway to the kitchen.
“Sí, Papi.” I walk up to him while Gustave continues his rapid French with Anthoine—his lawyer, I assume.
Papi sets his hands on my shoulders, his expression serious, kind. “Mija, a man doesn’t do this unless he means it.”
“This?” I ask, feigning confusion.
He exhales, eyes lifting toward the ceiling. “Cleaning my floors, serving guests, showing up every day. He’s breaking our hearts, trailing after you like a lost puppy.”
A shaky laugh escapes me. “I can see what he’s doing, Papi. But…what if he gets stressed about gossip again? What if— I don’t know—his ex becomes a problem? What if—”
“If he loves you, none of that matters,” Papi cuts in smoothly.
“Mija, love doesn’t mean no fights. It means you fight together.
When there’s love, when there’s a good foundation, you can overcome anything.
He’s here to build that foundation. You need to decide if you’ll keep fearing what might go wrong—or start trusting what’s going right. ”
I look back toward Gustave. He’s laughing into the phone, voice warm and sure. I catch fragments of his conversation.
Yes, I’m considering a base in Los Angeles…or somewhere in the States.
It depends on where Tara works.
Naturally, I’ll go back and forth.
Let’s start the visa paperwork.
My breath snags, the space inside me drawing taut. I turn to my father, my voice small. “I love him, Papi.”
He smiles, his eyes soft. “Then you already have your answer, mija.”
He wraps an arm around me and presses a kiss to my forehead, and in that simple gesture, everything inside me settles.
* Never again