Chapter Twenty-Seven
There’s something insanely crazy about walking into a house in Paris, my favorite city in the world, and knowing it belongs to us. Well, technically, Aaron, but if I say that out loud, he might kill me.
I think I’m finally used to the yours-mine-ours thing. Most of it, at least. This house I can see as ours. He might have bought it, but he knew exactly what I’d want. He picked the perfect Parisian property. Complete with the bay windows he mentioned before and a balcony off the second bedroom, not to mention the gorgeous rose garden in the backyard, it’s perfect. I can see the Eiffel Tower from almost any room in the house.
Believe me. I’ve looked from every one.
I don’t want to think about how long he searched for this or how much he paid for it. I don’t want to think of anything except the fact that it belongs to us, and in the four days since we arrived here, we’ve gradually made it our home.
It took me two hours to tear down the old curtains and drag him out for new ones. Of course, that meant returning with new rugs, throw pillows, and some adorable bedding, but everyone knows that house shopping is extensive.
And now I’m picturing crazy things.
I’m picturing mini breaks here, not just two of us, but three of us, maybe four. I’m picturing walls adorned with pictures, both professional and natural. I’m picturing a high chair in the corner and mucky fingerprints on the glass doors leading from the kitchen to the backyard. Maybe little crayon scribbles in hidden places, a Lego brick here, a toy car there.
I’m seeing the kind of future I never let myself imagine.
It was never in the cards. Even when Aaron came back into my life, I couldn’t believe it was a possibility. Then when I did, that was torn away brutally by a secret I never knew existed.
Then it was fixed again. His relentless pursuit, his refusal to give up—they made me believe that maybe… Maybe we could make this work. Maybe we really do have a shot at it.
And Naomi took that. She made me question everything—until Aaron answered every single one of them.
This is the first time since I walked into that booth in the Southfall Hotel that our relationship hasn’t been based on money or clouded by lies. It’s free, and true, and honest. The way a relationship should be.
I can feel it. Our smiles are wider, our eyes brighter, our touches lighter. It’s almost as if everything that was buried before is now simmering away on the surface, mixing with our ever-present lust and attraction. It’s a heady mix, one that gives me a nearly constant delirious high.
There will be more lows. Of course there will. It doesn’t matter that we may have had more than our fair share of them in such a short space of time. All that matters is that I know, and Aaron knows, that we’ll come out on the other side.
I will be more confident of that if we leave Paris in one piece. Our track record isn’t exactly great.
Our track record can be changed.
I step out of my robe and into the large corner tub, shutting off the taps as I do. The hot water ripples when I lower myself into it, and I’ve barely lain back when I hear the door open.
“Move forward,” Aaron orders.
“This is my bath.”
“It’s our bath,” he replies, and when I look at him, he’s totally naked.
I huff and move forward, giving him enough space to slip in behind me. He does, and he lets his legs fall open to the sides. I slide back and lie against him, linking my fingers through his as he wraps his arms around me.
A happy sigh falls from my lips. This is a part of Paris I remember and adore. Both of us lying together in a bathtub full of bubbles, not speaking, just holding each other. These are the moments I cherished, and I smile at the thought that I don’t have to think back every time I want to remember this feeling. I simply have to drag him into the bathroom and run a bath.
“What are you thinking?”
I turn my head to the side, gazing out of the window. “I’m thinking I love Paris.”
“I love Paris, too.” He kisses my shoulder. “It gave me you.”
“It’s very generous that way,” I tease. “Although the return gift leaves something to be desired.”
He prods me in the side. “I think I found desires you weren’t aware of over the last few days.”
Ah, this much is true. Who knew having sex in front of a large bay window in the middle of the day was so fun?
“I was very much aware of them. They’d just never been satisfied before now.”
“They’ll continue to be satisfied, too.”
“I should hope so.”
He laughs quietly, burying his face into my neck. “Sit up. Let me wash your hair.”
I do as he says, and he grabs the showerhead from the little holder I put it in for easy reach. When the water is the right temperature, I lean my head back and let him wet my hair.
“Tyler’s coming back to Seattle in a few weeks.”
“He is?”
“Hmm. He said he’ll call you to arrange your photography lessons when he’s found a place to live.”
I lick my lips. “I forgot to tell you about that. With everything—”
“I’m not mad, sweetheart. Would you believe I’m happier at the thought of you being behind the camera instead of in front of it?” He pauses in his massaging motion, and I crane my neck round to look at him.
