Chapter 40
ONE MONTH LATER
T he Eiffel Tower glows golden against the midnight sky as Daniel and I stroll beneath its massive iron structure. Paris at night feels like a dream. All twinkling lights and soft shadows. My fingers are intertwined with his, his palm warm against mine despite the autumn chill.
"You're quiet," Daniel says, his voice low and rough.
I glance up at him, studying the sharp angles of his face softened by the gentle lighting. "Just happy."
And I am. It's a strange feeling. Happiness.
For so long after the assault, happiness felt like something that happened to other people, something I could observe but never truly experience again.
But here, thousands of miles from New York, from the Feretti name and all its complications, I feel something close to peace.
"Your security assessment?" I ask, nudging his shoulder playfully.
Daniel's eyes scan our surroundings, a habit he can't break even on vacation. "Three exits within twenty meters. Couple at your two o'clock might be taking pictures of us. Tourist, not threat."
I laugh, the sound echoing in the night air. "You're getting better at this, you know."
"At what?"
"Talking. Being a person instead of just security."
His mouth quirks up at one corner, not quite a smile, but close. "Copy that."
A month ago, getting more than five words from Daniel was like pulling teeth. Now he actually initiates conversations sometimes. Small progress, but progress nonetheless.
"Remember when we first got here?" I ask. "You did a full sweep of our hotel suite before you'd even let me put down my bag."
Daniel's arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer to his side. "Standard protocol."
"You checked under the bed."
"Could've been a threat."
"In a five-star hotel in Paris?"
He shrugs, but there's amusement in his eyes now. "Better safe than sorry."
I stop walking and turn to face him, placing my hands on his chest. The steady thump of his heart beats against my palm. "Daniel Hayes, you're allowed to relax sometimes."
"Relaxing gets people killed." The words come automatically, but without the edge they once had.
"Not here. Not with me." I rise on my tiptoes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "We're safe."
"I'm trying," he says.
And he is. I've watched him struggle against the walls he built to survive. The Daniel who arrived in Paris two weeks ago, kept his back to the walls and jumped at loud noises. This Daniel, the one standing with me under the Eiffel Tower, actually smiled at a waiter yesterday.
"I know you are." I take his hand again and we continue walking. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"Anything. Something you're thinking right now."
Daniel is silent for so long I think he might not answer. Then: "Your hair looks different in this light."
I touch the ends of my hair self-consciously. "Different bad?"
"Different good. Like fire."
My heart flutters stupidly at the simple observation. This is what I've been trying to teach him. That conversations don't have to be tactical assessments or security reports. That sometimes, telling someone their hair looks like fire under the Eiffel Tower lights is enough.
"See? That wasn't so hard."
His fingers tighten around mine. "Getting easier."
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, the Tower's lights casting long shadows ahead of us.
Paris has been good for us both. Neutral ground where we're not the traumatized Feretti daughter or the ex-military security chief.
Here, we're just Daniel and Lucrezia, two people learning how to be together without crisis driving every moment.
Daniel checks his watch, his brow furrowing slightly. "We need to move. Got somewhere to be."
"Now? It's almost midnight."
"Yeap." He takes my hand, his pace quickening. "Need to be there in fifteen."
I dig my heels in, forcing him to stop. "Where exactly are we going at this hour?"
"Classified information." His face remains impassive, but there's something different in his eyes. A lightness I rarely see.
"Are you... planning a surprise?" I ask, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. "Daniel Hayes, master of tactical operations, arranging a secret midnight rendezvous?"
To my shock, Daniel actually laughs. A real laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes and shows the small dimple in his right cheek.
"If any of my Ranger buddies heard that, I'd never live it down," he says, shaking his head. "Hayes planning romantic surprises instead of extraction points? They'd bust my balls for years."
"So it is a surprise!" I squeeze his hand, feeling a childlike excitement bubble up inside me. "Can I have a hint?"
"Negative." But he's still smiling, and it transforms his entire face. Makes him look younger, less burdened. "Mission parameters require your cooperation without additional intel."
"You're impossible," I say, but I'm smiling too.
Daniel tugs me forward again, his stride purposeful. "Clock's ticking, Lu."
