Page 50 of Say Yes to the Death

He cleared his throat. “You are talking about the cathedral, right?”

She smiled. “Yes, the cathedral.”

“It only looks small from this view. Here.” He took her hand and led her around the side of the church.

The sunshine was bright and warm. Although the air smelled distinctly like stagnant water and mud, courtesy of the adjacent Seine River, nothing could spoil the view.

“Oh,” she said. The cathedral, deceptively narrow from the front, seemed to stretch to infinity. “I take back everything I said.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“This spot would be perfect for a proposal.” She whipped around. “Closer to sunset, maybe in the spring. They could start on a river tour of the Seine and cross the bridge, stand here under the belfry.”

She waved her hands vigorously, sloshing some espresso out of her cup and onto her hand.

“Friends and family members could stand over there holding candles, lining a path littered with white rose petals. Maybe a violinist or a string quartet. More private than the Eiffel Tower. Just imagine the pictures.” She clasped a hand to her heart. It was so freakin’ romantic.

“You could actually make that happen,” Luke said quietly, coming to stand beside her. He pulled a napkin from his pocket and dabbed at the spilled coffee. “How many requests for international proposals have you gotten in the last few weeks alone?”

She slumped a little. “I don’t know that it would be worth the effort. I have no connections here. I’d have no control. I don’t speak the language. How would I even begin to overcome that?”

“Hire a business consultant. Open another branch, find a couple of locals to run the day-to-day. You could be writing happily ever afters for the whole world.”

“Great, then we could service serial killers worldwide. What a fabulous idea. Besides, you think proposals are stupid.” She turned to stare him down. A stiff wind blew her hair across her face. A strand stuck stubbornly to her lip gloss.

Luke grasped her hand and pulled her along. “Not all of them are stupid. You’ve shown me that there’s value in making a big gesture. I don’t necessarily understand why that requires a Jet Ski, but people express love differently I guess.”

She whistled. “Luke Islestorm, you’re a changed man.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

She shoved him playfully. “What’s next on our adventure?”

“You’ll see.”

Hours later, Claire threw open the door to their black-and-white hotel room and tossed half a dozen shopping bags onto the floor.

“I love the Champs-Élysées,” she said, collapsing onto the bed. “Do you think they would let me live there?”

Luke appeared in the doorway, laden with more bags. “I don’t know how we’re going to get all this crap home.”

“I’ll buy another suitcase.”

“Did you really need six pairs of shoes when there’s already four in your suitcase?”

“Luke,” she said, very seriously. “Fall is right around the corner. And I’m a master packer.”

She rolled off the bed and inspected her suitcase. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She sighed. Being along for the ride was getting old. “At least tell me how I should dress. Dressy, casual? Not that it really matters since it’ll be black regardless.”

“Dressy, I think. You’d better hurry or we’ll be late,” he said, tapping his watch.

She headed toward the bathroom.

“Wait,” he said. “Give me your phone. No working, remember?”

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