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I turned my nose up. “We’re really driving to Paris?”

“Yup. That’s light work.”

“Only a psychopath calls nine hours light work.”

I climbed into the passenger seat, and a few minutes later, we were leaving the Delacroix estate behind.

The road curved along the cliffs while Monaco slowly woke up around us. I crossed my arms and stared out the window because I was still irritated and halfway sleepy.

About twenty minutes into the drive, I realized it wasn’t as bad as I expected.

Ares barely talked. He drove with one hand on the wheel while Dom Kennedy played low through the speakers. The ocean stayed beside us as the highway opened ahead, and there was something relaxing about not having a house full of people watching everything I did.

“I used to ride with my mom to Paris when she transported shit,” Ares eventually told me.

I looked over at him. “That’s cool, but you know this is going to get boring.”

“It’s not as bad as you think. I got some plans for us along the way, so we’re not driving straight through.”

“Well, I’m hungry.”

A smirk appeared on his face. “I know, Foodie.”

I frowned. “You trying to say I eat too much?”

“That burger yesterday told me everything.”

“That’s detox hunger.”

“Whatever you say. Food is our first stop.”

About thirty minutes later, we pulled into Nice. The Mediterranean stretched beside the city, bright blue under the morning sun, and for a minute, the view made it easy to forget how fucked up my life had become.

Ares parked near the water, and the breeze hit my face when I stepped out of the car.

I looked across the street and noticed a black SUV parked nearby with two men inside watching us.

“We’re not actually alone, are we?”

Ares followed my gaze. “My security.”

“Of course.”

“They won’t bother us. Come on.”

We crossed the promenade and went into a restaurant sitting right along the water. White tables and blue umbrellas filled the outdoor area while the smell of seafood carried through the air.

We took a table overlooking the Mediterranean, and a waiter came over almost immediately.

Ares started speaking French and ordering before I had enough time to properly look at the menu.

“Grilled sea bass and truffle fries.”

He looked at me before adding, “Sparkling blood orange soda for her. No alcohol.”

The waiter nodded and walked away.

I looked at Ares. “You always control the menu?”