I follow him, curiosity burning through me. Daniel isn't spontaneous. He plans everything with military precision, from our daily routes to our dinner reservations. Whatever this is, he's put thought into it.
"Is it dangerous?" I ask as we weave through late-night tourists.
"Well, it terrifies me. But no." He says and now I am so damn curious.
We arrive at the Louvre, its glass pyramid glowing like a beacon in the darkness. The museum stands silent and empty, closed to visitors at this late hour. The massive courtyard that was packed with tourists this morning is now deserted, giving the space an almost magical quality.
"It's closed," I say, confused. "We came here our first week, remember?"
Daniel nods, his eyes fixed on the illuminated pyramid. "I remember. You spent three hours in the Italian Renaissance section alone."
I smile at the memory. That day had been special. My first time feeling truly present since the assault. Standing before Botticelli's frescoes, I'd felt something unlock inside me. A door I thought permanently sealed creaking open just enough to let some light in.
"I sketched six different angles of Venus that day," I say, running my fingers along the stone edge of a fountain. "My hands were cramping by the time we left."
Daniel watches me with that intense focus that used to unnerve me but now feels like being wrapped in something warm. "You came alive in there. I'd never seen you like that before."
"Art does that to me." I look up at the museum wistfully. "Always has."
We stand in comfortable silence for a moment, both of us gazing at the closed museum. The night air carries the scent of rain, though the skies remain clear. Paris smells different than New York. Less harsh, more ancient somehow.
"I want to start painting again," I say suddenly. "Professionally, I mean. When we get back."
Daniel turns to me, his expression softening. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." The decision has been forming for weeks, but saying it aloud makes it real. "I've been sketching every day since we got here. My portfolio's practically building itself."
"You're good, Lu. Really good."
I feel a flush of pleasure at his simple praise. "I used to dream about showing in galleries before... everything. I think I'm ready to try again."
Daniel reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is gentle, at odds with the calluses on his fingertips. "What kind of work are you thinking?"
"Landscapes, maybe. Or abstracts." I gesture toward the Louvre. "Being here, seeing all that history and beauty, it's like something's unlocked inside me. I can't wait to get back to a real studio."
"Your studio at the mansion?"
I shake my head. "No. Somewhere new. Somewhere that's just mine." The thought of returning to that space, with its memories of rage and pain, makes my stomach clench. "I need a fresh start."
Daniel nods, understanding without my having to explain further. That's one of the things I love most about him. He doesn't need every emotion spelled out. He just gets it.
"We'll find you a space," he says simply, like it's already decided. "Something with good light."
"North-facing windows," I add, warming to the idea. "High ceilings. Room for big canvases."
"Whatever you need."
"I can't wait," I whisper, more to myself than to Daniel.
I'm about to say something else when Daniel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek black card. It looks like a credit card but with no markings except a small embossed logo in the corner.
"What's that?" I ask.
"Our ticket in." He gives me that half-smile that still makes my heart skip. "I know someone who knows someone."
"You're joking." I stare at him, then at the closed museum. "We can't just walk into the Louvre after hours."
"We can tonight." He takes my hand, leading me toward a side entrance I hadn't noticed before. "Trust me."
A security guard waits by the door, his expression neutral as we approach. Daniel shows him the card and exchanges a few words in French too quick for me to catch. The guard nods, scanning the card before stepping aside.
"Monsieur Hayes," he says with a slight bow. "Mademoiselle. Enjoy your evening."
The door closes behind us, and we're inside the Louvre.
But it's not the museum I remember from our daytime visit.
The lighting is soft and ambient, nothing like the bright, clinical illumination that normally floods these halls.
The marble floors gleam under the gentle glow, and the space feels intimate, almost reverent.
"How did you—" I begin, but Daniel just squeezes my hand.
"Later," he says. "I want to show you something."
He guides me through empty corridors, our footsteps echoing in the silence. We pass priceless works of art, all of us alone with them in a way no regular visitor ever gets to be. It feels surreal, like we've stepped into some alternate reality where the rules of the world don't apply.
"Where are we going?" I whisper, though there's no one around to hear us.
"You'll see."
