Chapter 33
ADRIAN
Iheld her close, feeling the dampness of her tears against my chest. I wasn’t the type to get emotional about other people’s problems. My brothers used to joke that I was made of ice, all business and no heart. But seeing Elizabeth hurt like this was brutal in a way I’d never experienced before.
I wanted to fix it. Wanted to call her mother and tell her exactly what I thought of a woman who made her daughter feel guilty for pursuing her dreams. I wanted to shield Elizabeth from every painful thing in the world.
The intensity of that desire should have terrified me. It didn’t. It just felt right.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against my skin. “I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re not.” I ran my fingers through her hair, marveling at how soft it was. “You’re allowed to be upset.”
“I just ruined a perfectly good morning with my family drama.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” I tilted her face up to mine. “Elizabeth, I want to know about your family drama. I want to know everything about you—the good, the bad, the complicated.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Hope, maybe. Or fear. “You do?”
“I do.” And I meant it more than I’d meant anything in a long time.
I could have stayed like that for hours. Days, even.
But reality had other plans.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and felt my stomach sink. “Elizabeth, I hate to disturb you, but we need to get ready.”
“Mm?” She sounded half-asleep, her voice muffled against my chest.
“The flight to Paris. We’re supposed to be at the airport in an hour.”
She groaned but didn’t move. “Can’t we just stay here forever?”
“I wish we could.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “But Briggs will kill me if we miss his show. And trust me, you don’t want to see what an angry attorney looks like.”
That got a small laugh out of her. “Is he really that scary?”
“Terrifying. He once made an opposing counsel cry just by looking at him.” I reluctantly released her, already missing the warmth of her body.
Thirty minutes later, we were on our way to the airport. I held her hand the whole way.
The flight from London to Paris was mercifully short, at just over an hour.
And unfortunately, I had to work the entire hour.
There was a ton of crap that needed to be handled.
Briggs had texted me details about a venue issue.
Apparently, there had been a miscommunication with the Versailles administration about which rooms we had access to, threatening to derail the entire setup.
While I talked, I watched Elizabeth sketch in her notebook. She was frantically working on refinements to the three dresses she’d be creating. Even though the show was at risk, I found it hard to care as much as I should. Mom slept the whole way, not used to all this excitement these days.
The hotel in Paris was even more spectacular than London. It was a historic property that had hosted everyone from Hemingway to Coco Chanel. Our suite overlooked the Seine.
“This is insane,” Elizabeth said, doing a slow turn in the living-room area. “How do you ever go back to normal hotels after this?”
“You don’t. You become impossibly spoiled and insufferable.” I pulled out my phone to check messages, wincing at the number of notifications.
“Uh-oh,” she said. “That’s a look that says there is trouble.”
“Fair warning—there are some headlines about Clara.”
Elizabeth sighed like she expected as much. “What kind of headlines?”
“The kind wondering if we’re having relationship troubles and if I’m rekindling things with my ex.
The usual tabloid garbage.” I crossed to her, tilting her chin up so she had to look at me.
“I warned you this would happen. And for what it’s worth, I spend literally all my time with you.
There’s no rekindling anything with anyone else. ”
“I know.” But I could see the doubt in her eyes, the insecurity her mother had reinforced just this morning. “It just feels weird, seeing photos of you with her.”
“Ignore them. They mean nothing.” I kissed her forehead. “We have the day off. The Paris show isn’t until tomorrow night, Milan on Thursday, and then we all head back to New York for the finale on Saturday.”
Elizabeth counted on her fingers. “That’s eight days. Not a week.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I know. I argued with everyone about that too, but I was overruled. To be fair, ‘Fashion of Love Eight Days’ isn’t as catchy.”
“It’s more accurate though.”
“Accuracy doesn’t sell tickets.” I pulled out my phone again, pulling up a map. “So, we have Paris for the entire day. What do you want to see?”
Her eyes lit up, that excitement I loved blazing to life. “Everything. Can we see everything?”
“We can certainly try.”
We started at the Eiffel Tower because that’s what you did in Paris. We stood at the base of the iron lattice and stared up like tourists even though I’d been here dozens of times. But watching Elizabeth’s face as she took it in, the sheer wonder and joy, made it new again.
“It’s so much bigger than I imagined,” she said, craning her neck. “Pictures don’t do it justice.”
“Want to go up?”
“Can we?”
I’d already texted ahead, arranged for private access to avoid the crowds. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could buy convenience, and I used every resource at my disposal to make this day perfect for her.
Other women I dated and spent time with expected things like this. Yeah, they said thank you, but they weren’t truly grateful. They couldn’t appreciate things like Elizabeth could. She was truly grateful.
