42. Raspberry and Rose Tea
RASPBERRY AND ROSE TEA
*use hot water, but don’t boil, to keep it sweet.
T his was the real bomb. Not Lucas’s shouts at the river or even our mutual confessions of love.
The word “baby” hung in the air between us, as physical as the little bump growing under my skirt.
For the first time, I couldn’t read any part of his expression. It wasn’t closed—in fact, it was more open than maybe I’d ever seen. The combination was the mystery. Shock, certainly, but something else too. Something that sent my hand instinctively to the small curve below my waist.
Lucas’s eyes followed my hand. Above us, the first bells from the abbey called out across the valley, a clear signal to move on with the morning.
“We should keep walking,” I said. “The market will be crowded soon.”
Lucas would have to react at his own pace, just like I had at mine with his sudden appearance last night.
He nodded mechanically, falling into step beside me as we made our way up the hill and into the heart of the village. With every step, however, I could feel the weight of his gaze and hear the gears turning in his mind.
I focused on the path. Taking one step at a time, just like I had been doing for months.
This was the same route I walked every market day, past the ancient stone walls draped with winter ivy and the weathered wooden shutters painted in faded blues and greens.
Now, though, it felt like I was walking through a dream.
Or maybe a nightmare. I couldn’t tell yet.
I love you , I’d told him.
He’d said love didn’t cover it.
Would it be enough now?
We had just approached the main part of the village, where the road gave way to cobbled streets, when he finally spoke.
“Who…” His voice was hoarse, like he’d been yelling for hours, not a few moments. “The baby. Is it his?”
I frowned, genuinely confused. “Whose?”
“That…the musician? The one from last night.” He swallowed hard, as if, like bad-tasting medicine, it was physically painful for him to consider the option, but he knew he had to. “Jacques, I think his name was.”
Immediately, I stopped, grabbed Lucas’s hand, and pulled him to face me. The contact sent a familiar jolt of electricity up my arm; the same sensation I’d had the first time he touched me in the conservatory.
A mere few months ago.
It felt like years.
“Lucas,” I said slowly. Carefully. “I am not having Jacque’s baby.”
“Then…who?”
The look on his face wasn’t anger or accusation. It was bewilderment. Maybe even acceptance, like he’d finally realized he’d lost his chance with me and was trying to process how to live with that reality.
After the way he’d called my name like a prayer and practically begged for the future that maybe, just maybe, we could share together, I couldn’t bear that look on his face again. I couldn’t let him think for another second that this child—our child—belonged to anyone else.
I tugged him closer, then placed his hand on my abdomen, where the slightest curve could be felt beneath the fine wool of my skirt.
“Lucas,” I started again. “I am fourteen weeks pregnant. Which means I got pregnant three weeks before my birthday. And the same day we were together in London.”
I watched as realization dawned across his strong features, saw the exact moment when understanding landed. His free hand rose to grab at his already disheveled hair, and the hand on my stomach trembled.
“I—we—your first time?” he finally stammered.
I smiled, filled with unexpected peace. Odd, how things had changed between us.
Once I had been the one on the brink of the unknown, terrified of the future, while Lucas was so patient, so willing to guide me through its promise.
Now I was the one who stood firmly in that future, reaching out to him to join me in it.
I shrugged, trying to be casual, even though my heart was practically beating out of my chest. “They say that’s all it takes.”
“But…we used protection. Christ, I was so careful with you, and?—”
“And it doesn’t always work,” I said, my voice somehow steadier than I felt. Was I scared? Yes. But I was used to the feeling by now. I’d had a few months to acclimate to it.
To accept the circumstances.
Even love them.
The question was whether Lucas would feel the same, now that he knew.
His hand was still resting on my stomach like he was afraid to move it. I could practically see his mind working, calculating dates and probabilities and implications. Even when the world was shifting beneath his feet.
“We should go,” I said when the silence became too much. “Everyone will be wondering where breakfast is. My grandmother rarely gets up after eight, and it’s already seven forty-five.”
Lucas nodded and fell into step beside me as we continued into the village, winding up the medieval streets until we had reached the central square and the market that poured from it down one of the main streets.
