Page 119 of Damaged

We dig in, and when I’m leaning back and moaning after my last bite, James asks a question. “Are you free next week?”

“Alana and I were going to catch a movie Thursday. But… that’s pretty much it,” I say honestly. In the beginning of our relationship, I pretended to be busier than I was while practically unemployed. I don’t care to hide it much anymore.

“How about we go somewhere?”

“A trip?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where?”

“I do have an investor’s meeting I have to be at on the thirtieth.” James holds his hands out. “So maybe somewhere close since we’ll just do a long weekend.”

“Okay.” I squint. “I’m not really feeling the beach.” I don’t tell him why. I think it’s because Morocco was such a bust.

“Do you care if it’s warm?”

“Not really.”

James tilts his chin up as he thinks. “Do you like French fries?”

“Yes,” I say with a question in my tone, curious where he’s going with this.

“Do you like gravy?”

I begin to get an understanding. “Also yes.”

“What about French fries smothered in gravy?”

“You want to go to Quebec?”

“Quebec City. It’s an old favorite of mine. I can get the master suite at the Chateau.”

“There’s a Chateau?” I ask.

“Oh, you’re in for a fun surprise.” James smiles as he picks up our dishes and carries them to the sink.

That morning was as much of James as I saw until we got on the plane to Quebec. He says he’s doing some restructuring at Aquarius to lessen his workload, so I’m not about to feel bad about him working so he can spend more time with me.

We cuddle and laugh on the plane ride.

I’ve never been, and it’s a little disorienting to realize that there are millions of people just a little north of New York who all speak French.

We take a private car downtown, crossing the St. Lawrence River. I’m more than impressed by this place. The town is builton a hill. It’s all cute cobblestone streets lined with narrow brick buildings. I need to come here for Christmas.

Towering above it all is the Chateau Frontenac.

It looks like an enormous castle. Green turrets pop up from its lower level, and the main tower stretches another ten stories into the air. It’s capped imposingly with a dark copper roof.

“This has always been here?” I say in disbelief, staring out the car window. “Where have I been living?”

“In America,” James says a little teasingly.

“This place is like Europe. It’s gorgeous.”

“A little gem if you’re willing to get cold,” James says as the car rolls up to the main entrance of the Chateau.

Porters open our doors and take our luggage. Inside, the lobby is white marble. The ceiling is adorned with brilliant chandeliers, and the walls are dark gorgeous wood.

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