Page 115 of Angel Eyes

“You say that now,” the woman replied smoothly as she led us to an elevator bank, “but you have yet to see our dessert menu.”

The doors slid open to reveal an elevator operator dressed in a vintage double-breasted jacket with gold buttons and a velvet collar.

“Bonsoir monsieur, mademoiselle. To the dining room?”

No sooner had we entered the tiny, wood-paneled space than the operator pressed a button for the sixth floor. A few seconds later, the doors opened again onto a spectacular view of the city, a sea of bright lights shining just beyond the dining room’s wrap-around windows.

I hovered for a moment, staring at the luminous skyline. I’d never seen such a beautiful view of the city.

Another hostess appeared, directing us to a table on an elevated dais facing Notre-Dame Cathedral.

“So,” Juliet said, taking the seat opposite me, “I take it you like this place?”

“Are you kidding? This is incredible. How did you even get a reservation here?” I looked around the crowded space. Not a single table was empty.

Juliet opened her mouth to reply at the same moment our waiter appeared.

“Bonsoir et bienvenue dans notre restaurant.” He handed a menu to each of us. “Can I start you off with some cocktails? We also have an excellent wine selection to choose from. I would be happy to provide you with a recommendation.” A second waiter appeared beside the first, depositing a leatherbound wine list the size of the King James Bible on our table.

“Um, yes,” Juliet said with a nervous laugh. “A recommendation would be great.”

The first waiter began listing off his preferred selection of wines, and I watched as Juliet listened intently, her nose wrinkling in concentration. I smiled to myself. She was so damn cute.

Turning to my menu, I flipped it open and—

Every drop of blood drained from my body as I stared at the name at the top of the page.

Marcel’s.

My fingers tightened. No. It was just a coincidence. There was no way this was my father’s restaurant—he wasn’t even in Paris. But … a trickle of unease settled in my stomach. My father might not be here, but Lucien was.

And so was—

“Gabriel?” My eyes sliced up to Juliet’s, her brows lowering. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The waiter glanced between us. “I can give you a few minutes to consider the menu if you’d like.”

“You order,” I rasped to Juliet, pushing back my chair. “I’m going to find the restrooms.” I spun away from the table before she could argue, heading for the hall at the far end of the room.

I threw open the door to the men’s restroom a minute later, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that it was empty. I crossed over to a row of sinks and flipped on the cold water, dousing my face before grabbing a handful of paper towels and dabbing my collar damp with sweat.

Pull yourself together right the fuck now. The last thing I wanted was to ruin Juliet’s big surprise for me by having a panic attack. Leaning against the porcelain countertop, I took a deep breath through my nose.

Even if this was my father’s restaurant, that didn’t mean he had any idea I was here. I could go back out there, order a drink or three, and have a nice evening with my girlfriend. Then we would get the fuck out of here, and I would never come within a kilometer of this place ever again.

The door opened behind me, but I ignored it, pressing my eyelids shut. Then the lock clicked. My eyes snapped open, and I whirled around, coming face-to-face with a pair of amethyst eyes and crimson lips tilting into a wicked smile.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

“Elise.” I watched her as she moved away from the door, slinking toward me like my worst nightmare come to life. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She drew up short. “It’s opening night at Marcel’s. As your father’s business manager, it’s my job to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“I wasn’t aware your duties extended to the men’s bathroom.”

“I have a wide range of responsibilities,” she said, examining her porcelain skin in the mirror. “But this errand is personal.”

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