Trust Me (Paris Nights #3)(67)

It would be a tough job. But then, she was a tough person. Down deep under that sweetheart face of hers, just as tough as him. She had wrapped her arms around her knees as she hugged the idea to her, freeing one arm from her grip of herself to gesture, all that indomitable determination of hers very visible in the set of her chin, in the burn of her brown eyes.

“You are f*cking gorgeous,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before.”

Lina gave him a lopsided smile. “Are you talking about sex when I’m trying to talk about something important?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I was talking about something else entirely.”

He wrapped his arm around her and thought that sometimes, against all odds, a man just had to make up his mind and seize life with both hands. Because there was at least one lesson he had learned in the military that he could apply to civilian life: If you let fear win, you always lose.





Chapter 17


It was so damn cold, Lina’s nipples hurt. Ice sculpting was a ridiculous culinary art, she’d pretty much decided. But she’d be damned if she’d give up now.

“You can do it.” Her mother gave her a hug.

“Of course I can do it!” Lina said, exasperated. Inside her gloves, her palms sweat with terror. “Maman, the whole family did not have to come.” I’m so glad you’re here.

“We were going to Brittany for our vacation anyway,” her mother said loftily.

Oh, yeah, right. Like herself, her parents and her grandmother infinitely preferred warm weather vacations and usually headed south in August.

“Burkinis are hot,” her mother said. “Best for cold beach wear.” And Lina had to laugh.

“Ready?” Jake stood in front of her, holding her eyes, and beside her, Lina could feel her mother eyeing him very thoughtfully. She could see her father eyeing him, from a little over there behind him, assessing and far from trusting, possibly like he might be ready to hand Lina another bat.

Lina lifted her chainsaw in her hands. Her father, beyond Jake, opened his hands in admission that she really could take care of herself now, and shook his head ruefully.

Right. She could handle herself. In all situations. Even walking out where hundreds of eyes could stare at her from the stands.

I have to do this. I can’t hide.

“It’s just an ice sculpture,” her mother murmured suddenly, just for her ears, bending close. “I mean, it’s going to melt in a day. If you’re not ready, just…skip it.”

Her mother had been born in a shantytown and never backed down from anything. So she must be absolutely terrified for the heart she had placed out of her own body, her daughter. Lina turned and met her mother’s eyes. Brown eyes met brown. I know you can do this, her mother’s eyes said. It’s just…I’m terrified, too.

Their eyes held a moment longer. But I can’t back down, Maman.

But don’t back down, her mother’s said simultaneously, and Lina felt her lips curve into a smile.

“I’m ready,” Lina said firmly.

“Go kick ass,” Jake said. She looked at him. He was scanning the crowd, but he met her eyes again immediately. Calm. Steady. Like a rock.

“You don’t want to keep me safe, too?” she murmured to him.

“I am keeping you safe,” he said. “That’s my job. You go do yours.”

Right. Lina looked at the crowds.

The sculpting was timed, of course, and the contest public. Normally, ice sculpting did not exactly draw soccer match crowds. But a certain part of the stands was pretty packed already. The part with the best view of her ice block.

Why do you even bother with nerves? You know damn well you’re not going to back down.

She just didn’t have it in her.

She pulled her hood over her head as her family retired to their reserved seats and Jake climbed up to the very top of the stands where he could keep an eye on the whole crowd. Elias was there, too, in another corner, and multiple police officers. She was pretty sure no one had ever had to go through metal detectors to watch an ice sculpting contest in Brittany before, but this time...she was there.

Her palms kept sweating inside her gloves, despite the cold maintained in the tent. Her shoulders prickled as if she had a target painted on them.

It’s just nerves. Nobody can actually get you here or hurt this crowd because you’re here. Security is very tight.

Nerves like when she stepped inside her first top kitchen as an intern, and she was the only female there, and a small one to boot. Nerves like when she and Vi and Célie walked into their international competition, the first all-female team to represent France, with every jealous chef they had beat out for the chance claiming France only chose them because they were girls, all those chefs waiting for them to fail and confirm their belief that women just weren’t able to take the heat. Nerves like when their ma?tre d’ swore up and down that the man in glasses at table four was really a Michelin reviewer and Lina was personally putting the final touches on his table’s desserts.

They might be for a different reason, but they’re the same nerves. Find your calm, and step through them, in the exact same way.

She took a slow breath, held it for two seconds, let it slowly out. Hefted her chainsaw. And walked out onto the floor toward her ice block.