Page 64 of Eat Slay Love
I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Thank you."
His lips quirked. "You waited ten years. You’re not the sort of woman who jumps into one-night stands."
"True."
He sighed. "However. . ."
I raised a brow. "However?"
His lips brushed against my temple. “You’ll find that once I have you in my bed. . .that ten-year wait will make a lot of sense.”
“Mmmm.”
"Let’s just hope that I don’t kidnap you in the morning and sneak you into Paris."
A laugh bubbled from my throat, further keeping me comfortable.
Yet, there was still a tiny bit of nervousness from what could come next.
Holy shit. I’m really about to do this.
Chapter eleven
The Art of Worship
Fabien
In France, we have a saying—l’instant décisif—the decisive moment.
It is the moment where it all matters, where fate balances on the edge of a blade, where time slows, and you either seize the opportunity or watch it slip through your fingers.
Henri Cartier-Bresson, a French photographer, coined the phrase, believing that in every story, in every life, there isonemoment that shapes everything after it.
A single second where everything aligns—light, emotion, motion—and if you capture it, you own something timeless.
I never thought I would have a moment like that.
Not in my line of work.
Not in my life.
Yet tonight,this is my moment.
And what’s more unbelievable. . .it refuses to end.
Because I have stumbled upon a goddess.
An American goddess with dark brown eyes that threaten to unravel me, full lips I could worship for years, and curves that could have toppled kingdoms in centuries past.
And what do the men in this country do with such a woman?
They let her roam free.
Unclaimed.
Unworshipped.
Ridiculous.
