Page 16 of Guilty as Sin

“This is stunning.” Zoe’s eyes flash to mine, and a sudden, brilliant grin lights her face. She carries and infectious energy that’s easy to feel in every shared glance.

"This one," I say, directing her attention to a painting with shadows and striking contrasts. "The play of light and dark is compelling, don't you think?"

“It’s like a dream,” she whispers, the word carrying layers of awe and introspection.

Rolf joins us, his eyes following hers across the painting. "What do you dream about, Zoe?"

She turns, her expression shifting from the art to something more personal. I watch as she gathers her thoughts, the pause more telling than an immediate reply.

"Well, I've always had a few." She laughs softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I think I’d like to start my own company. But not yet. I still need to find something that inspires me enough to invest all that time and money. For now, I’m happy shaking up a few outdated ideas about life and love.”

“Tell us,” I press, “what fuels your ambition? We’re genuinely interested.”

Her eyes meet mine, steady and defiant. "Independence," she says. "Adventure. Something more than what everyone else expects."

As we wander deeper into the gallery, her words linger in the air like an open invitation. The paintings turn into colorful blurs while I think about Zoe's dream, which is far more fascinating than the artwork around us. Rolf sticks by her side, always there, his eyes showing a curiosity that mirrors mine. I sneak a look at him, and our silent exchange says it all. We've discovered something special in her—something rare, untamed, and full of life.

Zoe pauses, taking in a sprawling landscape that almost spans the length of an entire wall. She stands with an almostchildlike wonder, her arms wrapped around herself as if to hold the moment closer. Her intensity is captivating, and I marvel at the spirit that makes her burn so brightly.

“I thought you might be an art lover,” I comment, watching her gaze trace the painting's distant edge.

She laughs, the sound low and warm. "I never realized I was until now.”

The conversations come and go, words mixing with the quiet power of the art around us. Zoe pulls us in, open and unguarded, making us want to share more of ourselves. There's a rhythm to it, a slow reveal, with each of us holding back just enough to keep things interesting.

The gentle chatter of foreign voices from other visitors sounds like a distant hum, and everything feels quieter around us. I see Rolf watching Zoe's face, just as fascinated as I am, and I know we're on the same page.

"Zoe," I say, cutting through a silence that holds more than just words, "do you always get what you want?"

Her answer comes with a playful lift of her brow. "No, but I’m working on it," she says, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Rolf inclines his head, acknowledging the challenge. "Even if it requires risk?" he presses, an edge of curiosity in his tone.

Her nod is deliberate, confident. "If it’s worth it.”

As the museum's grandeur fades into the distance, I consider how masterfully she’s stolen my heart. All that’s left is to make her fall in love with me—with us.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, checking my watch. "We could find somewhere quiet for dinner."

Zoe nods, her eyes still bright with the afterglow of the art we've witnessed. "Starving, actually. I was so caught up in everything that I forgot about food entirely."

"The sign of a worthwhile experience," Rolf says, his voice carrying that gentle rumble that seems to draw her in. "When you lose track of basic necessities."

We step out into the Parisian twilight, and I place my hand lightly at the small of Zoe's back, guiding her down the steps. The touch is brief but electric. I feel her slight intake of breath, see the way her eyes flick to mine, then to Rolf's. There's curiosity there, and something deeper—a recognition of the path before us. Deep down, I can’t believe how intense our connection has become.

"I know a place," I tell them, hailing a taxi with practiced ease. "Small, family-owned. The kind tourists never find."

In the taxi, Zoe sits between us, our thighs touching in the confined space. The casual intimacy feels significant. Her scent—something light and floral with an undertone of amber—fills the small space. I notice how Rolf's hand rests near hers on the seat, not quite touching but probably close enough to feel the heat of her skin.

"So," she says, breaking the comfortable silence, "you've learned about my dreams and ambitions. What about yours?"

I smile, appreciating her directness. "Fair question."

"We've always been ambitious," Rolf answers, his gaze fixed on the passing Parisian streets. "But lately, I've been thinking about what lies beyond business success."

"Connection," I add, watching her expression carefully. "Something genuine in a world that often feels transactional."

Zoe studies us both, her intelligent eyes moving between our faces. "And you think you can find that… together?"

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