Page 31 of Is This Real or Just Pretend?

Alex glanced at the clock on her desk and let out a sigh of relief.

It was well after six, which meant she had made it through an entire day without getting sidetracked with thoughts of Lucien.

Tomorrow they would attend the lecture at the Royal Geographic Society, but that was different.

There would be no opportunity for them to be alone, and Alex was determined to keep things that way.

After all, the whole point of this was for them to be seen by other people. Being alone would be a waste of time.

But as Alex’s mind began to drift to thoughts of just how they might waste their time, footfalls sounded in the hall near her office.

Had Potts left something behind? That wasn’t like him.

She must have been in a good mood because as Alex quickly sorted the papers on her desk she was ready to tease her usually fastidious secretary about this oversight when the man appeared in her doorway.

“Really, Potts. Did you forget—” But the rest of the words died on her lips.

Lucien.

Alex sat back in her chair. Hard. “You,” she breathed, which sounded very much like an accusation.

Lucien quirked a brow at the strange greeting. “Good evening.”

“Is something wrong?” Alex practically barked the question. She was being incredibly rude, but her nerves were in shambles. Why was he here? And now ? He was ruining everything.

“No. I came to see you.”

He stepped into her office and Alex instinctively leaned back in her chair, though there wasn’t anywhere for her to go. “But it’s nearly dinnertime.”

Lucien gave her an amused look and shrugged. “I took the chance that you would still be here.”

Alex began to bristle. Was she truly so predictable? But then he held up a hamper. “And wouldn’t have eaten yet.”

“Oh.”

“Since you haven’t made it to Paris, I thought I’d bring a little of it to you.”

Oh.

“That is… very thoughtful,” Alex conceded grumpily.

Lucien smiled and came closer. “I found an excellent bakery while wandering around town earlier,” he explained while he pulled a few items out of the hamper and set them on her desk.

“The owner is from Marseilles and prides himself on his baguettes, though his patisserie looked very fine indeed. Then he directed me to his favorite cheesemonger—”

Alex bit her lip. No. This was too much. She couldn’t bear it. “You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”

Especially for me.

Lucien paused and his gaze turned inscrutable. “It’s no trouble. There,” he said with a flourish. “We have bread, cheese, some fruit, and tarte aux pommes Normande .”

Alex took in the perfectly baked baguette, the wedge of creamy cheese, the apple tart, and the golden pear. “It’s perfect,” she murmured, then looked at Lucien. “Thank you.”

His eyes warmed and he looked proud enough to burst. “My pleasure.”

Lucien insisted on serving her first and Alex was forced to wait while he quickly and competently sliced the pear into equal wedges, then selected the best bits of everything for her. The man had even thought to bring a set of plates and napkins, along with a small flask of wine.

It was really too much.

“Here you are,” he said indulgently.

Alex let out a resigned sigh as she accepted her plate but after only one bite the sigh turned into one of pleasure. It was just a bit of bread and cheese, but dear heavens, it was delicious .

Lucien’s eyes gleamed. “That good, eh?”

“Yes,” Alex said in between bites, which was horribly vulgar behavior on her part, but he only smiled some more.

Lucien then took a bite and let out his own sound of pleasure. “I think the monsieur may actually have been too humble. This is exquisite.”

They ate in a pleasant, companionable silence, only stopping to encourage the other to have more of the cheese or bread, or to try it with a slice of pear.

Alex had thought it almost too much food at first, but before long they had finished every last crumb.

She let out a contented sigh and sat back in her chair.

Lucien was staring thoughtfully at the empty hamper.

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s only just now occurred to me that I must have kept you from enjoying a glorious multicourse meal with this simple fare.”

Alex huffed a laugh. “Hardly. Most evenings I have a tray in my room.” Only after she spoke did she realize how pathetic that sounded. “Because everyone is usually out.” But that explanation didn’t really help either. “And… I prefer it that way,” she added with a determined little nod.

Lucien’s mouth curved. “I prefer eating alone too. Aside from the present company, of course.”

Alex glanced away as her cheeks flushed. “You must think I’m a horrible curmudgeon. Most people would love to dine with my parents or Freddie, while I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

It wasn’t as simple as that, but Alex didn’t know how else to explain it. How could someone love their family more than anything in the entire world and also find them completely exhausting most of the time?

