“I’ll tell you what. You let me walk you up to the door and see what kind of mood he’s in. If he seems okay, I’ll let you talk alone.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted sexy, handsome, electricity-inspiring, nice guy Trent to disappear so she could tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.
Except, what if Trent was right? What if Pierre reacted badly? It wouldn’t hurt to have tall, buff Trent in the loose gray T-shirt and nice-fitting jeans at her side.
“All right. You stay for a minute or two. Then the rest of the discussion is private.”
He grinned. Her heart tumbled. How had she not noticed before how gorgeous he was with his unruly hair and seductive smile?
“Absolutely.”
They entered the building and climbed the two flights of stairs to Pierre’s apartment. It wasn’t the best building in the world. But Pierre didn’t make as much money as she did from her art. And that wasn’t a lot. She lived on her salary from the nonprofit and an extremely generous trust fund.
Still, her leg muscles became rubbery when she remembered how angry he’d been when her art had outsold his at their last showing. Her steps faltered.
“You okay, there, Skippy?”
She pasted on a bright smile as she turned to face Trent, who was on the step below her. “Yes. Fine.”
“If you want to turn and run, just let me know. I’m up for that, too.”
Surprisingly, she laughed. For such a smart guy, with such a sad past and a serious way of making money, he had a great sense of humor.
They finally reached Pierre’s floor and walked to the third door on the right. Forcing her fingers to stop shaking, she pressed the doorbell.
No answer.
After a few seconds she pressed again.
Trent sent her a confident smile and thumbs-up.
She hit the bell a third time. Pierre’s door didn’t open, but the one next to it did.
Pierre’s short, dark-haired neighbor, Danielle, whom Sabrina had met a few times, came out of her apartment, smoking a cigarette. “He’s not here.”
Speaking French, Sabrina said, “Oh. Where is he?”
Danielle brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaled and blew a long stream of smoke. “He’s at his house in Spain.”
“Spain?” Confusion rippled through her. “He has a house in Spain?”
“He goes there at the end of every August. Pretty much spends the winter there.”
Trent put his hands on her shoulders, reminding her of his presence to reassure her. “You wouldn’t happen to have the address?”
Because he’d spoken English, Sabrina repeated the question in French. Danielle held up one finger. The universal symbol for “wait one minute.”
She returned with the address written on a scrap of paper.
Trent said, “Thanks,” took the paper, then turned Sabrina toward the steps again.
They walked down the thin stairway, her optimistic hope of telling Pierre and getting it over with, vanishing. Still, it wasn’t like she had to wait forever. She just had to get to Spain.
When they reached the street, she took the slip of paper with the address from Trent’s hand. “I can get a commercial flight. I don’t want to bother you.”
“It’s no bother. Besides, I have a condo in Barcelona. We’ll fly there, buy a change of clothes, eat a nice dinner and head to Pierre’s tomorrow morning.”
A weird kind of relief poured through Sabrina. Calm, cool and collected Trent had a plan.
Still, she didn’t want to get accustomed to depending on anyone. Not ever. Her mom had been so dependent on her dad that she’d lost the biggest part of her life. Now that Sabrina was in Europe, away from her family’s curiosity, she would have the privacy to do what she needed to do. She could go on without Trent.
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re mad. The guy has a house in Spain that you clearly didn’t know about. You dated him, probably told him everything about yourself but he had a house in Spain and apparently spent lots of time there, yet he never thought to mention that. How much did you guys date anyway?”
She drew in a breath. She was mad. “We didn’t date date. We spent weekends together, took trips, did exhibits together.” She paused long enough to think through how to phrase her explanation. “Our homes were on two different continents. Our relationship was long distance. So there were stretches of time in the winter when we didn’t see each other.”
“Okay. I get it. That’s how long-distance relationships are. You see each other when you can.”
Once again, his answer relieved her. Most of her anger with Pierre melted away. But that didn’t mean she needed Trent to fly her to Spain. “Thanks. When I tell Seth and Jake about being pregnant, I’ll also tell them how much you helped me these past two days.”
Trent’s brows drew together as he frowned. “You do realize that what you’re saying is that when Seth hears I brought you to France, I’ll have to explain to my best friend why I dumped his little sister in Europe.”
“It’s not like that.”
“That’s exactly how a man would hear it. Especially when your brothers find out you didn’t see Pierre in Paris. You saw him in Spain.”
When she said nothing, he sighed. “Look, I’m offering a plane and some companionship. You could catch a cab to the airport and then wait two days before a seat opens up on a commercial flight. My jet’s just a few miles away.” He caught her hand. “And once we get to Barcelona I have friends, a condo, a club I like to go to. I might just ditch you.”
She laughed. Again. He seemed to always say the right thing to make her feel better. He did have a plane. Here. Waiting. He also had somewhere for them to crash overnight. If he’d owned his condo in Barcelona for any length of time, he probably did have friends he’d want to go clubbing with.
And she’d have a few hours alone tonight for a bubble bath. She could chill and get her perspective back.
Because it had hit her all the wrong ways that Pierre had a home in Spain and in their years together he’d never mentioned it.
She needed some time to unwind and Trent was offering it.
How could that possibly go wrong?
“All right. Let’s go.”
TRENT CALLED HIS PILOT. Having an international cell phone, as Trent obviously did, she was tempted to call her mom but decided against it. When he finished his chat with his pilot, they climbed into the limo and headed to the airport. They landed on a private airstrip in Spain a few hours later, but it took another hour to get from the rural airstrip to Trent’s condo.
When he opened the door for her and she stepped inside, she gasped. The place was amazing. Built in an old factory, the condo retained the original brick walls, but they’d been scrubbed to clean perfection. A row of four tall, thin windows brought in light that accented peach-colored club chairs across from a modern gray burlap sofa. The coffee table was a shiny wooden rectangle. Its open middle would have been the perfect place to stack magazines or books. But there were no magazines or books. Not in the open space of the table or strewn around. There wasn’t a personal item anywhere.
“Let me guess. You don’t come here often.”
He