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I’m having lunch in the freaking Eiffel Tower. How is this even real?
When Luke came out with the passport line after our unexpected make-out session the evening before, I had expected maybe a quick hop up to Canada for another takeover deal or something. Not a freaking private-jet flight over to Paris.
It’s always been a dream of mine to visit Paris, but I don’t recall ever saying anything in front of him. I mean, it’s not exactly an uncommon dream . . .
But still, the expression on his face when we landed and stepped out at Charles De Gaulle airport’s exclusive private-jet lounge . . . it was like he’d know the effect it would have on me.
I’m trying to play it cool. Maybe this really is a business trip. Luke’s staying tight-lipped just because he likes to tease me like a schoolboy. After lunch we’ll probably spend the afternoon in a stuffy boardroom filled with suits, just like yesterday.
Like yesterday.
It’s weird. It only took a few hours to fly over the ocean and get here. But it’s like a completely different world. The traffic, the little old streets, the historic buildings everywhere. It’s like stepping through a teleporter or something. I can’t quite believe it’s all real.
Come to think of it, spending time with Luke tends to have that effect on me. He makes unreal things happen for real. Like an impromptu Vegas wedding. Or a kiss with my new boss on my first day of work. Or this trip.
Even if I’ll have to put my professional hat on later, for now I’m going to play the tourist, soak up this ambience, and make the most of it. This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I can’t quite believe it’s happening to me. I’m totally blown away.
I’m trying to play it cool, to not show Luke exactly how excited I am, but it’s not easy. I remind myself that I need to remain clear-headed.
This doesn’t change anything. We’re still not staying married. It’s the right decision for my future. Stay focused, and don’t forget that.
That’s easier said than done though, of course.
I mean, I’m sitting across from Luke Adler, and he’s looking particularly yummy today. A pressed, white, button-up shirt, no tie, and an expensive suit that fits him like a glove.
Like the other female diners in this restaurant, I’m finding it hard not to stare at him. (I get stares from those women too, but they tend to be kind of hostile.)
Luke looks completely casual as he waits for his lunch, like it’s no big deal to just be eating in the Eiffel Tower restaurant after a flight on his private jet. Hell, it probably isn’t a big deal for him. He probably does it all the time.
The well-dressed waiter has already listed out all the six courses in our tasting menu, but when the food arrives I still get slack-jawed from how good it looks.
The first thing that comes is a little piece of sea bream. It’s cooked to utter perfection, and I’ve never tasted anything like it. In what feels like seconds, it’s completely gone.
I’m absolutely ravenous, hungrier than I’ve ever felt. Maybe it’s not just the food, though. I’m guessing it’s the pregnancy—at least it makes a nice change from the morning sickness.
Luke’s sipping on a glass of wine, and tries to pour some for me.
“No, thanks.” I hold my hand over the top of my glass. “None for me today.”
“Are you kidding?” He stares at me. “You’re in Paris and you’re not going to drink the wine? They serve some of the finest wines in the world in this place. This white is so crisp and refreshing, you’ll love it.”
I grimace. “The last time I drank too much on holiday, I ended up marrying a stranger. Kind of don’t want a repeat performance of that, to be honest with you.”
A smile slips onto his lips. “If you’re worried about getting drunk and doing something crazy, then don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you. Besides, it’s not like you can marry me twice, is it? What’s there to worry about?”
“Very funny,” I say drily, but I’m more amused than I let on.
There’s something about Luke, a sort of carefree cheekiness, that I can’t help but smile at. In fact, I’ll have to admit, at least to myself, that I’m enjoying our little date here just a little too much. Certainly more than I expected to.
I swear I’m trying to keep this professional. But Luke isn’t making it easy.
I have no idea what came over me last night, making out with him like that in my apartment. As clichéd as it sounds, it just sort of happened. It felt . . . right. It took all my willpower to put a stop to it, and even then it felt odd.
