When he returned to the rez-de-chausée—the main floor—Breanne was sitting in the salon with his parents, listening intently to his father explain his work, exporting cider and Calvados.
She looked so sweet he couldn't help sliding close to her on the sofa and kissing her cheek. His mother gave him a hard look, but he ignored it, concentrating instead on the way his fiancée's cheeks turned a delicate pink at his display of affection.
I’m so proud of her. She’s done nothing to make even the most narrow-minded of French people object to her and she changed very little from her normal behavior. She’s perfect, American enough to drive me wild with desire and affection, but French enough to please the rather conservative people of the area. And she’s all mine.
The four of them stayed a long w
