Chapter Twenty-Five
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Michel jumped when Emma dove into the back seat and yelled, “Drive!”
“Sophie.” He nodded at his royal guard, who squealed out of the driveway without further prompting.
It wasn’t the most auspicious start to their long-awaited date. They hadn’t seen each other since the picnic, because of Emma’s dinner with her godmother, and Michel had to cancel their date last night to deal with a situation back in Rouleme. Two days might not seem long to others, but his time with Emma was precious, and the wait had felt like an eternity to him.
Emma wordlessly stared out the rear window until her house was out of sight. Then she sat forward with a sigh of relief and gave Michel a rueful smile.
“My dad.” When he arched a quizzical eyebrow, she elaborated, “I didn’t want either of you to deal with an awkward interrogation. He would feel obligated to grill you as my father, but he really isn’t much of a griller. Besides, Auntie Soo will do that at dinner tonight. She’s very thorough. My dad will get all the answers he wants and more.”
Michel swallowed and resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly tight collar. “I appreciate that.”
“Sorry for yelling at you, Sophie.” Emma reached across and patted her on the shoulder.
“Not a problem,” the royal guard said with a smiling glance. Emma could do no wrong in Sophie’s eyes. “So where to?”
“We’re going to The Last Bookstore.” The squeal—though unvoiced—was evident in every line of Emma’s posture.
“The very last one in Los Angeles?” Michel widened his eyes. “And here I thought all that talk of Angelenos being shallow was a spurious stereotype.”
“It’s the name of a famous bookstore, smart aleck.” Emma slapped his arm playfully, and he couldn’t hold back his grin. “We’ll go there right when it opens before it gets too crowded, then head over to Little Tokyo for lunch at my favorite udon restaurant.”
“That sounds perfect.” Anticipation coursed through him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked into a bookstore. Did she know how much these simple, everyday experiences meant to him?
While Michel was grateful to Emma for introducing him to the charms of Los Angeles, he felt guilty she’d planned most of their dates. There had to be something she hadn’t tried before that he could surprise her with… He would love to see her beautiful eyes round with wonder and her dimple wink from delight. He would figure something out.
“I have a favorite bookstore in my hometown that I don’t get to visit often enough,” he said, feeling a little homesick. But Rouleme wouldn’t feel like home without Emma by his side. He couldn’t be sure, but something had changed since their picnic at USC. He felt her opening up to him—letting him in. Maybe she was giving him a real chance to prove that he was perfect husband material. “It’s enchanting. I would like to take you there.”
“I would love to visit Rouleme one day.” Her smile looked a little sad, but she hadn’t balked at the idea. He would take that as a good sign. He would have to push harder soon—time was running out—but for today, that would do.
He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. She made a small breathy noise that set his heart pounding. He carefully set down her hand before he succumbed to the urge to wrap his mouth around the elegant length of her finger to see what kind of noise she made then.
With great willpower, he managed to keep his hands and mouth to himself until they arrived at the bookstore. The three of them—with Sophie trailing a few feet behind—walked inside just as a smiling employee turned the sign to “Open.” Michel had to agree with his friend’s low whistle of appreciation as he took in the store.
The Last Bookstore had the cluttered charm of a vast, old library but with an enchanting whimsy all its own. It was a two-level labyrinth of a store with Greek columns in the main hall. But with every space utilized to accommodate their innumerable books, it managed to feel quite welcoming and cozy.
“Do you want a tour? Or would you like to get lost in all this fabulousness?” Emma asked, grabbing hold of his hand.
He linked his fingers through hers. “How about a tour so I don’t miss anything important, but with the option to linger if something feels magical?”
Her expression turned soft and dreamy. “You say the most perfect things. You know that?”
“I do?” His brows climbed to his forehead.
“What am I going to do with you?” Emma whispered. Before he could wonder at the tenderness that stole into her expression, she turned away from him and waved for him to follow. “For now, I’ll give you a tour of this gem.”
She led them upstairs, then through a zigzagging path of bookshelves so tightly packed that only one of them could pass at a time. They made very little progress, stopping every few feet to finger through a book that caught their fancy.
“Oh no.” Emma spun around and nearly bumped into his chest.
He steadied her by her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“We’ll never make it out of here in time for lunch—who am I kidding?—in time for dinner if I’m let loose in the cookbook section.”
He scanned the vicinity and pointed with his chin. “Is that it over there?”
