greenhouse flowers.”
“You don’t understand how important this is for me.” Henri gripped her arm. “My uncle—”
“ Arrêtez , Henri.” Aubrielle pulled away and put Éclair between them. “You have been my friend, but this behavior must stop. ”
Henri’s jaw clenched as he glared at Aubrielle. Without another word, he stalked away around the curved walkway.
Aubrielle glanced around. Henri’s words and actions were out of character. Threatening.
Is there no police nearby ?
She had come a third of the way around the long arching walkway. The path had become too narrow to turn Éclair and the cart around. The bright day and the colorful leaves overhead no longer lifted her spirits.
What if Henri refuses to leave me alone?
Just past the apex of the arch, she spotted the croissant vendor. He rested on the curb beside his pushcart rubbing his leg.
“Are you all right, monsieur?” Aubrielle left Éclair and hurried to the injured man.
“ Oui. Oui . It is just the petit chien .” The man looked up at Aubrielle and shook his head. “My employer insisted I bring his new puppy to the park with me today. Now he’s run away.” The seller massaged his right leg and grimaced. “I injured myself chasing him through the bushes.” He waved his other hand behind him.
Along the edge of the park grew thick rows of hedges lined by trees—intended to shield the park from the city, and give the illusion of an oasis amid the busy Parisian downtown. Narrow steps led up to the street, a small landing at each plateau.
“Oh no! Is he friendly?” Aubrielle hurried up to the first landing and bent to look beneath the hedge. The hedgerows were planted far enough apart to allow gardeners to walk between them. “Will he come to me?”
The vendor limped up the steps behind her. “He ran that way.” He pointed between the row of bushes.
“What is his name?” Aubrielle eased between the break in the handrail and took several steps along the hedgerow. She crouched down to peer beneath the bushes.
“Gullible.”
Aubrielle turned her head toward the vendor just as he shoved her to the ground.
The weight of his knee pressed her body into the soft loam. One hand gripped her face, covering her mouth while he pulled her head back at a painful angle. “I’ve watched you, jolie fleur , every day for months. Selling your blossoms. Smiling at soldiers.”
The tall bushes shielded her from both the park and the street. Mrs. Moroney’s warning flashed through her mind as the man’s nails scraped up her thigh beneath her coat.
“Shall we open the petals of your fleur secrète and touch your sweet dew, ma chère ?”
She tried to bite his palm as she struggled to throw his weight from her back.
“Bitch.” He slammed her face into the ground. “I shall enjoy this.”
Dirt and twigs filled her mouth, and she screamed. Cold air chilled her skin as he held her head down with one hand and yanked up her skirt and coat with the other.
CHAPTER 9
From his bedroom window, John watched his new Agaria leave for the park. He slipped his arms into his overcoat as he hurried out the door, down the stairs, and into the street. Near the tower, he purchased a newspaper from a boy while keeping an eye on her cart.
She stopped where he had first seen her, along the edge of the central walkway, not far from the park entrance.
He chose a bench on the other side of the expansive concrete entrance from where she set up her cart and shook open the paper. He pretended to read the newsprint while he kept his attention on his love.
Although John could read and speak French like a native Parisian, he wasn’t sure about current French law. He’d been conscripted into military service before and had no intention of getting caught up in the war he knew was coming. To pose as a Brit, or continue as an American entrepreneur, like he had told the butcher, would gain him the advantage of citizenship abroad. He held
“You don’t understand how important this is for me.” Henri gripped her arm. “My uncle—”
“ Arrêtez , Henri.” Aubrielle pulled away and put Éclair between them. “You have been my friend, but this behavior must stop. ”
Henri’s jaw clenched as he glared at Aubrielle. Without another word, he stalked away around the curved walkway.
Aubrielle glanced around. Henri’s words and actions were out of character. Threatening.
Is there no police nearby ?
She had come a third of the way around the long arching walkway. The path had become too narrow to turn Éclair and the cart around. The bright day and the colorful leaves overhead no longer lifted her spirits.
What if Henri refuses to leave me alone?
Just past the apex of the arch, she spotted the croissant vendor. He rested on the curb beside his pushcart rubbing his leg.
“Are you all right, monsieur?” Aubrielle left Éclair and hurried to the injured man.
“ Oui. Oui . It is just the petit chien .” The man looked up at Aubrielle and shook his head. “My employer insisted I bring his new puppy to the park with me today. Now he’s run away.” The seller massaged his right leg and grimaced. “I injured myself chasing him through the bushes.” He waved his other hand behind him.
Along the edge of the park grew thick rows of hedges lined by trees—intended to shield the park from the city, and give the illusion of an oasis amid the busy Parisian downtown. Narrow steps led up to the street, a small landing at each plateau.
“Oh no! Is he friendly?” Aubrielle hurried up to the first landing and bent to look beneath the hedge. The hedgerows were planted far enough apart to allow gardeners to walk between them. “Will he come to me?”
The vendor limped up the steps behind her. “He ran that way.” He pointed between the row of bushes.
“What is his name?” Aubrielle eased between the break in the handrail and took several steps along the hedgerow. She crouched down to peer beneath the bushes.
“Gullible.”
Aubrielle turned her head toward the vendor just as he shoved her to the ground.
The weight of his knee pressed her body into the soft loam. One hand gripped her face, covering her mouth while he pulled her head back at a painful angle. “I’ve watched you, jolie fleur , every day for months. Selling your blossoms. Smiling at soldiers.”
The tall bushes shielded her from both the park and the street. Mrs. Moroney’s warning flashed through her mind as the man’s nails scraped up her thigh beneath her coat.
“Shall we open the petals of your fleur secrète and touch your sweet dew, ma chère ?”
She tried to bite his palm as she struggled to throw his weight from her back.
“Bitch.” He slammed her face into the ground. “I shall enjoy this.”
Dirt and twigs filled her mouth, and she screamed. Cold air chilled her skin as he held her head down with one hand and yanked up her skirt and coat with the other.
CHAPTER 9
From his bedroom window, John watched his new Agaria leave for the park. He slipped his arms into his overcoat as he hurried out the door, down the stairs, and into the street. Near the tower, he purchased a newspaper from a boy while keeping an eye on her cart.
She stopped where he had first seen her, along the edge of the central walkway, not far from the park entrance.
He chose a bench on the other side of the expansive concrete entrance from where she set up her cart and shook open the paper. He pretended to read the newsprint while he kept his attention on his love.
Although John could read and speak French like a native Parisian, he wasn’t sure about current French law. He’d been conscripted into military service before and had no intention of getting caught up in the war he knew was coming. To pose as a Brit, or continue as an American entrepreneur, like he had told the butcher, would gain him the advantage of citizenship abroad. He held
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