When she dared to look back at Lucien, he was staring at her with a thoughtful expression. “Their hospitality is legendary, and rightfully so,” he conceded. “But I can understand the desire for some peace and quiet, especially after working all day.”

“Yes. Exactly,” Alex said, brightening. “But my family could never see it that way. They always maintained that I was rejecting their company.” Simply saying the words was like poking at a sore spot one had forgotten about.

“When I was younger my father always made sure to dine with us as much as he possibly could because he worked so much and he enjoyed it. I think my parents assumed the tradition would continue once I began working for him. But instead…”

Alex pursed her lips, unable to finish.

She was selfish . A spoilsport . A stick in the mud .

Her mind ran through the most hurtful criticisms her family had made over the years while she gripped the arms of her chair, waiting for Lucien come to the same conclusion as everyone else.

“Instead, you needed something different,” he said gently. “I’m sorry you’ve been so misunderstood. And by your own family. That sounds difficult.”

Alex swallowed. She must have eaten something spoiled because surely she was hallucinating right now. That was the only explanation.

Lucien peered at her. “Alex, did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. I did. Only I…”

He smirked. “Don’t believe me?”

“Something like that.” Alex managed a small smile in return, but it was time to move the subject away from her. “Now, why do you prefer to eat alone? A rather strange preference for a man who ran a supper club,” she said archly.

Lucien chuckled. “Well, maybe ‘prefer’ isn’t the right term. But I’m used to it.” Alex gave him a questioning look and he shrugged. “Born out of necessity, I suppose. My parents both worked long hours. Having supper together, the three of us, didn’t happen very often.”

“Oh.” Alex felt like an idiot—and a selfish one at that given that it had been her own family that necessitated the separation in the first place. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”

But Lucien waved a hand. “It’s fine. I have very fond memories of sitting at the table in the kitchen of Atkinson House eating my supper as my mother doled out instructions to the staff. It was like watching a symphony conductor.”

The late Mrs. Taylor had run her kitchen with the kind of quiet mastery Alex couldn’t help but admire even as a young girl.

“She was an impressive woman,” she said. “And a genius with a pastry bag.”

“Yes,” he murmured.

Lucien’s gaze warmed so much that Alex felt the urge to look away. She did not deserve his esteem for simply speaking the truth. “You must miss her very much.”

He nodded and glanced away. “Every day, even after all this time. But Paris helped with the grief.” Then his eyes fixed on her again and she was bewildered to find his gaze even more intense than before.

“I suppose I owe you my thanks for your encouragement that night all those years ago. I’m not sure I would have left without it. ”

“I’m sure you would have,” she said readily.

He cocked his head and smiled. “You’re too modest.”

As her heart began to flutter, she had the most disconcerting realization: Alex wasn’t bewildered.

She was nervous again. But that was impossible.

She had known Lucien since he was in short pants.

She had seen him cry at least a dozen times.

Once over a sandwich he had dropped on the ground.

No. It was ridiculous that such a person could make her feel like this.

“Did you enjoy Paris?” she asked, attempting to direct the conversation toward safer waters.

He nodded. “Very much. It was an education in… life.”

“I’m sure. You must have learned a great deal about cooking,” she added, relaxing a little. There. Cooking. A much safer topic. No doubt he could speak for hours on the subject.

But Lucien paused a moment before answering. “Among other things,” he said in a low, suggestive tone as he slowly moved around the desk toward her.

Alex arched a brow. Was he actually trying to fluster her now? She was a little offended he thought it would be that easy. Ignoring the ripple of warning moving through her, Alex tilted her head. “Is that so? Do tell.”

Alex had never backed down from a challenge before, especially one issued by a man. Like hell would she start now.

But Lucien’s eyes only sparkled. “I may be a virgin,” he began as he stopped directly in front of her. “But Paris isn’t exactly a nunnery.”

She nodded, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to say. “Right.”

“And while I may lack experience, I’m not without an imagination. And, I confess, I have spent quite a lot of time lately imagining you.”

“Have you, now.” She tried to sound stern. In control. But even she couldn’t hide the tremble in her voice.

Slowly, Lucien placed a palm on either side of her until she was boxed in between him and the desk. Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice.