11. Risotto #2
For a moment, I was back in one of those churches, sitting with twenty other Parisians in the stone nave while the yearning notes of a piano or violin echoed off the high arched ceilings and back down to our ears, drowning out the cacophony of the city outside and offering a little peace and beauty.
I turned back to Daniel with a smile. Unfortunately, all I found on his face was confusion.
“That was your favorite thing to do in Paris? Sunday piano recitals?”
I deflated. “I…was there to become a chef. On my days off, I usually practiced in my apartment. Sometimes I went to a museum with Louis. By the end of my time there, I really started to enjoy walking around the city, but…”
What else was there to say? Somehow, I didn’t think “I’ve struggled with a suffocating social anxiety since I was a child, so attending church concerts was actually a huge step forward for me,” would make particularly good banter.
“But what about becoming a better you?” Daniel tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture intimate. And practiced. “Tell me something real. Something that scared you. Something that made you feel alive.”
I searched for an answer that would satisfy him, but everything that had truly mattered to me in Paris—the quiet satisfaction of mastering a difficult sauce, the pride in earning my instructor’s grudging approval, the peaceful hours spent walking the Seine—seemed small under his expectant gaze.
He wanted a wild night, the kind Joni would have had. I opened my mouth to tell him the truth—that I had never had a night like that. Instead, something else came out.
“Once, I got invited to this underground party in…Montmartre, yeah. It was at this crazy warehouse where people did all kinds of performance art. I was there with a man, and the host gave us these pills. And we just…took them, and they made everything bright and happy, and we danced and kissed all night until probably six in the morning.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Daniel’s grin returned. “I knew you had a little adventure in you.”
I smiled weakly. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my adventure at all. It was a watered-down version of a story Joni told me about when she and Nathan first met. A night where they were pretending to be together, but their adventure had brought out something more.
For me, the story was simply fake.
Daniel’s hand slid down my arm, leaving a trail of warmth. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I’m really not .
“Let’s celebrate your homecoming properly, honey.” He started to pour scotch into his tumbler, then held it out for me to take. “I’ll just stick with the bottle.”
I eyed the brown liquid, nostrils flaring at the acrid scent. “Oh, I don’t…” I stood quickly. “Actually, could we maybe take a walk? It’s such a beautiful night, and I’ve been inside all day.”
Daniel looked up with the charming smile that I’d been in love with for ten years. “Of course. Whatever you want, gorgeous. Maybe we can greet the sunrise too.”
The gardens of Prideview were the type that took a hundred years to create.
A gravel path wound through them, leading from the main house and the garages, past the caretaker’s cottage near the far end of the property, around the pool and tennis courts, and down to the water’s edge.
Roses bloomed in careful geometric patterns around a central fountain that had been imported from Italy decades earlier, while heritage trees filtered moonlight into dappled patterns on the grass and gravel paths.
Beyond the formal gardens, a rolling lawn stretched toward the Long Island Sound, where a single sailboat drifted past, its white sail calling to the moon above.
Daniel’s hand was warm as he led me past the herb patch I visited almost every day, through the vegetable garden where I had picked kale for tonight’s salad, and around the bank of Rugosa roses I harvested in June to make extracts for his mother’s favorite cake.
I considered pointing out these things that were far more true to me than a stolen adventure. But something stopped me.
“I have a confession,” he said as we paused by the fountain. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night at the party. Hell, since the plane ride home.”
“You haven’t?” I was surprised. Nearly a week had passed since his spontaneous kitchen appearance, and I had only seen him once on his way out.
“Not for a second; I’m obsessed.” His eyes glittered like pools littered with pennies. “It’s like the universe was waiting for the right moment to put you in my path. Do you believe in that? Cosmic timing?”
The thing was, I did. I had for such a long time when it came to this man.
This conversation was right out of my dreams, but now that it was happening, I found myself saying: “I’m not sure.”
“I mean, what are the odds? You disappearing to Paris for a year?—”
“I didn’t disappear. Your family sent me,” I mumbled, but he just rattled on.
“—coming back transformed, and ending up in the seat right next to me on that flight? It’s like fate was giving us both a second chance.”
How could it be a second chance when we never had a first one?
