all was a risk, and I have even less reason to stay on in Paris now that I know your brother isn’t even here.’ Or likely to be available anywhere any time soon for her to be able to talk to him, when he was currently on his honeymoon !
She should have telephoned before coming to Paris, of course, at least established that Rafe D’Angelo was actually in the city before flying over here and coming to the Archangel gallery and insisting on seeing him.
That was what Eva should have done. Except she hadn’t wanted to alert the man to her imminent arrival, had hoped to catch him off guard, preventing him from leaving Paris before she had even arrived.
And instead Rafe was away on his honeymoon and she was faced with Michael D’Angelo in his stead. A man who Eva already knew she had to guard herself against becoming any more disturbed than she cared to think about!
Michael D’Angelo now narrowed those piercing black-on-black eyes. ‘You have some reason for hurrying back to London, perhaps? A boyfriend? Live-in lover? Or maybe even a husband?’ He raised dark brows.
‘I believe I introduced myself as Eva Foster, the same surname as Rachel’s, and we’ve already established that she wasn’t married when she died.’
‘Not every woman changes her surname to that of her husband when she marries.’
He had a point, Eva conceded grudgingly. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I don’t have a boyfriend, a live-in lover, or a husband I need to hurry back to,’ she dismissed impatiently. ‘I hadn’t had the time for the latter before the twins were born, was too busy working, and then latterly caring for Rachel and the twins, and now I can’t see any man being interested in taking on both me and my ready-made family!’
He nodded his satisfaction with her reply. ‘Then there’s no reason why you can’t stay on in Paris for a week or two.’
‘Stay on in Paris for a week or—!’ Eva eyed him incredulously. ‘There’s one very good reason why I can’t do that, Mr D’Angelo, and that reason is financial.’ Honestly, did this man not live in the real world at all?
It had taken the last of Eva’s savings to pay for the flight to Paris and the four nights’ stay at the pension, and she simply couldn’t afford to stay on any longer than that. It had all been a waste of her time and money anyway, which made the whole situation even worse!
‘I wasn’t for a moment suggesting—’ Michael broke off what he had been about to say as a knock sounded on his office door. ‘Come in,’ he invited tersely, his scowl not lessening in the slightest as his dark-haired assistant manager opened the door to stand in the doorway. ‘What is it, Pierre?’ he demanded irritably as the other man looked at them both hesitantly.
Pierre grimaced his obvious discomfort at the interruption. ‘Excusez-moi—’
‘You may as well stick with English, Pierre.’ Michael tersely reminded the younger man that Eva Foster understood his French perfectly.
The younger man nodded. ‘In that case, I thought I should remind you that you have a luncheon appointment with the Comte de Lyon at one o’clock, and it’s twelve-thirty now,’ he said in his perfect, unaccented English.
Michael gave an impatient glance at his wristwatch. ‘So it is,’ he realised impatiently. ‘I’ll need you to go to lunch with the Comte in my stead, Pierre,’ he instructed briskly. ‘Give him my apologies, and explain that—that an urgent family matter came up, which I had to deal with.’
Eva’s cheeks burned with colour as she literally felt Pierre’s curious brown gaze turning towards where she now stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows. When her own colouring and the twins’ was so similar he would naturally jump to the conclusion, as most people did, that Eva was their mother.
Not that she thought for a moment that this elegant, handsome assistant of Archangel would press Michael D’Angelo on the subject; she doubted
She should have telephoned before coming to Paris, of course, at least established that Rafe D’Angelo was actually in the city before flying over here and coming to the Archangel gallery and insisting on seeing him.
That was what Eva should have done. Except she hadn’t wanted to alert the man to her imminent arrival, had hoped to catch him off guard, preventing him from leaving Paris before she had even arrived.
And instead Rafe was away on his honeymoon and she was faced with Michael D’Angelo in his stead. A man who Eva already knew she had to guard herself against becoming any more disturbed than she cared to think about!
Michael D’Angelo now narrowed those piercing black-on-black eyes. ‘You have some reason for hurrying back to London, perhaps? A boyfriend? Live-in lover? Or maybe even a husband?’ He raised dark brows.
‘I believe I introduced myself as Eva Foster, the same surname as Rachel’s, and we’ve already established that she wasn’t married when she died.’
‘Not every woman changes her surname to that of her husband when she marries.’
He had a point, Eva conceded grudgingly. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I don’t have a boyfriend, a live-in lover, or a husband I need to hurry back to,’ she dismissed impatiently. ‘I hadn’t had the time for the latter before the twins were born, was too busy working, and then latterly caring for Rachel and the twins, and now I can’t see any man being interested in taking on both me and my ready-made family!’
He nodded his satisfaction with her reply. ‘Then there’s no reason why you can’t stay on in Paris for a week or two.’
‘Stay on in Paris for a week or—!’ Eva eyed him incredulously. ‘There’s one very good reason why I can’t do that, Mr D’Angelo, and that reason is financial.’ Honestly, did this man not live in the real world at all?
It had taken the last of Eva’s savings to pay for the flight to Paris and the four nights’ stay at the pension, and she simply couldn’t afford to stay on any longer than that. It had all been a waste of her time and money anyway, which made the whole situation even worse!
‘I wasn’t for a moment suggesting—’ Michael broke off what he had been about to say as a knock sounded on his office door. ‘Come in,’ he invited tersely, his scowl not lessening in the slightest as his dark-haired assistant manager opened the door to stand in the doorway. ‘What is it, Pierre?’ he demanded irritably as the other man looked at them both hesitantly.
Pierre grimaced his obvious discomfort at the interruption. ‘Excusez-moi—’
‘You may as well stick with English, Pierre.’ Michael tersely reminded the younger man that Eva Foster understood his French perfectly.
The younger man nodded. ‘In that case, I thought I should remind you that you have a luncheon appointment with the Comte de Lyon at one o’clock, and it’s twelve-thirty now,’ he said in his perfect, unaccented English.
Michael gave an impatient glance at his wristwatch. ‘So it is,’ he realised impatiently. ‘I’ll need you to go to lunch with the Comte in my stead, Pierre,’ he instructed briskly. ‘Give him my apologies, and explain that—that an urgent family matter came up, which I had to deal with.’
Eva’s cheeks burned with colour as she literally felt Pierre’s curious brown gaze turning towards where she now stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows. When her own colouring and the twins’ was so similar he would naturally jump to the conclusion, as most people did, that Eva was their mother.
Not that she thought for a moment that this elegant, handsome assistant of Archangel would press Michael D’Angelo on the subject; she doubted
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