“Would you believe I’m not surprised in the slightest?”
We share a smile, and he turns my head again. “He said you were thinking of going back to school.”
“Yeah. I was considering it.”
“He didn’t tell you, huh?”
“Tell me what?”
Aaron rinses the shampoo from my hair with the showerhead before he replies. “Tyler is trained to teach photography. He used to do shoots for us on the side, outside of classes, but he loved the photography side so much he gave up teaching.”
“Tyler is a professor?”
Well, shit me.
“There are a lot of things about Tyler you don’t know, Dayton. He’ll teach you so you don’t need to go back to college.”
I consider this. “Like an apprentice?”
“Yes, exactly like that. It’s the best training you could get, and from the best photographer I know. He’ll continue his freelance work for us while you work together.”
“So technically I’ll be working for you.”
“No. Tyler isn’t employed by us.” Aaron trails his fingers down my back. “He’s self-employed. We commission him to do shoots for us, so you’ll be working for yourself.”
I shrug. I can deal with that, and I actually prefer it. Imagine working for the guy you live with. Aside from the fact that I’ve never really worked for anyone in my life, no matter what people say, you don’t leave stuff at the door or at work. It’ll carry over. Having an argument at home then having to go to work with him would drive me insane.
Aaron lifts me from the bath, and I smile. It doesn’t matter if I can do it myself. He’s going to do it anyway, and this is a battle I’m choosing not to fight. No point wasting my energy on something I won’t win.
I curl myself into the thick, fluffy towels we bought yesterday and shuffle into the bedroom. Hanging over the door is a knee-length red dress with a flirty skirt. I glance at Aaron and narrow my eyes at the shit-eating grin on his face.
“Humor me,” is all he says before opening the closet and pulling out a white shirt and black pants.
I blink a few times, watching him as he dries his powerful body. “What are you playing at, Aaron Stone?”
He looks up from his position, one knee on the bed, the towel wrapped around the thigh, and smiles. “Remember those plans I canceled last time we were here?”
“How could I forget?” I reply dryly.
He smirks. “I remade them, and it’s what we’re doing tonight.”
I glance from my dress to his clothes and back to his blue eyes. His lips curve even more before he turns around to dress.
I stand here, hugging my towel around my body with my hair dripping wet, and stare at his muscular back. If he thinks I missed that mischievous glint in his eyes, he’s mistaken.
What is he playing at indeed?
***
The Eiffel Tower at night is a sight to behold. The way it lights up, reflects onto the flowing water of the River Seine, and illuminates the dark night sky is something close to magical.
Aaron takes my hand and slowly pulls me toward the tower. I raise an eyebrow, but he says nothing, letting his feet do the talking as we get closer and closer.
“Are we going up?”
He smiles, and we enter the elevator that will take us to the top. I’m surrounded by the strong feeling of déjà vu. We did this once, the first time, and it was the night he told me he loved me.
Aaron squeezes my hand as we go up, and I gaze out at the city around me. At Notre Dame, the Champs-élysées, the Louvre—all lit up in their own unique ways. The lights spread out in a romantic way no other city in the world can recreate, and I step into Aaron’s side. His arm goes around me, his lips brushing my temple, his touch warming through me.
“Dinner,” he whispers, leading me into the exclusive Le Jules Verne restaurant. The empty, exclusive Le Jules Verne restaurant.
Empty.
“You booked the whole place?” I look at him in awe.
“For you? Yes.” He leads me to a table in the corner, one that provides an uninterrupted view of the Louvre. One he knows I’ll love, and I do.
He pulls my chair out and I lower myself onto the seat, taking in the table. Candles. Wine. A beautifully printed and embossed menu.
Aaron pours two glasses while I sit here, overwhelmed. This is what he planned before? It’s no wonder he was pissed when he had to cancel. But still…
Every day, he amazes me a little more. This time, I admit, it’s the fact that he’s strolled in here and booked out the whole damn restaurant like he’s buying a stack of newspapers.
“Is this a special occasion I’ve missed?” I question, accepting the glass of wine.
“No.” He smiles. “It’s a just-because.” He lifts his menu, ending that line of questioning, and I can’t shake it.
Something is going on.
A server appears from nowhere and asks for our order. Aaron reels it off for both of us, which is good since I’ve only glanced at the menu and certainly not at the food list. He gets it perfect—of course he does—and looks out of the window.
