Shadowed Heart by Laura Florand Read Free Book Online Page B

need pickles,” he said firmly. “American pickles. With dill.”
    “There’s an American store here in Paris,” Cade said. “Can I overnight them or do you want a courier to bring them down today?”
    Sometimes he just loved knowing so many billionaires. “Today,” he said. Made for kind of expensive pickles, but he’d never had a particularly good grasp of money anyway, and ever since he’d married Summer, the excessive amounts floating around all these Coreys had completely lost him. Whatever it cost, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t break anyone’s bank account.
    When Summer got her pickles, she devoured them. He nibbled one, puzzled, watching the pleasure on her face, trying to imagine what was going on in her mouth, that the crunchy burst of acid would feel so good to it. Then she threw her arms around him and kissed him to say thank you, and he tasted the vinegar on her lips and almost, for a second, knew.
     

Chapter 10
    Summer was still smiling a little bit, a jar of pickles in one hand and a plastic box of lime ice pops under one arm, when she let herself into their house up on one of those rugged, Mediterranean cliffs, where lavender and stone walls framed the garden and terrace from which she could look out over the sea. The silence of the house echoed back at her, and her smile faded before she could stop it.
    She didn’t want it to. She clutched at her jar of pickles and said, No. We’re fine. But her smile defied her and wouldn’t come back out. No one’s here to see. I don’t have to come out if I don’t want to.
    You’re all alone.
    She set the jar of pickles down slowly on the kitchen counter, and the little noise it made clicked all the way through the silent house. It made her skin prickle, how completely no other sound responded to it. She set down her purse, in as bustling a way as she could, turning on music. Oh, was that the right music for the baby? Was she supposed to be listening to classical music or something? She put the lime ice pops in the freezer and went online to download Beethoven’s Ninth.
    Then she went out on the terrace and gazed down at the twilit sea, brushing her hand back and forth across the lavender in the nearest pot to release the scent. Solitude felt more normal on the terrace than inside. Thoughtful, quiet. A choice.
    Because it was a choice. Not an easy choice, not a walk-in-the-park choice, but a definite choice she had made. To leave her island, for Luc. To face solitude at first. To support him, while he worked like a dog to build a new restaurant, a new reputation here, and to believe in him, that he would not have to work that hard and leave her this alone forever.
    To draw on all the strength and sense of self she had built in those islands to help her get through the first, toughest part until she could build strength and value here, too.
    She covered her belly with her hand. So quit whining, Summer. Grow up. Quit needing so much attention. Don’t be so spoiled.
    A little hiccup of hurt in her heart at the word.
    She repeated it to herself, harshly, like her dad: Spoiled.
    Right.
    She bent her head, stroking her belly. I want to spoil you. But I’m not supposed to. Not supposed to ruin you that way. I want you to turn out—perfect. So everyone will love you.
    A ripple of profound shock, her head jerking up. That last part had sounded like her mother.
    No. No, no, no. I’m not doing that to my baby. Not teaching her how to be perfect as if that’s the only way she can hope to earn love.
    Oh, hell, how am I supposed to get this right?
    ***
    A light was glowing on the terrace outside their bedroom when Luc got home, the doors between bedroom and terrace wide open so that the indoor and outdoor spaces blurred. Lavender scented the space, from the pots tucked against the walls, and stone, and maybe a distant hint of the sea. Summer sat at the tall table there, her laptop open.
    “You’re still up?” Luc came behind her to put a hand on her nape,