Page 46 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

Whatever they were, and she couldn’t define it, Emma finally accepted that it was far bigger than either of them.

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AFTER LUNCH IN A QUAINT restaurant down a little lane of the Latin Quarter, which Emma thought of as the Parisian equivalent of Gianni’s for its exceptional food and totally unaffected, authentic charm, Vasilios and Emma found themselves walking the Champs-Élysées, from the Arc de Triomphe towards the Louvre, with the sun delightfully warm. Full of good food, a glass of white wine, and having shared almost two hours of easy conversation with Vasilios, in which they steered clear of subjects that were heavy or serious, Emma felt as though she was walking on air. Happiness seemed to flood her pores.

They passed shops and restaurants, and the crowd ebbed and flowed around them, but as with the Eiffel Tower, Emma barely registered the existence of other people at all.

At the bottom of the Champs-Élysées, they took a turn, into a street that was lined with stunning stone buildings and some of the most prestigious fashion names in the world. Emma marvelled at the obvious wealth of the area, the beauty of it, and before she knew it, Vasilios was standing at the door to a world famous jeweller.

“Looking for some new cufflinks?” She teased with an arched brow as she moved to walk with him into the store. The entrance was flanked on either side by two men, all in black suits.

“Mr Valenti, how nice to see you again,” one of the men stepped forward, looking for all the world as though he’d been expecting Vasilios. Had he been? Perhaps he’d arranged a stop here? “Is there something in particular we can help you with today?”

Vasilios turned slowly to regard Emma thoughtfully, raking his gaze over her deliberately, from the top of her head, to her throat, breasts, all the way down to her toes, his inspection detailed enough to make her blood simmer. When his eyes met hers, on the way back up, she felt a spark ignite between them and knew he felt it too.

“A necklace. Diamond.”

Emma’s breath hitched in her throat and as the man nodded and turned on his shiny heel, leading them through the incredibly fancy shop, Emma moved close to Vasilios and whispered, “What on earth are you doing?”

“You can’t come to Paris and not take home a souvenir,” he said in an answering stage whisper.

“I already bought a souvenir.” She reached into her pocket to remove the keyring she hadn’t been able to resist acquiring from one of the merchants at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower. It was a tiny version of the famous landmark and had several LED lights so it shone red, blue, then white.

“Something a little more lasting. Perhaps slightly less tacky.”

She laughed despite her misgivings. “I happen to like tacky. Besides, it’s not about the souvenir lasting so much as the memories. And I’ll have memories of this day for a long time.”

She said it before she could question the wisdom, nor before she could stop herself and she felt as though she’d revealed way too much. Quickly, Emma glanced away, pretending fascination with a display in the centre of the shop, and then, they were at a glass counter filled with stunning diamonds.

Emma had made the decision, on the short walk from the front of the door to here, to buy a necklace for herself, rather than allow him to purchase one for her, but at the sight of the jewels she knew anything in here was way, way out of her league. Even with the large settlement she’d received on Jack’s death, she knew she couldn’t squander the money.

“I don’t suppose they have keychains?” She whispered again, even softer, to avoid being heard by the shop assistant.

“Which do you like?” He asked, gesturing to the counter.

She almost refused to look. “They’re all beautiful, but I don’t need this,” she mumbled, embarrassed and uncomfortable. At first, she couldn’t explain it, but then, clarity came to her. A diamond necklace was a gift that spoke of permanence, of seriousness. Or of serious extravagance. The former wasn’t appropriate, because there was nothing permanent nor serious about their relationship, and the latter brought back too many memories of what he’d first thought of her. That she was a woman who wanted to romance a dying old man just because he happened to be rich. As if she wanted this sort of extravagant gesture.

“Let me choose for you?”

But the more they stood there, looking at the sparkly jewels, and the more the man behind the counter regarded them with commission dollar signs in his eyes, the more Emma felt as though she almost couldn’t breathe. She reached out, put a hand on Vasilios’s arm and found her voice—a voice she’d never really used much with Jack, because she hadn’t felt confident enough to assert herself, but which she knew, on some soul-deep level, that Vasilios would heed, even if he didn’t agree with her.

“This is very kind of you,” she said, honestly. “But my answer is no.” She smiled, because she wanted him to see that he hadn’t done anything wrong. She laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand. “What I really want,” she said contemplatively, “is to go to the Louvre, seeing as we’re so close. Do we have time?”

Case closed, she thought with a smile. Vasilios frowned, his eyes scanning her face, before he gave the smallest of shrugs. “Thank you, but your help won’t be necessary today,” he directed at the shopkeeper without really taking his eyes off Emma’s face. “Let’s go,cara.” Her heart lifted at how easy that had been. She’d said what she wanted, or didn’t want, and he’d listened. Not once with Jack had she experienced anything similar.

They held hands all the way to the Louvre, but at the sight of the queue, Emma balked. It would be a waste of their time in Paris to stand in line for so long. Vasilios, though, was as well known here as he had been at the jewellers, and even as they approached the back of the crowd, a security guard approached him.

“Monsieur Valenti, welcome back. Would you care to come this way?”

Emma threw him an arch look as they were led to a small side door and a private lift, which opened straight into an exhibition.

“Is there anything I can get to enhance your visit?”

Emma shook her head in the negative but Vasilios spoke first. “A guidebook, and some water.”

“Of course, sir. Please, explore, I won’t be long.”

Once they were alone, Emma let out a soft laugh. “Okay, Mr Big Shot, how the heck does everyone in Paris know you?”

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