Page 13

An hour later, we were settled into a shared room. The family on the other side of us smiled kindly as the nurse drew a curtain between us. From bits and pieces I overheard, I gathered their child, Jessica, was awaiting a kidney transplant. I couldn’t imagine if that was my daughter in their situation…

I sat on the bed and clung tightly to Paris’ hand as she watched a show on TV, all of this too serious and surreal to even comprehend, when a knock came at the door. I expected a doctor, but I gasped—Richard Buchanan stepped inside.

6

FAMILY TIES

RICHARD

I had navigatedhigh-stakes business negotiations, fended off ruthless corporate takeovers, and made million-dollar decisions before breakfast—but nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared me for the call from Rex and Chelsea in the Maldives.

Paris was sick?Their news hit me hard. I cancelled my evening plans and flew straight to Albany in my helicopter. I was skeptical about the first woman Miriam’s matchmaker lined up for me anyway. Madeline Mays would have been my date for drinks. As a high-profile divorce attorney, no matter how attractive, a woman known for mastering divorce procedures hardly evoked thoughts of a forever type of love in my mind.

After I landed at the hospital, I asked the nurse at the front desk for Vivian and Paris Kingston.

“Are you a relative?” the nurse asked with a raised eyebrow in true gatekeeper fashion. I was about to say no, but given Rex’s marriage, we were sort of family.

“Yes,” I replied.

The nurse couldn’t find their names in the system—until I remembered Vivian had married Adrien. “Uh, try Bardeaux. Paris Bardeaux,” I suggested, irritated at the mere thought of that asshole. Knowing that Vivian had chosen to return tohim after our night together all those years ago, I loathed how quickly I’d judged her for it.

Since coming face to face again with Vivian at Rex’s wedding, the woman invaded my head in an endless parade of fragmented visions I couldn’t fight. I struggled daily to stretch my memory of the events that brought us together in the beginning—when everything happened in Paris.

“Okay. Here she is. Pediatrics, purple floor. Just follow the purple signs to the purple elevators,” he instructed, pointing to a plum-colored arrow on the wall.

I eventually located their room and noticed the door wasn’t fully closed, so I peeked inside. Paris was lying in bed, clutching the same stuffed tiger I recalled from Holly Creek, watching a show on the TV, while Vivian sat on the bed’s edge holding her hand, clearly worried about her daughter. The room wasn’t private; in the next bay, another family hovered around a coughing child.

I frowned, realizing Rex hadn’t given me much detail about what I was walking into. All I knew, after my first conversation with Paris—especially our discussion about camels and pyramids—was I’d do anything to ensure the little darling remained happy and healthy. No child should have to suffer through hard times.

I had long donated to children’s charities, sponsored several little leagues and inner-city sports programs, and was the first donor New York Presbyterian Hospital called on to cover expenses for families in need. So, flying up in my helicopter to see Paris was hardly an imposition on my time, but more like a passion project.

My mother always said I would follow in my father’s footsteps—a path I assumed meant both in business and family life. I was once on top of the world as head of Buchanan Energy, about to marry and start a family—until my ex shattered thosedreams. After I cancelled our wedding, I resigned as CEO and wandered the globe without a care.

Yet after Rex’s wedding, those old dreams dared stir again.

I knocked and then slipped my head into the room. “Hello?”

Vivian gasped and sprung upright from the bed at the sight of me. “What are you doing here?” Despite the worry lines on her face and the dark circles under her eyes, seeing her sent my pulse racing.

“Chelsea and Rex got your message and didn’t want you and Paris to face this alone. They’re rushing back from their honeymoon as fast as they can—” I began.

“They don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“They insisted I be here until they arrived. So I dropped everything and flew up in my chopper,” I explained, standing a few feet away.

“You… dropped everything? For us?” she asked, blinking in disbelief.

“Yeah. I did.” I softened my gaze as I looked at her daughter with a gentle smile and waved.

“Hey, you’re the man who rides camels,” she chimed with a playful wave back.

“Yep. Hello again, Paris. I’m Richard. I brought you something—a book on deserts from the natural history museum. I think you’ll like the pictures in it. May I?” I asked, offering the book and raising my eyebrows at Vivian.

She nodded, and I stepped bedside to hand the heavy volume to Paris. It was so weighty it nearly slipped from her grasp into her lap. This oversized photo book, with its glossy pages, might have been perfect as a coffee table centerpiece in my penthouse, never seriously looked through, but here it served a practical purpose. Paris couldn’t turn the pages fast enough, absorbing each picture like a sponge.

“Thank you,” she smiled, then her little tongue worked a loose tooth.

“You’re welcome. When you’re feeling better, I’d love to take you and your mother to the museum, okay?” I proposed. Paris nodded eagerly.