Page 142 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

My breath rushes out once we’re in the limo, the tinted windows giving me at least a few minutes’ peace. Gavriil takes the seat opposite me. He leans back into the leather and drapes one arm across the top as he stares at me, his gaze assessing.

“Relax, Grey. It’s not a bad thing to be seen with your husband.”

I shrug. “For all intents and purposes, Drakos, you’re not my husband. We’re business acquaintances. I know these...field trips have a purpose. I’m just not used to the scrutiny.”

I say the words, even if my heart twists inside my chest at the lie. Feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass is draining. But so is trying to keep my walls up. Especially after what happened between us earlier. I need to back away. Maintain the distance I’d established during our wedding and kept up until this morning.

“Many people would enjoy this.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No, you’re not.” Something that looks astonishingly like regret crosses his face. “I have no excuse for earlier. What I said was crass and rude, both before and after we kissed. Let me make it up to you.”

I almost ask why. Why did he say something so horrid?

But asking for a reason, giving him a chance to explain, could take me back to that line I’d straddled this morning. Reintroduce the traces of emotional intimacy that had developed during our coffee on the terrace.

It’s not worth the risk. So I simply nod, telling myself I can stay strong even as my heart whispers a warning.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Juliette

TENMINUTESLATER, my jaw drops open as the limo crosses the arches of the Pont d’Iéna. The Eiffel Tower literally sparkles against the backdrop of a rose-streaked night sky as the limo pulls up to the curb.

“I saw it the other nights, but up close...” My voice trails off as my heart surges in my chest. “I wanted to come here before we left.”

The limo driver opens the door and we step out onto a sidewalk teeming with people. Some are posing for photos with the Tower behind them. Others are kissing or simply ogling the sight of one of the most iconic structures in the world. Between the massive iron legs holding its incredible weight aloft, I can see the green park on the other side dotted with picnickers.

“Is the restaurant off the Champ-de-Mars?” I ask as Gavriil puts a guiding hand to my back.

“Not quite.”

We walk through the crowds to the south pillar. A short set of stairs leads inside.

“Inside the Tower?”

My voice sounds breathless, but I don’t care. I’ve heard of the restaurant, seen the reviews, the mouthwatering photos of gourmet cuisine on Instagram.

“Yes.”

He sounds amused, but when I glance up at him, he’s smiling down at me like he’s pleased with my excitement. I brush aside any self-consciousness as I commit to enjoying the evening ahead of me.

An elevator whisks us up to the restaurant, located on the second floor of the Tower. Our table is right by the window. Boats drift down the Seine. The wings of the Palais de Chaillot on the other side of the river are lit up with golden light. In the distance, I can see the dome of the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre.

A waiter in a dark suit approaches our table and greets us in French as he hands us menus.

“Bonjourand good evening,” Gavriil replies.

“Good evening and welcome. May I start you off with a glass of wine?”

“Un verre de rosé, s’il vous plait.”

I smile as Gavriil looks at me in surprise before ordering himself a glass of merlot, in French as well.

“Dessie insisted I take a foreign language in high school,” I say in response to his unasked question after the waiter takes our orders for the seven-course tasting. His brows draw together. “I fell in love with French and kept it up in college.”

My phone vibrates in my handbag.

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