“Not you,” he told her. “You’re too strong for that. But us?” His dark eyes said the rest. I’ll ruin what we have together. “I don’t want to screw up, but I have to admit I don’t have the best history.”

“Baby, you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Marc needed to see that he wasn’t doomed to follow the same path as every Dumont man who came before him. “You’re not your daddy. You won’t make the same mistakes he did.”

“That’s why I always use protection.”

He was missing the point. “I’m not talking about birth control. I’m talking about mastery over your life. You’re not destined to fail, and you’re not cursed.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know, hon. Sorry. I’m just in a weird mood tonight. Forget I said anything.” He scooted her off his lap. “Why don’t you head back to my suite and get the bed warmed up, okay? I’ll be there in a jiff.”

Reluctantly, she left him with a kiss. She hoped she’d gotten through to Marc, but when he came to bed later that night, he made love to her like a soldier headed for war . . . with one exception. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes. His lips scarcely strayed from hers, his hands brushing her face as if to memorize each freckle and eyelash, but no matter how many times she tried to hold his gaze, he refused the emotional connection.

She understood what he was doing—avoiding intimacy and preparing for the inevitable breakup, because that was all he’d ever known. A chill settled in Allie’s soul when she realized she’d lose Marc unless she changed his way of thinking.

And fast.

* * *

The next morning, she served her breakfast pastries and set off in search of Ella-Claire, hoping an estrogen-enhanced brainstorm session would yield some ideas. She found Ella standing behind the purser’s desk with Alex, the two of them engaged in an intense thumb war that rendered them oblivious to her approaching footsteps.

“Hey, back off, cheater,” Ella said, pushing Alex’s chest to put another inch between them. With her other hand, she gripped his fingers and hooked a thumb around his. She had him pinned for an instant, but he wriggled free. In clear desperation to win, she crowded him and launched a new attack.

Alex chuckled. “Who’s cheating now?”

“All’s fair in love and thumb war. I’m taking you down, buddy.”

She used her free hand to tickle his ribs, and Alex retaliated in an assault on her tummy. Seconds later, the thumb war gave way to a full-on tickle fight, the echo of their laughter reverberating through the lobby. It didn’t take long for Alex to overpower his opponent.

Securing both of Ella’s wrists behind her back, he pinned her against the counter and smiled in victory. Alex moved forward until nothing but a sliver of air separated them. He swallowed hard, the mood shifting as his gaze dropped to Ella-Claire’s mouth and held there.

Gracious, these two had it bad.

Just when Alex leaned down for a kiss, Allie cleared her throat.

Alex glanced up, his eyes flying wide. “Allie!” He released his buddy and jumped back as if she’d caught him doing something wrong. Which she had. Marc would pummel Alex six feet under if he discovered his brother putting the moves on Ella-Claire.

“Hey, there,” Allie said, folding her arms on the countertop. “Whatcha up to?”

“Nothing!” Alex glanced around the desk until he found a clipboard, then snatched it with a shaky fist. “Uh, I should run. I’ve got . . . uh . . . stuff to do.”

“Mmm,” Allie said with a knowing look. “Sounds important.”

Ella-Claire casually handed him a sealed envelope. “While you’re out, will you drop this by room 215?”

All too happy to comply, Alex grabbed the letter, skirted the counter, and took off down the side hallway like a felon on the run. There goes a man with a guilty conscience, Allie thought. His partner in crime straightened her sleek brown ponytail and pretended nothing had happened.

“What’s going on with you two?” Allie asked.

Ella made doe eyes and blinked in ignorance. “Nothing. We’re just friends.”

“Liar,” Allie scoffed. “What if it’d been Marc instead of me who walked in here and broke up your little tickle fight?”

Ella dropped the innocent act. “You’re not going to say anything to him, are you? Because I swear nothing would’ve happened.”

“He was about to kiss you.”

Ella dismissed the argument with a flick of her wrist. “I wouldn’t have let him.” She leaned in and rested both arms on the counter, mirroring Allie’s pose. “Look, I like Alex. He’s my bestie. But he’s a player—always has been. No matter how much we flirt, I keep him in the friend zone. I’m not stupid enough to fall for a Dumont.”

