The Baby Proposal. Rebecca Winters

deserves both parents.”

      “I couldn’t agree more.” He rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. “If having the surgery right away is what you really want, I can’t stop you of course.”

      The doctor had given her six months at the most, then she would have to undergo the surgery. But by then she would be in unbearable physical pain. The decision whether to do it sooner than later was an excruciating one. However if she had the operation now, she would be in better shape to go into the hospital and handle the impending ordeal.

      Still, Andrea was devastated her boss didn’t put up more of a fight to keep her with the company longer. “I—I’m glad you understand.”

      “Are you free of pain right now?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then we’ll fly to Paris this morning instead of next week as previously scheduled. I’d like Emile and his team to work with my expert software engineer before you’re no longer available,” he explained while she wrestled with her tortured thoughts.

      Paris? Maybe that plan had been written in on Gabe’s calendar, but this was the first Andrea had heard of it.

      Since her promotion she’d been to Rio and Singapore on business with him, but never to Europe, the place she’d always wanted to go for a honeymoon. It was another pipe dream, just like the one where she gave birth to Gabe’s child.

      “We’ll be staying through the weekend,” he added. “How soon can you be ready to leave for the airport?”

      Her last trip with him… She couldn’t bear to think about it.

      “I’ll need a half hour to pack.” Today was Thursday, which meant she would require four days worth of outfits. Knowing how Gabe operated, he would keep the team working through to Sunday afternoon when it was time to fly home.

      “Benny will drive you to your apartment and wait for you. I’ll see you at the plane. Don’t forget your passport.” He picked up the receiver and told his driver to meet her in front of the building.

      Andrea left his office feeling like someone who’d been knocked unconscious and was starting to come to, yet everything remained fuzzy. She hurried past his private secretary Karen to her own office for her briefcase.

      Corbin PC’s corporate headquarters took up the twenty-ninth and thirtieth floors of the Saxbee building in downtown Manhattan. While she waited for an elevator to take her to the lobby, she said hi to a couple of the girls who’d just reported for work.

      After a few minutes another elevator arrived going down. When the doors opened, Bret emerged in shirt-sleeves, carrying a file. The sales office was on the floor above.

      “Andrea—”

      “Hello, Bret.” She entered the elevator, hoping he wouldn’t join her. Thankfully he only stood there staring at her with wounded eyes until the doors closed.

      That image of him stayed with her all the way out of the building to the waiting limo. It convinced her she was doing the right thing for herself and Bret by resigning. Gabe would never be able to replace him with anyone who could do a better job.

      As for Andrea, her operation and recovery would take her out of Gabe’s orbit for good. It was something that needed to happen for her own preservation, but his memory would haunt her forever.

      Seven hours later a limo from Gabe’s Parisian based company whisked them from De Gaulle airport to a suburb called Champigny. Soon Andrea found herself being escorted off the little rope and pully-operated raft on the swirling waters of the Marne River. Gabe explained they were staying on an island.

      Somehow she’d assumed he would take her to a world-famous hotel like the Ritz, a favorite place for sheiks and millionaires. To her surprise and secret delight, he’d brought her to an isolated section of old-world charm.

      The ambience, a combination of leafy trees and lush June foliage lining the riverbanks where there were a few fishermen in their berets, had transported her to another world so far removed from New York she could scarcely take it in.

      The scene before her reminded her of a certain Renoir painting she loved. It depicted a group of local field hands in work clothes, gathered around a table enjoying a bottle of wine at the end of a long day. The concierge of the Vieux Pecheur Hotel could have been one of them.

      He smiled when they entered the quaint little foyer. Andrea didn’t think the two-story building contained more than half a dozen rooms for guests.

      “Bonsoir, Madame, Monsieur.”

      “Bonsoir.” Gabe set their suitcases on the floor. “Je m’appelle Gabriel Corbin. Vous m’avez reservé deux chambres, n’est-ce pas?”

      “Oui oui. Remplissez l’affiche, s’il vous plaît.”

      Andrea blinked as Gabe started to register. She didn’t know he could speak fluent French. He sounded like a native. If his parents were French, that would explain his dark, attractive features.

      As soon as keys exchanged hands, Gabe picked up their cases and they climbed the tiny circular staircase to the next floor. He stopped at the first door on the left and opened it.

      Andrea let out a soft gasp of delight.

      Inside were two twin beds with green coverlets, a nineteenth-century armoire and dresser, plus a window that looked out on the quiet street. Checked gingham curtains in green and white adorned the frame. With a tiny fleur-de-lis print wallpaper on the walls and ceiling, the room was perfectly charming.

      No phone. No TV.

      This was the real France. A slice of life. That’s what her college art teacher would have said about this incredible place.

      “I adore it!”

      “I thought you might,” he drawled. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. Everyone has to share.” When she looked around at him, his lips were twitching. He was such a handsome man, her body quickened.

      “My room’s the next one on the right. I’ll meet you in the foyer in ten minutes and we’ll take a walk before dinner. I need to stretch my legs and imagine you do, too.”

      “Will Emile and the others be joining us later?”

      “Not tonight.” So saying, he left her to her own devices and shut the door.

      That seemed odd, but maybe he was too tired to deal with employees and be social. As for Andrea, she was so excited to be in Paris, she was glad to put off work until tomorrow.

      The first thing she did was run to the window and stick her head out to survey her kingdom above the foyer. The late afternoon light was fading into evening. As far as she could tell, of the few people who were passing by, none of them were tourists.

      An older teen drew up on a bike with a few baguettes in the basket. He whistled before calling out something to her in his native tongue. Andrea couldn’t help smiling before she turned from the window and headed for the bathroom where she could freshen up.

      The old-fashioned lock didn’t look like it could keep anyone out, but she honestly didn’t care. This was the kind of adventure you dreamed about, but rarely experienced.

      She examined her cream linen skirt which was somewhat wrinkled after their flight. Luckily the mango-colored cotton top never creased.

      After rummaging in her purse, she combed her hair and applied some coral lipstick. Thank goodness she’d chosen to wear her comfortable Italian leather sandals. She’d be able to walk around without problem.

      Andrea had just reached the foyer when a male voice in a heavy French accent said, “I was hoping the beautiful American woman would come down soon.”

      The guy she’d seen moments ago had put his bike behind the front desk. Up close he looked like he might be twenty, twenty-one. His Gallic features resembled the male concierge who’d checked them in earlier.

      There