Los Angeles 207
Chapter 207
Olivia
We stood there on the yacht deck, Paris glittering around us like scattered diamonds. The Eiffel Tower’s lights danced on the Seine’s dark water, creating paths of gold that rippled with each passing wave.
Alexander’s arms tightened around me, his chin resting on my shoulder. “Cold?”
“A little,” I admitted, though I didn’t want to move from this spot.
He released me only long enough to shrug out of his jacket and drape it over my shoulders. The fabric held his warmth and that clean, expensive scent that was uniquely him.
“Better?”
“Much.”
The yacht continued its lazy circuit of the Seine, passing under bridges and gliding past centuries–old buildings. Other boats dotted the water, their windows glowing with warm light, but it felt like we had the river to ourselves.
“Thank you for this,” I said, leaning back against his chest. “For all of this. London, Paris, everything.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“Bears repeating.” I tilted my head to look up at him. “Most people don’t get to experience things like this.”
“Most people don’t deserve to.” His hand found mine, fingers interlacing. “You work harder than anyone I know. You’ve earned some luxury.”
“Is that your CEO’s assessment of my performance?” I teased.
“That’s my husband’s assessment of his wife.”
The way he said it, so casual and natural, made my chest tighten. Like he actually meant it. Like this wasn’t just an elaborate performance for his grandfather’s benefit.
The captain appeared from the wheelhouse, his weathered face creasing into a smile. “We are approaching Pont Alexandre III, Monsieur Carter. The most beautiful bridge in Paris, no?”
“Show her,” Alexander said, guiding me to the rail.
As we passed under the ornate bridge, I gasped. Golden statues lined both sides, their wings spread as if ready to take flight. The streetlamps created halos of light in the mist rising from the river.
“It’s incredible,” I breathed.
“Built for the 1900 World’s Fair,” Alexander explained, his arms wrapped around me from behind. “Named after a Russian tsar. The French love their elaborate architecture.”
10:55 Thu, Nov 6
“You really did research this.”
“Maybe I’m trying to impress you.”
I turned in his arms, facing him. “Working so far?”
His hands settled on my hips, pulling me closer. “That remains to be seen.”
The yacht’s movement created a gentle rocking motion that pressed our bodies together with each swell Alexander’s eyes were dark in the dim lighting, fixed on my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“What?” I asked, suddenly self–conscious.
“Just memorizing this moment.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “You, Paris, this ridiculous midnight cruise. Want to remember it.”
“Getting sentimental on me, Carter?”
“Maybe.” His lips curved into a small smile. “Don’t tell anyone. Would ruin my reputation.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
We stayed on deck until the yacht returned to the pier, neither of us wanting the evening to end. The city seemed quieter now, the late hour thinning the crowds of tourists and locals alike.
Geoffrey was waiting with the car, looking as fresh and alert as if it were midday rather than nearly two in the morning.
“Did you enjoy your cruise, Madame Carter?” he asked, opening the door.
“It was perfect,” I said, meaning it.
Back at the Savoy, we rode the elevator in comfortable silence. Alexander’s hand rested on my lower back, his touch warm through the thin fabric of my dress. When we reached our suite, I kicked off my shoes immediately.
“Wine?” Alexander offered, moving toward the bar.
“Just water. I’m exhausted.”
He poured two glasses from the bottle of mineral water in the mini fridge and handed me one. I drank deeply, not realizing how thirsty I’d been.
“So,” I said, setting down the empty glass, “what time are your meetings tomorrow?”
“Nine. Should wrap up by two, possibly earlier if the French actually stick to the agenda for once.”
“And then we can explore more of the city?”
“If you’re still brave enough to face the tourist hordes with me.”
10:55 Thu, Nov 6 …
衛福
“That sounds perfect, I said, stifling a yawn behind my hand. I’m already making a mental list of places! want to drag you to.”.
I changed into my nightgown while Alexander brushed his teeth in the bathroom. By the time he emerged, 1 was already under the covers, my body sinking gratefully into the plush mattress.
“Tired?” he asked, sliding in beside me.
“Exhausted. But the good kind.”
Alexander pulled me against his chest, his arm draped over my waist. I fit perfectly in the curve of his body. like we’d been sleeping this way for years instead of weeks.
“Sleep,” he murmured against my hair. “Big day tomorrow.”
I was asleep before I could respond.
The next three days in Paris passed in a blur of meetings for Alexander and exploration for me. I wandered through the Louvre, got delightfully lost in the Latin Quarter, and discovered a tiny bookshop that sold nothing but poetry in a dozen different languages.
Alexander kept his word about actually being a tourist. We climbed the Arc de Triomphe despite the crowds, took ridiculous photos in front of the Eiffel Tower, and ate our way through the Marais district’s best falafel joints and pastry shops.
“This is why I never do tourist things,” Alexander complained as we stood in yet another line, this time for Sainte–Chapelle. “The waiting.”
“Stop whining. It builds character.”
“I have plenty of character.”
“You have plenty of money, which is different from character.”
A woman in front of us turned around, clearly American based on her accent. “First time in Paris?”
“For me, yes,” I replied. “He’s been here a million times but never actually seen anything.”
“Typical,” the woman laughed. “My husband was the same way. Took him to Paris five times before he actually went inside Notre Dame.”
“How’d you finally convince him?” I asked.
“Threatened to come without him next time.” She winked. “Men respond well to ultimatums.”
After she turned back around, Alexander leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Is that a threat?”
“An observation. For future reference.”
“Noted.”
10.30
4-4
300
Sainte–Chapelle was worth the wait. The stained glass windows soared overhead, filling the chapel with jewel- toned light. I stood in the center, slowly spinning to take it all in.
“Oh my god,” I breathed. “Alex, look at this.”
He came to stand beside me, his hand finding mine. “Beautiful.”
“That’s an understatement. This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
田
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Sara Lili
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.