Allie’s face went slack. Even Marc’s sister knew it was lunacy to try to tame his wild heart. That didn’t bode well.

Ella-Claire realized her mistake, instantly stammering to correct herself. “I don’t mean Marc—he’s different from his brothers. I’ve seen the way he watches you, Allie. He’s totally smitten.”

Allie caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Really?”

“I swear,” Ella said, holding up one hand in an oath. “I’ve never seen him like this. You’ve given me hope.”

Allie raised a brow in question.

“That he might actually slow down and let himself be happy,” Ella said. “I think you’re good for Marc—and that he can be good for you, too.”

“I want that to be true,” Allie said. “But there’s a lot of baggage in the way.”

Ella-Claire gestured to the extra chair behind the purser’s desk. “I need to finish the billing. Want to help me stuff envelopes while we chat?”

That sounded perfect. Talking always came easier for Allie when she busied her hands. She sat side by side with Ella, working while she explained the recent change she’d noticed in Marc.

“He’s already pulling away,” Allie said. “I can feel it.”

Ella licked an envelope, making a yuck face at the glue. “Are you sure? Because it seems like he can’t get enough of you.”

“Positive. Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

“I think so,” Ella told her. “Is that where you believe in something so much that you make it happen?”

“Sort of,” Allie said. “But on a subconscious level. Like if a person is convinced he’s going to lose his job, he might pull back from his coworkers, then start slacking off and showing up late.”

“Which results in him getting fired.”

“Exactly.” Allie folded another room service bill, creasing it with her fingernail. “On the surface, Marc says he doesn’t believe in the curse. But I think he buys into it just enough to set low expectations for himself. Last night he basically told me our days are numbered. Now I can barely get him to look at me.”

“You think he’s going to break it off?”

“No, not yet,” Allie said. “But I think over time he’ll sabotage his happiness. Just like his daddy and his pawpaw. People learn what they live. The curse isn’t real, but it might as well be, because the Dumonts keep perpetuating the cycle.”

Ella went silent for a while, gazing at the lobby ceiling as if the answer might appear up there among the chandelier crystals. “So how do we undo a lifetime of superstition, bad habits, and even worse examples?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

And Allie didn’t have one red cent toward the answer. She scowled at the framed photo of Marc’s great-great-grandfather that hung on the wall inside the purser’s office. Edward Dumont bore a slight resemblance to Marc, but his chin was weak and his eyes were cold. He looked like the kind of man who hadn’t taken many risks, despite the fact that he’d made a thriving business of the Belle.

Ella-Claire followed Allie’s gaze to the portrait. “He’s the one who started this mess. I heard he had a fiancée but left her at the altar. He never got married after that, not that it stopped him from having a gaggle of kids with three different women.”

Something compelled Allie to study the portrait more closely. She stood and approached it, not sure what she was looking for, and gripped the frame to pull the picture down from the wall. It was bolted in place, but the backing budged just enough to dislodge a piece of paper that had been wedged behind it. Onion-thin and yellowed with age, the page drifted to the floor. When she picked it up, she saw a letter to Edward dated 1915. It was signed by someone named Silas Dumont.

“Check this out,” she said, returning to the desk to show Ella-Claire. “There was an old note stuck behind the picture.”

Ella scooted her chair closer, and together they read the letter in silence. It was brief, but impactful, shedding light on the origins of the Dumont curse.

“Wow,” Ella said. “That explains a lot.”

“Edward and Memère.” Allie shook her head. “I had no idea they were lovers.”

“Not just lovers. Engaged.”

Allie glanced down to find her forearm covered in goose bumps. Carefully, she folded the note and tucked it inside a book for safekeeping. “Do you mind if I hold on to this? I want to show my sister.” Devyn was going to eat this up.

“Be my guest,” Ella said. “But you might not want to let Marc see it. Nothing will convince him the curse is fake if he reads that.”

* * *

Marc’s right arm tingled, the blood flow interrupted by Allie’s sleeping head resting on his shoulder. But he made no move to wriggle free. He lived for these quiet moments alone with her when they lay so close, he felt the thump of her heartbeat against his chest. If he shut his eyes and concentrated, he could slow his pulse to match hers. Then they were like one person, connected on the most basic levels—body to body, heart to heart.