The doorbell rang then, and they both went immediately alert.
“I’ll bet that’s reporters already,” Sylvie whispered. “Maybe we could pretend nobody’s home.”
“With all the lights on and the TV blaring?” Blanche asked, arching an eyebrow at her. “Let me get it. I can handle these newshounds.”
Sylvie went back into the den, where the news program had resumed. Luc was spouting off about something else now, but she was distracted by the sound of Blanche talking to someone with an indiscernible husky, male voice.
Then she heard two sets of shoes approaching and the low murmur of talking.
“Hey, Sylv, guess what? It wasn’t a reporter, after all.”
Sylvie looked up to see Lucien LeDeux standing in the doorway, wearing the same dark suit and white shirt as she’d seen on TV.
Glancing from him to the TV screen, she realized that the show must have been taped earlier.
“Sylvie,” Luc said tentatively.
“Uh, I think I’ll go home now,” Blanche said. “I have to work on tomorrow’s radio show.”
The traitor! Before Sylvie had a chance to protest, Blanche was gone.
Sylvie stood, not wanting to be at a disadvantage, and clenched her hands at her sides. She needed to calm down before she started screaming.
Luc stepped into the doorway of the room. “You haven’t been answering my calls, Sylv.”
“I needed time to think through some things.”
“For a week?”
She nodded.
“And?” If she didn’t know better, she would think that was a vulnerable look of hope on his face. Thank goodness, he didn’t move any closer… just leaned against the doorjamb, ankles crossed, with his hands in his slacks pockets holding his jacket back on his hips. Any closer and she feared she would clamp her hands around his neck and do something outrageous… like kiss him.
Kiss him? Where did that thought come from? Kissing is out of the question.
When she still hadn’t answered him, he prodded, “And why haven’t you called me back?”
“More things keep piling on—”
“Things?”
“Yeah, things that need… consideration.”
He shook his head in confusion. “Sylv, I found out that Tee-John isn’t my son. It’s a long story, but the gist of it is that my dad was the father all along.” She started to say something, and he held up a hand to stop her. “I know what you’re going to say. That my paternity wasn’t so much the issue as my lack of responsibility. Well, I can’t defend everything I’ve done, but, geez, Sylv, I was young and I tried my best to protect Tee-John.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “That’s the least of our problems.”
“We have problems?” His voice lacked its usual self-confidence.
“Of course, we have problems.”
“Then let’s talk them through, Sylv.” He walked into the room, and was about to pull her down on the sofa with him, but must have noticed the forbidding expression on her face. Instead, still puzzled, he dropped to the sofa and motioned for her to sit in the chair across from him, which she did, needing something to hold onto. “Sylv, I love you. Please don’t close yourself off from me like this. Let me in. Tell me what’s wrong. Together…” He choked up. “Together we can work things out.”
“Oh, don’t you ever say that again, Luc LeDeux.”
“Say what? I feel like you and I are speaking different languages, Sylv.”
“Don’t you ever say that you love me again.”
“Why the hell not? I love you. I love you. I love you.”
He looked so gorgeous and childlike and fierce when he said those words that Sylvie felt herself melting. Still, she braced herself.
“I’m on to you, buster. No more playing games. No more vows of love. No more bull.”
He bristled with indignation. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”
She pointed toward the TV screen. “Let’s talk about that show you put on tonight.”
“You watched?” His face brightened. “I did good, didn’t I?”
Oh, the gall of the man! “The first part was great. I’m glad you got those concessions from Cypress Oil. René and his buddies must be pleased.”
“They are. I can’t wait to tell you all the details… how my dad almost had a stroke when—”