Again, I kept my question to myself. There was something desperate in the way he said it, like he needed me to believe the story as much as he did.
“And then seeing you at the party,” he continued, stepping closer so his citrus scent washed over me again. “Marie, when we danced, when I felt you in my arms…it was like seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you.”
His hand found my cheek. I couldn’t help but lean into it, eyes closed as my heart gave a loud thump.
How long had I wanted this? Ached for it? Begged God, the fates, the universe to make this man see me?
“I kept thinking, how did I miss this?” Daniel’s voice was practically a whisper now. “How did I go all these years without noticing that you were right there, waiting for me to wake up?”
We stared at each other for a long time as his thumb drew over my cheekbone, then down to brush over my lips.
“I know it sounds crazy. Ten years too late and completely out of nowhere. But Marie…I think I’m falling for you.”
The words I’d dreamed of hearing for a decade hung in the air between us. This was the moment—the culmination of every fantasy, every secret wish I’d ever had.
“I’ve thought about you too,” I admitted, and it was true, even if the reality was more complicated than I could explain.
Daniel’s face lit up. “Really?”
I nodded. God, I’d always wanted him to look at me like that.
His gaze slipped to my mouth and stayed there. “May I?”
When he asked for permission, the last of my resistance melted. I nodded, and he pressed his lips to mine while his free arm circled my waist.
Daniel was kissing me. Kissing me for himself. Not because he was sent or told to do it. Daniel Lyons was kissing me because he wanted to.
This was supposed to be my first real kiss, my first everything. His mouth was soft, his touch was tender, and we were literally under the stars while a warm summer breeze serenaded us through the trees.
So why did I see Lucas’s intense glare when I closed my eyes? Why did I remember the insistent demand of Lucas’s tongue? The harsh growl, the bite of his teeth, the fervent exploration of his mouth?
Daniel’s kiss was pleasant. Sweet, even if he tasted like whiskey and seemed to be moving his lips in ways that had nothing to do with the shape of mine.
It felt rehearsed somehow. Lucas’s kiss had been fire and intensity, without pretense, like he was on the edge of losing control, which somehow made it that much better.
But it was fake, I reminded myself. It wasn’t real. This kiss, with Daniel, was.
When we broke apart, Daniel rested his forehead against mine, breathing hard. It was hard to ignore the alcohol on his breath.
“God, Marie,” he whispered. “You’re incredible.”
I smiled, trying to ignore the hollowness in my chest. This should be perfect. This was Daniel, finally seeing me, finally wanting me.
So, why didn’t it feel like the culmination of all my dreams?
“Come on.” He took my hand again. “The night is young.”
We continued down a path to the water. Daniel chatted about his travels, his friends, and his plans for the rest of the year, which mostly consisted of working on his golf game until he could escape to the family’s Telluride lodge for ski season.
His voice was warm and animated. I found myself genuinely enjoying his stories—mostly because they took the heat off me.
“Look.” He tugged me toward the pool house. “I want to show you something.”
He produced a key from his pocket and let us inside, where he flicked on a lamp, revealing a space that had been converted into a private retreat—plush seating, a small bar, walls lined with books and art.
I smiled. “When did this happen? Last year, it was just storage and a changing room.”
“I had it redone in April.” Daniel went to the bar to refill his glass now that his bottle was empty. “I needed a secret hideout. A place to take pretty girls. Or at least the prettiest one I know.” He held his tumbler toward me like a salute.
It was a legitimately lovely space. I could picture Daniel here, although I wasn’t sure how he would use it.
While I had no problem imagining Lucas with a book in hand, Daniel had always spent his time on the tennis courts or at the pool if he wasn’t dashing off on a boat somewhere. Downtime wasn’t really his thing.
But maybe he had grown up too in the year I was gone.
The thought gave me hope.
“It’s lovely.” I ran my fingers over the soft fabric of a plush armchair.
“Not as lovely as you.”
Daniel’s hand slipped around my waist, begging me to turn to where he now stood behind me. He bent his head and kissed me again, this time with the fresh bite of scotch on his tongue.
“Daniel,” I murmured, placing my hands on his chest.
“Shh. Don’t overthink it, honey. Just let yourself feel.”