Rooted (Pagano Family #3)(13)

While they waited for their turn to see the great work, Rosa tucked her hand into her little Coach bag. She’d done so absently, as if out of habit more than intention. Knowing she was going for her phone, Carmen nudged her.

“What?” Rosa’s tone was pure petulance.

“No phone, sissy. We talked about this. Only while we’re at the apartment.” Carmen had negotiated phone usage terms while they were planning this trip. At home, that f*cker might as well have been surgically attached to her palm. Carmen didn’t want her strolling through a summer in Europe with her face pointed downward. So she’d made it a condition of the trip—no calls, texts, or social media except while they were at the apartment, or in a hotel, during downtime.

“I just want to take a picture when we get up there. That’s all.”

If the phone was in her hand, she wouldn’t be able to resist checking her Tumblr or whatever. It was like inserting the needle in a junkie’s arm and telling her not to push the plunger. “Then get your phone out when we get up there, take the picture, and then put your phone back.”

She pulled her hand away from her bag with a dramatic sigh. “I’m an adult, you know. You’re not in charge.”

Carmen grinned and bumped her shoulder. “Did you just tell me I’m not the boss of you? Gonna stomp your foot next? Hold your breath?”

“Bitch alert, Carm.” Rosa’s eyes had narrowed, and Carmen knew she should back off before a mood set in. But just one more little push.

“Truth is the baddest bitch there is, sweetie pie.”

At that, Rosa made a point of scratching her nose with her middle finger, something they all used to do when adults were around and they had a particular point they needed to get across to one another. With the gesture, Carmen’s ensuing chuckle, and Rosa’s smile, any budding hard feelings were quashed.



oOo



By the time they’d seen all of the Louvre either of them was interested in seeing, there was about half an hour until closing time. Rosa was walking in her fancy sandals with the mincing steps of a woman whose shoes had become torture devices, but her spirits were up. She’d been a delight most of the day.

Gift shop it was, then. Reward time. Afterward, they’d find a taxi and ride in comfort to a nice dinner.

Rosa forgot all about her sore feet as soon as she saw the shopping opportunities before her. Before she could make a beeline for a jewelry display, Carmen got her to agree to meet under the inverted pyramid in twenty minutes. Then Rosa trotted off, and Carmen wandered to the books.

She was flipping through a coffee table book about medieval textiles when she felt the warmth of another body in her personal space. Before she could turn to see who’d gotten so close, and make it known that their proximity was unwelcome, she heard a deep, wry voice at her ear.

“Fancy meeting you here.”





4



Carmen turned her head toward Theo. He was leaning over her shoulder; if he leaned just a little forward, he could kiss her. The temptation was strong, but he resisted.

He hadn’t realized it was her he was standing next to until, flipping through the pages of a large art book she’d opened on top of a table display, she’d pulled her hair over one shoulder, the one farthest from him, and exposed the graceful line of her neck. He’d spent some time the night before memorizing that lithe span—the long neck, the pronounced collarbones, the deep notch between.

The tense and sudden thrill, the rush of nervous adrenaline, he’d felt when he recognized her had nearly made him shake.

She was dressed surprisingly casually without looking like a slob—a snug, black beater tucked into faded jeans that were a little loose but still hugged her Louvre-worthy ass, a wide, black belt cinched low on her hips. She wore no jewelry that he could see, not even earrings—though, now that he was this close to her, he could see that her bare ears were pierced. The dense fall of her nearly-black hair was pulled away from her face, partially caught back in a plain elastic, the rest left to lie loose, now over her shoulder.

At first, her expression upon his greeting and her recognition of him was not what he’d have called charmed, but then, as they held in place, staring at each other, he smiling at her, one corner of her sweet mouth—with those full lips, the upper just a bit fuller than the lower—pulled up every so slightly.

“Did you buy a book or something? The 1001 Lamest Pick-up Lines in Human History?”

She was right; the first things out of his mouth with her seemed so far always to be humiliatingly trite. He’d hoped they’d be so bad they’d be charming, but not to this woman, obviously. He was not good at flirtation. Well, why would he have been? He’d been with the same woman for more than two decades, and they’d been young fools when they’d met. What dating and seduction skills he had were immature and rusty. He stood straight and smiled sheepishly. “What can I say? You render me an imbecile. Good to see you again, Carmen.”

She turned fully to him but stepped back, regaining a polite personal space. Her eyes moved over him as if she were evaluating him and considering her options. Then she turned back to the table and closed the book she’d been perusing. “Well. I should move on.”

Wondering whether she meant move on from this moment or move on from him entirely, and very much not wanting her to do either, he put his hand on her arm. “Are you here alone?”