We turn down another hallway, one I don't remember from our previous visit. It's smaller, more modern-looking than the grand galleries that house the museum's famous works. Daniel stops before a set of double doors and turns to me.
"Close your eyes," he says.
"Daniel—"
"Please, Lu. Just for a minute."
I sigh but comply, letting my eyelids fall shut. I hear the doors open, feel Daniel's hand on the small of my back guiding me forward. The air feels different here—cooler, with a subtle scent I can't quite place.
"Okay," he says. "Open them."
I do, and for a moment, I can't process what I'm seeing. The room is bathed in that same soft lighting, but it's what's on the walls that makes my breath catch.
My paintings. My work. Hanging in the Louvre.
I step forward, disbelieving. There's the abstract I did after the casino attack—violent reds and blacks swirling into something almost beautiful.
"What is this?" I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
"It's yours," Daniel says, standing back to let me take it all in. "All of it. This gallery. For tonight."
I move slowly around the room, touching the frames with trembling fingers. There must be fifteen pieces, all arranged with the care and consideration of a professional curator. Some I recognize from my studio at the mansion, others from our time in Europe. All of them mine.
"How did you get these?" I ask, turning back to him. "The ones from home—I left them locked in my studio."
"Zoe helped," he admits. "And Bella. They shipped everything here last week."
I shake my head, overwhelmed. "But why? How?"
I stare at Daniel, still trying to process how he managed to create this private gallery of my work in the Louvre of all places, when he does something that stops my heart.
He kneels.
Right there on the polished floor, looking up at me with those intense eyes that see everything. All my broken pieces and my strength.
"Lu," he says, his voice rougher than usual as he pulls a small velvet box from his pocket. "I've spent my life protecting other people. But you're the first person I've ever wanted to build something with."
I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't think.
"I know we haven't done anything the traditional way," he continues, opening the box to reveal a stunning emerald ring surrounded by tiny diamonds. "But I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. If you'll have me."
A sound behind me makes me turn. My heart nearly stops as I see them all standing there. Damiano, Zoe, Sienna, Enzo, Matteo, Hazel, Evelyn, and Noah. My family. Here in Paris. Watching with expressions ranging from Enzo's barely contained smirk to Zoe's teary smile.
"How—" I begin, but Daniel's voice pulls me back.
"Lucrezia Feretti," he says, holding the ring up. "Will you marry me?"
Tears blur my vision as everything hits me at once. My family traveled across an ocean to be here. Daniel arranged a private showing of my art in the Louvre. And now he's asking me to be his wife.
"Yes," I whisper, then louder, "Yes, yes, yes!"
I launch myself at him with such force that we both tumble to the floor, the ring box clutched safely in his hand as I cover his face with kisses. Everyone bursts into laughter as Daniel and I lie tangled together on the museum floor.
"I love you," I tell him, then look up at my family. "I love all of you. I can't believe you're here!"
"Get up, you two," Enzo says, though he's grinning. "You're embarrassing us in front of priceless art."
"No," I say, feeling suddenly playful in a way I haven't in years. "You come down here."
Sienna is the first to join us, dropping gracefully to sit cross-legged on the floor beside us. Hazel follows, then Evelyn and Noah. Matteo pretends to resist but caves when Hazel tugs his hand. Zoe sits next to Damiano's legs, looking up expectantly at my oldest brother.
"Come on, Damiano," I say. "Family floor meeting."
Damiano stands stiffly, looking utterly horrified at the idea of lying on a museum floor in his expensive suit. "This is ridiculous," he mutters.
"It's tradition now," Zoe says, patting the space beside her. "Don't be the only one standing."
With a long-suffering sigh that makes us all laugh, Damiano lowers himself to the floor with all the dignity of a king forced to sit among peasants.
"I hate all of you," he says without heat, adjusting his jacket as he settles beside Zoe.
We burst into fresh laughter at his discomfort, and even Damiano's lips twitch into a reluctant smile. I look around at my family—all of us sprawled on the floor of the Louvre like children at a slumber party—and feel something I thought I'd lost forever.
Joy. Pure, uncomplicated joy.
Daniel slips the ring onto my finger, and it fits perfectly. Of course it does. He's always known exactly what I need.