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  Merrick cocked his head to the side.

  “Ever dreamt it would? You mean he’d never had a girl do the thing on him before? I assume you were doing the thing.”

  “Oh, yeah. I was doing the thing. With gusto. And when he intimated that no woman had ever done the thing on him before, I sobered up and asked him how old he was.”

  “Oh fuck,” Merrick said.

  “Merrick, I was half naked on a bed with the virginal barely-seventeen-year-old son of one of the most powerful families in Thoroughbred racing.”

  “Oops.”

  “Two seconds after I told him we had to stop, the door opened. My dress was down, his jacket was off, his shirt was open, his pants were unzipped...and his mother saw it all.”

  Merrick’s eyes went comically wide. Remi would have laughed but for the pain the memory still caused her.

  “How bad was it?” Merrick asked. She appreciated that he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation instead of making Mrs. Robinson jokes.

  “Bad. Julien’s mom had had a little too much Christmas punch. It turned into a screaming match that everyone at the party heard.”

  “Oh, that’s bad.”

  “Very bad. My parents showed up and started defending me. His parents called me every ugly name in the book. My father told Julien’s father, ‘Sir, control your wife.’ And five minutes later, my father and his father were fighting. Like physically fighting. Dad gave Mr. Brite a black eye and Mr. Brite gave Dad a bloody nose. It’s a miracle no one called the cops.”

  “Damn.”

  “The moms pulled the dads off each other, but that almost turned into a catfight until Mr. and Mrs. Railey showed up and calmed everyone down. Poor Julien was begging everyone to just shut up and leave us alone so he and I could talk. Instead his parents dragged him—literally dragged him away from me—and he’s apologizing to me the entire time. ‘I’m so sorry, Remi. I should have told you. I’m so sorry...’”

  She could still hear his humiliated words ringing in her ears.

  “And that started the feud?” Merrick asked.

  “That was the beginning. My parents were furious at the Brites for making a scene and accusing me of seducing their baby boy. The Brites were furious at my parents because my parents blamed Julien for lying to me about his age. He didn’t lie, for the record. I didn’t ask him his age. Never occurred to me to ask until it was almost too late. And I just stood there in shock, saying nothing and feeling like I was going to puke and trying to get my dad not to kill his dad. I didn’t get to talk to him, tell him I was sorry, tell him goodbye, even. It was awful.”

  “You didn’t do anything illegal,” Merrick said. “You were only twenty-two. And legal age in Kentucky is sixteen.”

  “Do I want to know why you have that legal factoid memorized?”

  “Nope,” he said. “So you never saw Julien again?”

  “My parents forbade me from contacting Julien. I haven’t seen him since that night. Not even at any of the races.”

  “Where did he go?”

  She shrugged and tried to pretend that she had never looked for him and wondered that same question. Every race she’d looked for him.

  “He disappeared. And that was that. Except his family still hasn’t forgiven me for almost seducing their son, and my family still hasn’t forgiven them for publicly humiliating me—us, really—at the party.”

  “Have you forgiven him?” Merrick asked.

  Remi smiled. “Julien didn’t do anything wrong. And while his mom was going batshit crazy on me, calling me every possible variation of slut, whore and harlot, he stood up to his parents and defended me.”

  “‘Harlot’?”

  “I believe the words ‘blonde Jezebel’ were also employed. Julien told her off. He told everyone off.”

  “Like a man. I approve.”

  “He’s twenty-one now. I keep thinking I should...but it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

  Merrick looked at her with searching serious eyes.

  “You miss him,” he said.

  Remi didn’t bother to deny it. “I had a perfect moment with him. You don’t get many of those in your life.”

  “This was four years ago? You’d think your families would be over it after four fucking years.”

  “Judging by all the smack talk in the news, they aren’t. In that SI interview, Mrs. Brite called us the ‘white trash’ farm.”

  “Classy.”

  “Dad called the Brites ‘stuck-up snobs.’ I’m really hoping Julien hasn’t read that article.”

  “So what are you going to do when you see Julien again? Jump him?”

  Remi laughed at the ludicrousness of the suggestion. She hadn’t seen him in four years, and the only reason she was seeing him now was to tell him their parents might be fixing races? Hardly cause for an erotic reunion.

  “I’ll do what I should have done years ago. I’ll tell him I’m sorry.”

  After what felt like a year in the air, the plane landed. They checked into their hotel and Remi gave Merrick the night off. It was Saturday, after all. And all she wanted to do was sleep and recover from the flight. Merrick, however, had other plans.

  “Vive la France, remember?” Merrick grabbed her by the upper arms and forced a kiss on each of her cheeks. “When in Paris, do as the Parisians do.”

  “What do the Parisians do?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m hoping it involves getting Parisian drunk and getting Parisian laid. Not necessarily in that Parisian order.”

  “I’m not drinking with you. Or any of the other options. Can’t we go to bed? Not together?”

  “We need to find this Brite boy of yours. My sources tell me he’s a short Parisian cab ride away. Let’s seize the Parisian day, Boss.”

  “It’s night.”

  “Then let’s seize the Parisian night.”

  “Are you going to put ‘Parisian’ in front of every noun until we leave?” Remi asked, as Merrick hailed a taxi.

  “That would be a Parisian yes. I mean ‘oui.’”

  Remi managed not to murder him during the ten minutes between their hotel and Julien’s building.

  The cab stopped in front of a nondescript three-story building. He paid the driver, which Remi thought was an unusually gallant gesture until she noticed Merrick was using her credit card. They stepped onto a side street off the Rue de Furstenberg.

  Merrick half-escorted, half-dragged her to the door. “I think this is it. My sources tell me this is it,” he said. “And by ‘sources’ I mean the Brite family housekeeper.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “I can’t imagine any of the Brite family staying in someplace so normal. Well, normal for Paris, I mean.”

  “This has to be it. I paid ten whole dollars for his address.”

  “Your sources are cheap dates,” Remi said. She rang the buzzer and dusted off her high school French.

  “Bonjour?” came a woman’s voice through the speaker. Woman? At Julien’s house on a Saturday night? Remi hadn’t planned for a girlfriend.

  “Bonjour,” Remi said, trying not to be bothered by the elegant voice. “Julien Brite, s’il vous plaît?”

  “Your accent is terrible,” the woman answered in English.

  Remi laughed. “It’s French by way of a Kentucky high school. Is Julien in?”

  “He might be,” the woman said in a clipped tone. She had something of an accent too but neither French nor Kentuckian. “Who are you?”

  “I’m an old friend of his. I hope. My name is Remi Montgomery of Arden Farms. And—”

  “Come up, please,” the woman said before Remi could even finish her speech.

  She looked at Merrick, who smiled at her in return.

  “Look at you, Boss,” he said. “You’re famous.”

  The door buzzed, and they headed up the stairs to an apartment on the third floor.

  Remi knocked and a woman opened the door. She looked about mid-thirties and w