Free The Virgin's Proposition by Anne McAllister Page A

next day as he’d promised, but also several times over the past week and a half.
    Yesterday, Franck had told her gleefully this afternoon, he had commandeered a wheelchair and taken Franck down to the dock.
    “A wheelchair? You went to the dock?” Anny, who had never been able to get Franck to go anywhere because he was too self-conscious, could barely believe her ears. “Whatever for?”
    “We went sailing.”
    Then she really did gape.
    Franck nodded eagerly. “We went in his brother’s sailboat.”
    He recounted his amazing day, his eyes shining as he told her how Demetrios and his brother Theo—“a racing sailor,” Franck reported—had simply lifted him out of the wheelchair and into the boat, then set out for a sail around the Îles de Lérins.
    Anny was still stuck imagining Franck allowing himself tobe lifted, but apparently, as far as Franck was concerned, Demetrios and his brother could do anything. “Didn’t he tell you?” Franck demanded.
    Anny shook her head. “I haven’t seen him.”
    He looked surprised. “You should have come in the mornings. He always came then.”
    Of course he did. Because he knew when she went to see Franck. She’d told him. If Demetrios had wanted to see her, he could have. He knew where she lived.
    He hadn’t. And she hadn’t sought him out, either.
    She’d had her night. She’d relived it ever since.
    Of course she couldn’t deny having wished it had lasted longer—even wishing it had had a future. But she knew it didn’t.
    So it was better that she not encounter him again. So even though she had kept an eye out for him over the following week and a half, she’d carefully avoided attending any parties to which he might have gone.
    Of course, she knew he’d come to Cannes to work, not to party. But she also knew that sometimes going to parties was part of the work. Some years it had even been part of her own. Fortunately her father had decided not to host one this year.
    And now the festival was over. Demetrios, she was sure, was already gone. He’d got what he came for. News stories early this week had reported that he’d landed a big distributor for the film he’d brought to Cannes. And yesterday she’d read that he’d found backing for his next project.
    She was happy for him. She almost wished she had seen him again to tell him so. But what good would that have done, really?
    It would only have been embarrassing. He might even have believed she was stalking him.
    No. She’d already had her own personal fairy tale with Demetrios Savas. One night of lovemaking.
    That was enough.
    But when Gerard had called her that afternoon and announced, “We will be hosting a party on the royal yacht this evening,” she wasn’t quite as sanguine as she’d hoped.
    She’d told herself that she would go to her fate gracefully and willingly. He was a good man. A kind man.
    But the truth was, she’d barely given him a thought since the night she’d had dinner with Demetrios.
    Now she felt oddly cold and disconnected as she repeated, “We?” Did he meant the royal “we” or “the two of them”?
    “My government,” Gerard clarified briskly. “The party was planned to occur whether I was here or not. We hoped to attract film companies, you know. The revenues are an excellent boost to the economy.”
    “Yes, of course.” Her father believed that, too.
    “And since I’ve finished my work in Toronto, I’m able to be here. And it will be a wonderful opportunity for us to host it together.” He sounded delighted.
    Anny wasn’t certain. “Are you sure I should host it with you?” she asked. “I mean, we’re not married.” As if he needed reminding.
    “Not yet,” Gerard agreed. “But soon. That is something we need to discuss, Adriana.”
    “What is?”
    “The date of our wedding.”
    “I thought we agreed we’d wait until after I finished my doctorate.”
    “Yes, but we can make plans. It will not be an elopement, you know.”
    “Of course not.