Vendors were bouncing around, many of them like they hadn’t been sitting at my tables only a few hours earlier, soaked in the last remnants of brandy and persimmon tarte.
The familiar sights should have been comforting. Over the last few months, this had become my routine, my community. But with Lucas walking silently beside me, it felt like I was seeing it all for the first time, but through someone else’s eyes.
What would he think when I told him I planned to raise our child here instead of in New York?
Would he visit often?
Would he even be willing to stay together?
Would I ever get over the giant hole it would leave inside me if he said no?
I went through the motions of my usual market routine, trying to pretend everything was normal.
At the boulangerie, I bought fresh croissants and a loaf of pain de campagne, chatting with the Blanchets about the unseasonably dry weather while Lucas carried my purchases without being asked, but still saying nothing.
At the fruit stand, I selected clementines still attached to their stems, lemons for the hollandaise I planned to make for Christmas brunch, and a bag of hazelnuts for the tart I was testing for next week’s menu.
Lucas followed me the whole time like a shadow, even as we left the village and walked back to the chateau.
By the time we had crossed the orchard leading back to the front entrance, my anxieties were spinning out of control.
I needed to know what he was thinking. Needed to know if this changed everything between us, if the confession of love that had seemed so important an hour ago meant nothing in the face of this unexpected complication.
“Lucas,” I said, stopping under the pergola just as a light blinked on overhead, a sign that at least one of my family members or Louis was awake. “Please. Say something.”
He turned to face me then, and I was shocked to see tears sliding down his cheeks like raindrops on a window.
Lucas Lyons, who had built a business empire through sheer force of will. Who had never met a problem he couldn’t solve or a deal he couldn’t close. Who had a reputation for being cold, calculating, and emotionally unavailable.
He was crying because of our baby.
“Say something?” His voice was barely audible, choked as it was with emotion. “My God, Marie, I can’t—there aren’t enough words.”
My heart sank like a stone. He looked devastated. Trapped.
The last thing I ever wanted was to be that kind of person in his life. Lucas had had enough of the people demanding everything of him and giving nothing in return. I wouldn’t do that to him. I wouldn’t do that to our child.
“I don’t want anything from you.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “I promise, Lucas, I’m not trying to force you into anything, really. I don’t need money, and?—”
To my surprise, Lucas chuckled, even through the tears he was now dabbing off his cheeks. “Well, that’s good. Considering I have a whole lot less of it to offer.”
I frowned. “What?”
He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, and when he looked at me again, his expression was lighter. Joyful, even.
“That’s the other reason it took me so long to come here,” he said, his voice steadier now.
“I needed time to finish what I started. Marie, I divested from Lyons Corp. It took months to set everything up, but I transferred my shares to a trust to be run by a non-profit. I had to stay long enough to make sure everything would run smoothly once I was gone.” He held his hands out, broad palms up. “I’m practically penniless.”
I stared at him, certain I’d misheard. “You’re what ?”
“I gave up the company.”
I stumbled backward, enough that Lucas grabbed my arm.
“I’m fine.” I batted him away, but he didn’t let go. “I just don’t understand. Lucas, why would you do something like that?”
He tipped his head to the side, like the alternative hadn’t even occurred to him. “I had to. It cost me everything when it cost me you.”
I felt like I was walking through quicksand. Like the world around me was blurring together. This couldn’t be real. He wouldn’t have done that. Would he?
“I always hated it,” he went on. “It was never mine to begin with, just something that felt like a cage the older I got. Then you came along, and it was like someone gave me the key to the lock.” He looked around us, at my beautiful chateau, as if he still couldn’t believe he found himself here.
“When you left, I realized that the company had cost me everything I’d ever cared about.
So, for the first time in my life, I gave myself a choice about what I wanted.
And what I want is to be here in this beautiful place you’ve created.
I want to help you thrive, raise our child, and worship the woman I love.
I’ll sweep your floors, and make your bed, and do whatever it takes to make you happy.
That’s all I want. It’s all I’ll ever need. ”
The packages in my arms felt impossibly heavy, and I might have dropped them if Lucas hadn’t reached out to take them, set them on an outdoor table, then returned to take me by the arms and make me listen.
