Page 55 of Fake It For Glory

MERIDA

My suite at the Peninsula Paris was nothing short of breathtaking, an immaculate haven that seemed to stretch on forever. It was a world of luxury, filled with amenities and comforts beyond my wildest dreams. As I moved through the spacious room, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the sheer extravagance of it all.

Everything in the room was designed with taste and elegance. The king-sized bed was adorned with plush pillows and silk sheets, and the curtains were made of the finest velvet. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow on the space. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower, which stood majestically in the distance, twinkling in the night sky.

As I sank into the soft armchair, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of indulgence washing over me. The room was so luxurious that I felt like a queen. This was how the one percent lived. It was easy to want this in my own life. What I loved most was the fact that Jensen wasn’t really ostentatious. He was quietly rich. He liked the finer things in life, but he wasn’t taking a bunch of selfies and posting it to social media to show off just how rich he was.

I got out of the chair and went into the bedroom.

True to Jensen’s word, a stunning red evening dress was elegantly laid out on the bed, accompanied by a pair of exquisite shoes, diamond earrings that glittered like stars, and a Swarovski-studded clutch that sparkled in the soft lighting of the room. It was as though I had stepped into a modern-day princess story, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was living in a dream.

I laughed and shook my head. “Oh, Hattie.”

She had missed her calling. She needed to be a stylist. Running her brother’s life was beneath her. She could dress the stars. Hell, she could dress royalty.

After showering off the plane ride, I put on the dress and was immediately in love with it. I felt a little like Jessica Rabbit. My curves looked sexy instead of vulgar, and the dress hugged me in all the right places. I slipped on the shoes and felt like I was walking on clouds. The diamond earrings reflected the light beautifully, and the clutch completed the whole look. I felt like a million dollars.

I turned to face my reflection in the ornate mirror. The woman staring back at me was a far cry from the ordinary journalist I had been just a short time ago. It was a surreal transformation, one that left me feeling both excited and slightly disoriented.

I started to clip my hair back and then stopped. The hair pulled back was the old me. The new, va-va-voom me was going wild tonight. I put a little product in my hair and left my curly hair loose.

It was time to join him. With a deep breath, I made my way up to the rooftop of the hotel. The anticipation of what lay ahead filled me with a sense of wonder and curiosity, and I couldn’t wait to experience the magic of Paris from high above the city.

As I stepped into the restaurant, I was met with a breathtaking sight. The entire restaurant, with its panoramic windows overlooking the City of Light, was completely empty except for one person—Jensen. He sat at a table near the window wearing a slick black suit perfectly tailored to his frame. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

In the background, the Eiffel Tower was illuminated, its lights dancing in a mesmerizing evening light show. It was the most enchanting view I had ever seen, a scene straight out of a fairy tale. And yet, my gaze was drawn irresistibly to Jensen, who greeted me with a charming smile.

“What is going on?” I asked.

“I thought it would be nice if we could have a private dinner,” he said.

I laughed and shook my head. “This is definitely private.”

“Please, have a seat,” he said and pulled out my chair.

We sat down at the elegantly set table, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the exclusivity of this experience. The entire restaurant was ours for the evening. This was what it was like to date a billionaire.

“I took the liberty of asking the chef to prepare something special for us,” he said. “Do you like French cuisine?”

I laughed. “I imagine I do. Does that include French fries?”

“We won’t let the chef know you said such blasphemous things,” he teased.

“I am looking forward to trying anything served,” I said. “After all, I’m sitting in one of the most beautiful places in the world. I could eat burnt toast and it would taste good.”

Jensen chuckled, amused by my words. “I’m glad to hear that. But I assure you, the food here is exceptional. The chef is a master of French cuisine.”

As he spoke, the waiter appeared, carrying a silver tray with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. He set them down on the table and poured us each a glass.

“To a wonderful evening,” Jensen said, raising his glass to me.

I smiled and raised my glass to meet his. The bubbles tickled my nose as I took a sip, the taste crisp and refreshing.

As we sipped our champagne, the waiter returned with the first course—a delicate crab salad, topped with a drizzle of citrus vinaigrette. The flavors burst on my tongue like fireworks, and I couldn’t help but moan in pleasure.

Jensen’s eyes locked onto mine, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I tried to compose myself, but the way he was looking at me made it difficult.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said, a sly grin on his lips.