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I am dangerous. Dangerously desperate to make this my real life. There’s something about Elle that makes me want to spill my secrets, to be completely honest with her, but once I do that, she’ll cease to be an escape. Besides, I like the way she looks at me now. Like I’m just a regular guy.
I only have a few more days to be a nobody—to pretend I’m still ‘the spare,’ and to enjoy the most exciting and beautiful girl I’ve ever met.
“So where are we going?” Elle places her purse on the seat between us, and I glance at it annoyed. I don’t want anything between us. If I had it my way, she’d be in my lap, but those thoughts halt as I notice the signature print on her bag. It’s a Kate Spade, or looks to be. If it's a knock-off, it’s a good one.
I wonder how long she had to save her tips to get it.
“Dan?” Elle waves a hand in front of my face and I tear my gaze away from her bag, but as I do, I notice her dress and shoes. The dress looks designer but I know for sure the shoes are Michael Kors. My little princess likes her fashion. Maybe I’ll send her something from Paris next time I’m there.
I pull myself from my head, knowing if my train of thought continues, my mood will tank fast. I smile at her. Designer clothes bought with tips, or from consignment shops, it doesn’t matter. She looks fabulous, just as she had in jeans and a blouse. “I’m sorry. I spaced out for a minute. What were you saying?”
“I asked what your plans were for your sightseeing mission. Do you have an itinerary or did you want me to suggest some places?”
“Oh, no.” I flash her a half-grin. “I’ve got it covered.”
As if on cue, the limo rolls to a stop in front of an industrial-style building. It’s been renovated and turned into a restaurant, but they kept the original style. And they’re booked a year in advance, unless you’re fucking royalty.
Elle side eyes me. “Le Moulin?”
“I’ve been assured it has an impressive tasting menu. Despite it looking like an old flour mill.”
She smiles at me. “That’s why it’s called The Mill.”
I grin. I’m fluent in French but she doesn’t need to know that.
She glances back at the restaurant before looking at me again. “But Dan, they’re booked a year in advance. There’s no way we’ll get in.” Her hand lands on my knee and she gives it a squeeze. “But don’t worry, I know several places that aren’t far from here with great menus.”
I give her a small laugh. “Come on, princess. Don’t doubt me yet.” I jump from my seat and come around to open her door.
“Dan, I promise you, not even the King of England can get in here without a reservation.”
I offer her a hand to help her out of the limo. “The King of England wasn’t on the Denmark olympic hockey team,” I say with a smirk. “Besides, Charles is a douche.”
She bites her lip, looking anxious, and I feel it in my groin. I want to bite that lip. Hooking her arm into mine, I bring us to the door.
“Personally, I’d rather have a good burger,” I tease, even though it’s the truth. “But Capitol Burger was completely booked.”
She laughs, leaning into me and I wrap my arm around her, giving her a squeeze before releasing her to open the door for her.
“Am I allowed to laugh when they kick our asses to the curb for not having a reservation?”
I shoot her a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. “Only if you want your cute bottom spanked in the back of a limo.”
She rolls her eyes skyward and nibbles her bottom lip as if considering it. “Would you put up the privacy glass?”
“I’m not letting Thomas see you naked, princess. Your body is for my eyes only.”
“Then, yes please.”
We must look like lovesick fools walking into the restaurant’s hostess area the way we’re laughing together.
“Jeez,” she quips as she looks around, “I’m glad I dressed up today.”
I stop to once again take in her outfit, as if I hadn’t already scoped it out. It’s a classic Hollywood fifties-style dress in royal blue. It looks like something Hepburn would’ve worn. “You’re perfect,” I say, leaning forward to press a soft, chaste kiss across her lips. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Well, thank you, kind sir.” She curtsies for fun, having no idea I get curtsied to all the time.
We’re greeted by a hostess dressed in all black, her honey-colored hair pulled into a tight bun. I see the look on her face as she gapes at us—at Elle particularly, and for a moment I fear I’m about to be outed. I catch her gaze, and give a slight shake of my head.
