Page 66 of French Martini

“His fiancé. He looks like me.”

“They all have, kitten. I looked him up. Everyone since you. It’s uncanny.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Not at all. He couldn’t stand me.”

Oakley tsks, sliding his arm around my waist. “He can’t stand himself, love.” I turn my gaze to Oakley, suddenly desperate forhim to call me that again. “He lost a prize of a person and he knows it. He’s spent all his time since then trying to strike gold a second time, but it’s elusive. There’s only one you.”

I run my hand down his strong chest. “You really mean that, don’t you? You think that highly of me?”

He chuckles softly. “Kitten, come on. You know the answer to that.”

On some level I do know how Oakley feels about me, but what if he falls for me? I can’t shake the feeling that I’m gonna fuck it up when things get real. When he wants an actual commitment. I’ll drag him along for years when he could be out in the world meeting someone who’s willing and ready. I should cut him loose, but the idea of someone else in Oakley’s arms leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

I don’t have time to spiral any further before the director of the awards ceremony notices my arrival. She extends her arms as her face lights up and she walks purposefully in my direction, drawing Alain’s attention to me as well.

“Lowen Ainsley,” she says. “In the flesh. What an honor. Madeline Turro.”

“Hello, Madeline.” I shake her offered hand and lean in for the air kisses on each cheek. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m so delighted,” she says, standing back and taking me in like she just found out Santa Claus is real. “Finding you wasn’t easy.”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“Of course not. I suppose I thought you’d settle in Europe somewhere.”

“My life is stateside now.”

I’m aware of Alain and his man lingering behind us, chatting in a small circle of people, as Madeline’s eyes move to Oakley.

“And you are?”

“Oakley Rhinehart,” he says, shaking her hand. “Lowen’s fiancé.”

Madeline’s face lights up. “Delicious. Did you meet here?”

“We did,” Oakley says, gazing at me like I hung the moon, as requested, but I think he might be convinced I actually did. “We worked on a project together.”

“How wonderful. When is the date?”

“Undecided,” I answer. “And unannounced when it is.”

She pats my arm. “Smart. That would be one hot ticket.”

“Perhaps in Paris. I live rather anonymously here.”

She tilts her head, looking absolutely confused. “And you like that?”

I nod, realizing how absolutely true it is. “After fifteen years under glaring lights, it’s nice to work without a million eyes watching.”

“Does that mean you won’t ever return to Paris?”

“Oh, definitely not. My time in Paris was everything. It made me who I am and cultivated my talents, but it doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Because of…” She glances over her shoulder.

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