We took the elevator to the top platform. Elizabeth pressed against the railing, looking out over Paris spread beneath us. The Seine wound through the city like a ribbon.
“This is incredible,” she breathed. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”
I stood behind her, arms around her waist, and let myself just enjoy the moment. No agenda, no schedule, no crisis to manage. Just Elizabeth and Paris and the feeling that everything was exactly where it should be.
She took a few pictures and then insisted on us getting a selfie. I pouted and tried to tell her I didn’t photograph well.
“You’re the face of Blackwell Couture,” she argued. “You’re literally professionally photogenic. You modeled.”
“That’s different. Those are styled.”
“These are real. I want real.” She pulled me close, holding her phone out for the selfie. “Smile, Adrian. Pretend you’re having fun.”
“I am having fun,” I said.
When she showed me the result, I had to admit we looked good together. Happy. Like people actually in love. I had taken selfies before, but even those had been posed.
From the Eiffel Tower, we walked to the Arc de Triomphe. Elizabeth insisted she wanted to experience Paris on foot. She wanted to see the streets and the people and feel the city. I indulged her, even though my feet were protesting the walking and my phone kept buzzing with messages I ignored.
Today was for her. Everything else could wait.
We strolled down the Champs-élysées. Elizabeth kept stopping to look in windows, exclaiming over displays and fashion that caught her eye.
“Come on,” I said, taking her hand and pulling her into a boutique I knew. “Let’s get you something.”
“Adrian, I don’t need anything.”
“I want to get you something. Consider it part of your compensation package.” I was already flagging down a sales associate. “Besides, you need more than the few outfits Annika picked out. You’re attending fashion events. You should have options.”
What followed was an hour of Elizabeth trying on pieces while I sat in the comfortable chair they provided for long-suffering companions and gave my opinion on each look. She was hesitant at first, worried about prices, but I waved away her concerns.
“Elizabeth, I’m a billionaire. Let me spend money on you.”
“That’s such a billionaire thing to say.”
“Nevertheless.” I gestured at a dress she’d been eyeing. “Try that one.”
She did, emerging from the dressing room in a silk wrap dress that made my mouth go dry. Simple, elegant, with a neckline that hinted without revealing.
My hands had been on those breasts just hours earlier.
“Perfect,” I said. “We’re getting it.”
“Adrian.”
“And those shoes. And that jacket. Don’t argue.”
By the time we left, loaded down with bags from three different stores, Elizabeth was laughing and protesting in equal measure. The shadow her mother had cast that morning seemed to have lifted.
That had been the point. To remind her that she deserved beautiful things. Even if I couldn’t find the words to tell her yet.
We stopped at a café for coffee and pastries, sitting outside despite the November chill because Elizabeth wanted the full Parisian experience.
“Thank you for this,” she said softly, her hand finding mine across the table. “You didn’t have to spend the whole day playing tour guide.”
“I wanted to. Needed to, maybe.” I squeezed her hand. “I wanted to remind you of what you’re worth.”
“By buying me expensive clothes?”
“By showing you a perfect day. The clothes are just a bonus.” I brought her hand to my lips. “You deserve perfect days, Elizabeth.”
We made it back to the hotel as evening approached, both pleasantly exhausted from walking all over Paris. Elizabeth immediately noticed the garment bag hanging in the closet.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She unzipped it carefully, revealing a dress I’d had Annika set aside back when this was still just an arrangement. It was a deep burgundy, elegant and romantic, perfect for Elizabeth’s coloring.
“Adrian, it’s beautiful.”
“There’s more.” I pointed to a jewelry box on the dresser. “Those too.”
She opened it to find earrings, not the ones Annika had originally selected, but ones I’d chosen myself yesterday in London. Art deco pieces with garnets and diamonds that would complement the dress perfectly.
“You picked these out?”
“I did. Saw them and thought of you.” I came up behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “I wanted tonight to be special.”
“Why?”
“Because I made us a reservation at Le Grand Véfour. It’s supposed to be incredible.”
“Le Grand Véfour?” She spun to face me. “Adrian, that’s a really nice place. How did you get a reservation?”
“You can get anything if you’re willing to pay enough.” I smiled at her shock. “Get dressed. We have a seven o’clock reservation, and Paris traffic is terrible.”
She laughed. “I can’t even be upset about Paris traffic. It’s Paris. I can’t believe we’re in Paris.”
“We are. Go shower. Get ready.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She disappeared into the bathroom with a bright smile on her face. I was so glad she was smiling instead of crying.