Page 339 of Masters of Corsica: The Complete Collection
They’re… looking at me.
Me.
I stare at them all before I swivel my gaze back to Lyam. “Lyam,” I say in a choked voice. “Did you… did you have anything to do with this?”
“With what?” he says, as he grabs two flutes of champagne from a tray as staff mulls around plying everyone with champagne. “I’ll take hers, too.”
Avril grins. “Of course he did!” She leans in and whispers in my ear, “He told me you’ve never had a birthday party, love. And it’s our pleasure to give you your first.”
I’m at a loss for words. Whereas others see this family as dangerous and threatening, I know better.
I know they’re loyal and they love fiercely and Ineed fierce.Here, I belong.
They are my family and I am theirs.
Savannah grins. “Did you forget it was your birthday? You lookstunned.”
“Um, maybe?”
I have barely even looked at a calendar, between prenatal appointments, our romantic dates, and the new work Lyam’s taken over in Paris. Plus, our trips all over Europe now that my nausea’s abated. Not to mention preparing for our wedding.
I never paid attention to my birthday because no one ever made it special for me.
Everyone laughs. Savannah grins at me, and my heart swells at the knowledge that she’s not only forgiven me, but she’s my friend now. Lyam holds my hand as we walk together, flanked by friends and family.
“Oooh,” I breathe when we look at the room overflowing with good food and an actual quartet playing string instruments.
A table laden with the best pastries France has to offer showcases all my favorites, the largest tray in the center piled with whimsical, pastel-colored, round macarons. The dining room’s been transformed into a party room with round tablesdecked in white cloths, each centerpiece overflowing with beautiful flowers from Avril’s garden. Every place is set with careful attention to detail—delicate, butter-colored napkins to match bouquets of flowers in yellow and white, elegant plates waiting to be filled.
My mouth waters as staff brings out large family platters of all the foods I’ve craved the most, piled high in silver catering trays—savory mini quiches, coq au vin, fresh-baked baguettes with softened butter.
I sit with Lyam at the head table, as if we’re foreshadowing our wedding in the days ahead. Next to us sits a small table with a matching white tablecloth, piled high with wrapped packages.
“For me?” I ask him. I’ve never seen so many presents in my life.
“Of course they’re for you,” he says, holding my hand. “I’d give you the world if I could, Cosette.”
“I don’t need the world,” I say, looking out in gratitude at the cluster of people around us. “I’ll settle for just a little corner of it. Just like this.”
