Page 52 of The Billionaire's Wife

I looked over at Tristan, eyebrows raised. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. It’s DC. There’s all kinds of stuff we could go do downtown. Or there’s Mount Vernon, which isn’t too far. We could even rent bikes and ride down there if you wanted. It’s a nice trail along the river.” He shrugged. “Sky’s the limit. Literally. I don’t think anyone’s using the plane. We could fly somewhere.”

I blinked. “The…plane?”

Tristan nodded. “The plane. The guys and I own a plane together.”

“Wow. That’s a big investment to share.” He could afford his own, but maybe it made sense that he would share with his friends. And still, I couldn’t stop the question: “Why do you still live here?”

“What’s wrong with here?” He frowned at me. “I like the view. It’s paid for. And it’s more space than I need. I’d be fine with a one bedroom, honestly. But my parents like having a place to stay when they’re in town.”

I couldn’t help but smile. That was Tristan in a nutshell. It worked, so he stuck with it. And he made room for his parents.

“So. Would you like to go somewhere? I should make sure we can get a pilot if that’s the case.”

I laughed. It was so surreal. Imagine being able to call up a pilot and then zip off to wherever simply because the whim struck.

“We could make a weekend of it. If you wanted. And you have a passport.” Tristan tipped his head to the side, little sparks of mischief ignited in his eyes. “Did you ever get to Paris?”

I snickered. “Oh, sure. I’ve jetted off to France all the time. It fits in so well with my stay-under-the-radar lifestyle to date. Nobody just flies to Paris for the weekend. But I do have a passport.”

“Sure they do.” He grinned as he tapped at his phone. He waited, then tapped again.

I watched as he texted with someone. It was fascinating to see his billionaire side emerge, even briefly. I’d known about the money—sort of—but his lifestyle made it easy to forget.

He looked up from his phone. “You mind if Noah and Jenna tag along? I guess Jenna’s working with a designer in Paris for her wedding dress and while they’ve been doing most of it virtually, she was going to go for her final fitting soon anyway.”

“Um. Sure. I guess. The dress is ready?” I didn’t have any idea how fancy Parisian designers worked, but I didn’t imagine that someone could simply show up on their doorstep and say they were ready for a fitting.

“Jenna’s checking on that now. But she believes so.” Tristan shrugged. “You really don’t mind? They’ll leave us alone if we want.”

“I really don’t mind. They don’t even have to leave us alone. But I want to do touristy stuff.” If we were going to live in this surreal world where jetting off to Paris was a thing, then I was going to embrace it.

“Obviously.” Tristan stood. “Go pack. I’ll take care of the details. We should plan to leave in a couple of hours.”

“Sure.” I started out of the room, then turned. “This is really weird, you know that, right?”

He chuckled. “I do. Mostly, I pretend the money’s not there.”

I nodded. That explained a lot. Like why he was still working. Why he lived in this condo, which sure, was nice, but it wasn’t exactly billionaire lodging. Then again, I hadn’t looked up housing prices in the DC area, so maybe it was. A view of the river probably didn’t come cheap.

I went down the hall to the room I was using, and closed the door before stretching out on the bed. I had no idea how to pack for a weekend in Paris with a billionaire.

So maybe I should just pack for a weekend in Paris with Tristan.

I rubbed a hand over my aching heart. We’d talked about going to Paris for a honeymoon. It had been all talk—we’d both known that. He was a student. I was a high school graduate—barely—who desperately needed out of her home situation. And Tristan had been my best friend. My only friend, really. He’d given me the solution I needed and I’d latched on with two hands. I’d cared for him then. Still did. But back then, I hadn’t realized that his feelings ran deeper than he let on.

Maybe it was fair, since he obviously had no idea that my feelings had been changing over the last month.

And I needed to keep it that way.

Regular man Tristan deserved so much better than me. Billionaire Tristan? Yeah, talk about out of my league. We weren’t even playing the same game anymore.

With a sigh, I sat up. Time to look through my sparse collection of clothes and see what would work for a weekend in Paris.

After an hour, I gave up. I was going to have to go shopping. I had a couple pairs of jeans that would work. Some shirts that were okay for doing things like walking around and visiting the Louvre. But if we were going to eat anywhere other than a sidewalk café—and even then I might be underdressed, depending—I didn’t have the right clothes. I had what I’d worn to the FBI, but that was more business than fancy. Dinner in Paris? That needed fancy.

Didn’t it?

---