“Lucas—” I stuttered. “I don’t understand. How?—”
“I know I stole your first kiss,” he continued. “And maybe your first time too, although frankly, I consider that one a gift. But you stole a first of mine too, sweet girl. You stole my first love and took her to France. I was always going to get her back.”
The world seemed to tilt around me. In all my fantasies about this moment, about Lucas coming to find me, I’d never imagined this. Never dared to hope for this.
“Your first love ?” I repeated, barely above a whisper.
“My only love.” His voice cracked again. “I’m forty-one years old, and it took me this long to realize that I’ve never loved anyone until I met you.”
I couldn’t breathe. All this time, I’d thought I was just another woman to him. Another complication in his carefully ordered life. But if he was telling the truth…
“This place you’ve created…” Lucas looked around the rose-covered walls of the chateau, boxes planted with winter herbs, and the hand-painted sign that I’d lovingly restored.
Songe du Soir , indeed.
This was a dream, not a fantasy. I was living it, right now.
“It’s a proper home, a real life. Something that matters more than profit margins and market share.” His voice broke completely then, and fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. “I’ll do anything, sweetheart. Anything for one more chance to be right for you. To be a good man for our child.”
Tears of my own were falling now as I looked at him—this man who had walked away from everything he’d ever known.
Given up his empire for me.
For us.
“There’s a broom inside,” I said softly.
He looked up. “Is there?”
I bit back a smile. “And the floor needs sweeping.”
The storm clouds in his eyes cleared as the curve of a smile appeared. “Do they now?”
I nodded, feeling shy. Why now? I wasn’t that girl who lived in the shadows anymore, too afraid to speak, dream, or look in the mirror for fear of what she might see.
And Lucas had seen all of me, even when I hadn’t seen myself. He’d ripped me apart and put me back together. I had no doubt he would do it again in a thousand other ways in the years to come.
The morning sun climbed higher, warming the air and turning the frost on the windowsills into tiny diamonds. Inside, I could hear Nonna humming as she walked down the stairs, and a few minutes later, the familiar rumble of the espresso machine called us through the doors.
This was my home. My sanctuary. The place I’d built when I thought I had nothing. The place where I’d proven to myself how strong I could be.
And now Lucas was here, asking to be part of it.
I led him through the front door, where the broom indeed waited in the corner by the fireplace. Lucas picked it up, studying it like he’d never seen one before.
“I should probably warn you,” he said with a self-deprecating smile that transformed his entire face. “I’ve never actually swept a floor. But I’ll give it my best shot.”
I watched as he started moving it around in an odd, ineffectual, completely endearing manner.
“Stop.” I laughed. “Oh my God, I will ask you for literally anything else. You’re doing it all wrong. You have to sweep the—oh!”
The words were cut off as he swept me off my feet and into his arms, sending the broom to the floor with a smack against the tile.
Chuckling, he nuzzled into my neck as he murmured, “Hush, my sweet Marie. I’m sure we can find other things I’m good at.”
The endearment sent shivers down my spine and joy bubbling through my belly. Until Lucas, I’d never been anyone’s anything. I’d been the youngest sister. The overlooked wallflower. The shy kitchen maid. The unassuming cook.
But the way Lucas said my name made me feel like the most important person in the world. More than that, it made me feel like his .
“Tell me you love me,” he said, pulling back to look at me with those eyes that would never look like sunny skies, but were so much brighter now. “Tell me that, and I’m yours.”
I pushed the lock of hair threaded with just a touch of silver from his face.
“You need a haircut,” I said as I pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Tell me.”
“And a shave.” Another kiss.
“ Tell me .”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but grin at the playful look on his face, even mixed as it was with hope and vulnerability. This man, who had commanded boardrooms and built empires, was asking me—me—for reassurance.
“I love you,” I told him, the words as true as anything I’d ever said. “More than a fantasy. More than even my wildest dreams.”
Pure, radiant joy that transformed every harsh line of that face into something beautiful.
And what do you know? Lucas Lyons and I both got another first that day as we traded those words back and forth for each other and no one else.
I had a feeling I’d be giving him many, many more firsts in the years to come.