“Yes.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ll hold your arm. Just guide me past it, then we’ll be fine.”
He took the opportunity to stare at her lovely face, memorizing every precious inch of it. Then he led her down the path with his arm around her waist and said close to her ear, “Open your eyes.”
“Are you sure? It doesn’t seem like we went far enough…” Her jaw went slack as she eyed the books surrounding her. “Michel, this is the cookbook section.”
“I know,” he said.
“But—”
“I’m not going to let you rush past a section you love just for the sake of sticking to a schedule…”
Emma was already lost. Some books she flipped through quickly while some she lingered over a bit longer. But when he noticed that she was reading a cookbook page by page, he carefully led her to an alcove with an armchair. Since there was just the one chair, he sat down first and settled her on his lap. She barely glanced up as she pored over the book.
After nearly half an hour, Michel shifted his leg, just by an inch to get some circulation back, but the motion jolted Emma out of her trance. It was still early and hardly anyone had passed by them.
“Oh my gosh.” Her hand flew up to her mouth, and she scrambled to get up from his lap. “Your poor legs.”
“Shh.” He tugged her back down and rearranged his legs, all the while holding her tight against him by her waist. “This is worth it.”
“Michel.” She huffed a resigned sigh, then she licked the pad of her index finger and dabbed it on the tip of her nose. “Do this.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m serious. Do it several times and it’ll help with the pins and needles in your legs.” When he continued staring dumbfounded at her, she rolled her eyes and tapped his nose with her own dampened finger. He refused to put his own saliva on his nose, but he didn’t mind it at all when Emma did it. “It’s a trick my grandmother taught me when I was little.”
The tip of his nose felt disconcertingly cold. It might’ve been due to the distraction of having a damp nose, but the pinpricks of blood rushing into his legs seemed to ease a bit. When proper circulation resumed in his legs and his nose was once again dry, Michel got preoccupied with the feel of having Emma in his arms.
He traced the lines of her fingers and the faint blue veins on the back of her hand. She pressed herself to him, burrowing her face into the side of his neck. The warmth of her breath sent a shiver down his spine. He shifted in his seat and tucked her closer until every curve of her fit against him. Her shoulders rose and fell on a sigh as he breathed in the scent of her hair.
“Come with me.” Emma got to her feet and held out her hand before his legs could fall asleep again. A part of him wanted to stay in that armchair forever. But he took her outstretched hand and rose to his feet—simply because she wanted him to.
Emma tugged him down another labyrinth of bookshelves until they arrived at the most improbable and wonderful place—a cavernous tunnel made of books. And they had it all to themselves. He chuckled with awe and joy as his gaze wandered over the books surrounding him. This made getting up from the armchair worth it. Maybe.
She maneuvered him so gently, so slowly that he didn’t realize what she’d done until he was backed up against the wall of books. Then she rose to her toes and pressed her lips against his in a sweet, lingering kiss that he felt down to his soul. Her touch was chaste, with barely parted lips, but he felt as though she was offering a part of herself that she kept closely guarded. His heart clenched in his chest, overwhelmed by a rush of emotions he couldn’t parse out.
When she broke the kiss, a tremulous breath left him, and he could only stare at her for a moment. She held his gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He pushed her hair away from her face with unsteady fingers and tucked it behind her ear.
“Why the tears, darling Emma?” The husky voice that emerged from him didn’t sound like his own.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t know.”
Michel wiped the moisture away with the pad of his thumb and brushed his lips across her temple. The back of his throat burned with his own tears, and the ache in his chest spread, making it difficult to breathe. He gathered her into his arms and pressed his cheek against hers. He held on to her for much too long and not nearly long enough as he prayed fervently in his head. Please.
“We should finish the tour,” Emma whispered, tears still clinging to her lashes like morning dew on soft petals.
He nodded and took her hand as more people wandered into the tunnel. With their fingers laced together, they walked silently through the book tunnel and explored the rest of the bookstore. There were no words adequate to express what had happened, so they didn’t try to talk about it. But they were different now. Everything was different. He had to tell her who he was. He had to ask her to come to Rouleme with him.
Back at the car, he brushed his thumb across her silken bottom lip and asked, “Hungry?”
“No.” She shook her head and offered him a soft smile, the corners of her lips trembling.
Unable to look away from Emma, he managed to rasp, “We’ll head back to the hotel, Sophie.”