I stare at him. I stare at him until my eyes hurt, wordlessly, until our food is brought out.
Even as I eat, I watch him, and after a while, he returns that gaze. Our eyes lock across the table but no words are exchanged, and I can see it. In his eyes. That glimmer that knows something I don’t. That betrays his ‘just-because’ excuse.
I’m not getting it out of him no matter how hard I try. I know he won’t give anything away until he’s good and ready, so I’m stuck sitting here in my awkward limbo until he does. Stuck here, wondering, waiting, what-iffing.
Our plates are cleared away and replaced with our main course. Again, it’s eaten in silence, our eyes flitting from our plates to each other’s. The only difference is that there’s a zinging of tension, one tight enough to cut, and I swallow hard. My fork clatters as I put it against my plate and look at him firmly.
“Do you want dessert?” he asks innocently, his steady voice betraying the tightness between us.
“No. I want to know what this is.”
“This? It’s dinner in the Eiffel Tower, sweetheart.”
“No. What is it? Why are you doing it?”
Aaron waves his hand and the server reappears and removes our plates a second time. I chew the inside of my lip, keeping our gazes connected, and wait for him to speak.
“Can’t I take you to dinner and just have it be dinner?” he questions, resting his forearms on the table and leaning forward.
“Of course you can, baby. Just not in the place you told me you loved me for the first time.”
“You remember that.”
“I never forgot. I didn’t forget anything. I just chose not to remember it the way you did. Now I know something is up, so don’t sit in front of me and tell me it isn’t.”
His lips quirk, teasing into an amused grin. “Don’t freak.”
“I don’t freak.”
His eyebrows twitch, the amusement in his eyes evident, and he reaches into his pocket. My heart stops at the small box he places on the table, and I can’t breathe as he slides it across to me.
“What. Is. That?”
“Open it.”
I know what it is. I think. You don’t book the most exclusive restaurant in Paris to give someone a pair of f*cking earrings.
What is happening?
I take the box with a shaky hand and open it. A glittering ring stares back at me, a simple design, classy and elegant, and I look up at him. To the ring. To him. To the ring. To him.
“It’s not what you think,” he says slowly, his lips curved even through his words. “So you can breathe, Dayton.”
I laugh awkwardly. “Um, if it’s not what it looks like, then what is it?”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his, kissing my fingers. “It’s a promise ring. Not an engagement ring. I’m promising you that one day, when you’re ready, I’ll ask you. This is me promising you that I’ll be yours without you having to voice the same commitment, despite its truth.”
A lump forms in the bottom of my throat, and I blink harshly as I swallow it down. A promise ring? Like…
“Oh hell no, Aaron Stone.” I take my hand back and shut the top of the box. “If you’re going to promise me you’ll be mine for the rest of my life, you’re gonna do it properly or not at all.”
I shoot the box across the table and fold my arms across my chest. A promise ring indeed. What the hell is—
What the hell is he doing sliding off his chair and bending in front of me? On one knee?
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmurs, “so I came prepared.”
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
He pulls a second box from his jacket and leaves it closed as he stares up at me from his position on the floor. My mouth opens and closes again. It does this a few times as this crazy moment hovers between us.
“Seven years ago, you exploded into my life in this crazy burst of color that made me blind to everything else. When you left, you took it with you, leaving me in an ugly world of black and white. Then, four months ago, you did it again.
“When you walked into that booth in a crazy twist of fate, Dayton, I realized that nothing would ever be the same again. I realized that, this time, I had to keep you and not let you take that color I was, and am, so incredibly in love with.
“I know it didn’t work that way. We’ve both made mistakes, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re here, right now, and we have the rest of our lives to be together. What matters is that I’m never letting you go again. I’m never even giving you the chance to leave.
“And since you refuse to accept one promise without the other, I’m asking you to promise me the same thing. That you’ll be there every morning and every night. That your voice will be the first and last thing I hear every day, that your touch will be the one to calm me when I’m angry, that your lips will be the ones I get to kiss whenever the urge takes me.”
He pauses, and forever could pass in this moment and I wouldn’t know. All I know is that I can’t look away from this man in front of me as he bears his soul to me and asks me for the one thing I never imagined I’d be able to give.
He slowly opens the box, revealing the most beautiful princess-cut ring I’ve ever seen in my life. The diamond glitters up at me, beckoning me, promising me the future.
“So whenever you’re ready, Dayton Lauren Black, will you marry me?”