Rebecca Winters - Cinderella on His Doorstep / Accidentally Expecting! - Cinderella on His Doorstep

“Obviously he’d experienced some kind of mental breakdown because he turned inward, unable to love anyone. He forgot his daughter existed and became a total recluse, letting everything go including his household staff. When my mother tried to work with him, he told her to get out. He didn’t need anyone.”

In the telling, his dinner companion’s eyes developed a fine sheen. What was going on inside her?

“Horrified by the change in him, she made the decision to marry my father, who’d come to France on vacation. They moved to Queensland, Australia, where he was born.”

“Is your father still there?”

“No. He died in a fatal car accident seven months ago.”

She stirred restlessly. “You’ve been through a lot of grief.”

“It’s life, as you’ve found out.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“My father’s animosity toward my grandfather was so great, he didn’t tell me the whole story until after mother died of an infection two years ago. Gaston never wrote or sent for her, so she never went back for a visit, not even after I was born. The pain would have been too great. It explained her lifelong sadness.”

Earnest eyes searched his. “Growing up you must have wondered,” she whispered.

He nodded. “To make a long story short, in May a letter meant for Mother fell into my hands. The attorney for the abandoned Belles Fleurs estate had been trying to find her. When I spoke with him personally he told me my grandfather had died in a government institution and was buried in an unmarked grave.”

She shook her head. “That’s awful.”

“Agreed. If she didn’t fly to France for a probate hearing, the property would be turned over to the government for years of back taxes owing. It consisted of a neglected château and grounds. I discovered very quickly the whole estate is half buried in vegetation like one of those Mayan temples in Central America.”

The corners of her mouth lifted. “A perfect simile.”

“However, something inside me couldn’t let it go without a fight. That meant I needed to make money in a hurry. So I came up with the idea of renting out the property to film studios.”

She eyed him frankly. “That was a brilliant move on your part for which my father will be ecstatic. You’re a very resourceful man. I hope your ad continues to bring you all the business you need in order to hold on to it.”

Dana Lofgren was a refreshing change from most women of his acquaintance who came on to him without provocation. While they’d eaten a meal together, she’d listened to him without giving away much about herself.

Alex couldn’t tell if it was a defense mechanism or simply the way she’d been born, but the fact remained she’d come as a pleasant surprise on many levels. He found he didn’t want the evening to end, but sensed she was ready to say good-night.

When he’d finished his wine, he put some bills on the table. “After your long flight and the drive from Paris, you have to be exhausted. What time would you like to come to the château tomorrow?”

“Early, if that’s all right with you. Maybe 8:00 a.m.?”

An early bird. Alex liked doing business early. “Bon.” He pushed himself away from the table and stood up. “I’ll be waiting for you in the drive. Bonuit, mademoiselle. ”

Monsieur Martin not only intrigued Dana, but he’d left her with a lot to think about. In fact, the tragedy he’d related had shaken her. His mother had become invisible to her own father, too. There were too many similarities to Dana’s life she didn’t want to contemplate.

She finished the last of her wine, upset with herself for letting Monsieur Martin’s male charisma prompt her to get more personal with him and prod him for details about his family. That was how she’d gotten into trouble with Neal. He’d pretended to be flattered by all her interest. She’d thought they were headed toward something permanent until she realized it was her father who’d brought him around in the first place—that, and his ambition.

Of course there was a big difference here. Neal had used her in the hope of acting in one of her father’s films. She on the other hand had flown to France because Monsieur Martin had advertised his property for a specific clientele. Dana wanted a service from him . The two situations weren’t comparable.

Neither were the two men…

At her first sight of the striking owner, Dana was convinced she’d come upon the château of the sleeping prince, and that before the wine had put her in such a mellow mood. But their subsequent conversation soon jerked her out of that fantasy.

He was a tough, intelligent businessman of substance with an aura of authority she would imagine intimidated most men. Maybe even her own scary parent. That would be something to witness.

Disciplining herself not to eat the last few bites of custard, she left the dining room and went to her room. She could phone her father tonight with the good news. He’d be awake by now expecting her call, unless he’d spent the night with Saskia, which was a strong possibility.

All things considered, she decided to get in touch with him tomorrow after she’d met with Monsieur Martin again.

After getting ready for bed, she set her alarm for 7:00 a.m. She was afraid she’d sleep in otherwise, but to her surprise, Dana awoke before it went off because she was too excited for the day.

She took a shower and washed her hair. Her neck-length layered cut fell into place fast using her blow-dryer. Afterward she put on her favorite Italian blouse. It was a dark blue cotton jersey with a high neck and three-quarter sleeves, casual yet professional.

She teamed it with beige voile pants and Italian bone-colored sandals. Since she was only five foot five, she hoped the straight-leg style gave the illusion of another inch of height. Dana was built curvy like her mother. Being around Monsieur Martin, she could have wished for a few more inches from her father who stood six-one. Barring that, all she could do was keep a straight carriage.

With her bag packed, she headed for the dining room where rolls and coffee were being served. She grabbed a quick breakfast, then walked out to talk to a woman at the front desk Dana hadn’t seen yesterday. “ Bonjour , madame.”

“ Bonjour, madame . How can I help you?”

“I’m checking out.” After she’d handed her back the credit card, Dana said, “Last night I drank a wonderful white wine in the restaurant and would like to buy a bottle to take home with me.” Her father would love it. “Could you tell me the name of it?”

“ Bien sur . We only stock one kind. It’s the Domaine Coteaux du Layon Percher made right here in the Anjou.”

“It’s one of the best wines I ever tasted.”

“In my opinion, Percher is better than the other brands from this area. Sadly the most celebrated of them was the Domaine Belles Fleurs, but it stopped being produced eighty years ago.”

Dana’s body quickened. The woman did say Belles Fleurs. “Do you know why?”

She leaned closer. “Bad family blood.” Dana had gathered as much already. There’d been a complete break between Monsieur Martin’s mother and her father, but he hadn’t mentioned anything else. “It’s an ugly business fighting over who had the rights to what.”

“I agree.”

“The present owner has only lived in the vicinity a month or so,” the woman confided. “The château has been deserted for many years.”

So Monsieur Martin had told her. “It’s very sad.”

“C’est la vie, madame,” she said with typical Gallic fatalism. “Would you like to buy a bottle of the Percher?”

“I—I’ve changed my mind,” her voice faltered. It would seem a betrayal.