“Stefano and Francesca invited us to dinner tonight. Do you feel up to a crazy family night? The brothers will be there. It will be loud and noisy,” he warned. “Most likely, Dario and Val will be there as well with Emme.”
A small shadow crossed her face but she looked up at him eagerly, nodding. “I’d love that, Elie. Does everyone dress up, because I don’t think I have anything dressy.”
“No, bébé, when they’re together, they’re very casual. You have plenty of casual clothes here. I brought soft leggings that shouldn’t hurt any of the wounds. The bandages are covering them, but we can ask the doc to check them before we go.”
She shook her head. “No, nothing hurts, everything is fine. You changed my bandages this morning. There was no fresh bleeding. Really, Elie, I’m healing fast. I’ve always healed fast. When is the dinner? Are you sure it’s all right for the two of us to go? Francesca won’t mind two more dinner guests at the last minute?”
“Francesca never minds two more guests at the last minute. She expects it.” He went to the bed and helped her slide to the side, pretending not to see her wince as she gingerly shifted around to sit on the edge of the bed. The bandage on her temple stood out starkly against her pale skin, making his heart ache more, even though the covering was so much smaller than it had been.
“She just gave birth, didn’t she? Surely, she isn’t cooking for a huge crowd? I could have helped her had I known. You know I love cooking, or would she be upset with someone else in her kitchen?”
His thumb slid over their wedding band on her finger. He stood directly in front of her, preventing her from sliding off the bed. “Francesca shares her kitchen with anyone who loves to cook, ma chérie.” He continued to stare down at her, his thumb on her ring, until she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Brielle, do you have a problem with Emmanuelle?”
She blinked, her long lashes veiling the jeweled green of her eyes, but not before he caught the hint of guilt and uneasiness. She didn’t lie to him. She sighed and squirmed a little. “I think it best if we don’t go there, Elie. Sometimes it’s just better to let things go. Emme is your friend and I’ll get to know her. It isn’t like I’ve had tons of time. When she’s been around, she’s been very sweet to me.”
On some level, he’d felt the reservation between Brielle and the others. It wasn’t a huge thing, because she didn’t make it one, but it was there. She wasn’t as natural and relaxed around others as she was when she was alone with him. When Emmanuelle was with them—which, granted, wasn’t that often—Brielle was even more on guard.
“You know I think of Emme as a sibling, nothing more. She regards me the same way.” He hoped Brielle listened to the ring of truth in his voice. It was there because it was the truth.
She nodded her head, but her eyes avoided his again.
“Brielle, look at me.” He caught her stubborn little chin in a firm grip. “We are going to talk about this because it obviously bothers you. If Emmanuelle and I wanted to be together, don’t you think we would have been?”
“You mean like at every charity ball? Every nightclub dancing together? The fund-raiser dinners? Skiing together? Sailing? The speculation for how many years on the inevitable engagement between the two well-suited, perfectly matched beautiful people? How many times was that written up?”
Brielle kept her voice low. There was no accusation, but yeah, she believed Emmanuelle and he had been far more than just friends. Maybe they were just friends and in his mind like “siblings,” but he had forgotten she had kept track of him in the intervening years. She knew he had been around Emmanuelle.
“You believed I decided to go back to France and enter into an arranged marriage after she married Valentino Saldi, didn’t you? That’s why you were so adamant that you not be placed with anyone from Europe. You thought I didn’t want to be in the States because of her.”
She made a face. “Does it matter what I thought?”
“It matters and you know it does. I was never in love with Emme. She was never in love with me. There was no physical attraction between us. There never was. For Emmanuelle, it has always been Valentino. He’s her one and only. For me, it has always been you.”
Her smile was forced as she looked up at him and nodded. “I get that, Elie. I do. I’ll work at a friendship with her.”
He had no doubt that she would, but that didn’t take the shadows from her eyes. He kept possession of her chin. “Mon amour, I’m asking you to tell me what is wrong. What is it about Emmanuelle Ferraro Saldi that puts those shadows in your eyes?”