Chapter 41
Yuna
“I Forgot To Be Mad”
Seven in the morning felt disrespectful.
Especially when I had already told this man I wasn’t going anywhere.
Yet here I was.
Standing in the middle of my room while a maid folded the last of my clothes into a trunk, like we were preparing for a damn royal tour.
Garment bags hung across the bed.
Silk dresses. New jeans. Blouses that still smelled like the boutiques they came from.
Ares had bought half of Paris’ fashion district for me in the last two weeks, and now, apparently, I was packing like we were relocating the entire operation.
I put gel in my curls, dragged a brush through them, and sighed.
“Did he say when we’re coming back?” I asked the maid.
“He said only God knows when you’re coming back,” she said politely while zipping one of the garment bags.
I was still standing there looking annoyed when the door opened.
Ares walked in already dressed.
Black tee. Black jacket.
He looked around the room once.
Then at me.
“Your clothes will get to you,” he said.
Before I could argue, he handed me a coffee and a warm croissant.
“Let’s go.”
I blinked.
He grabbed my duffel bag off the chair like my attitude didn’t exist.
Five minutes later, we were walking through the estate driveway.
We walked to a black Aston Martin parked near the gate.
Low. Sleek. Expensive enough to make my old friends faint.
Ares opened the passenger door for me.
He smirked.
“You ready for a nine-hour ride with me?”
I turned my nose up immediately. “We’re really driving to Paris?”
“Yup.” He leaned against the door casually. “That’s light work.”
I rolled my eyes and climbed into the seat. “Only a psychopath says nine hours is light work.”
The engine purred to life a moment later.
And just like that, we were pulling out of the Delacroix estate.
The road curved down the cliffs while Monaco slowly woke up around us.
I crossed my arms and stared out the window at first.
Still irritated.
Still half asleep.
But something strange happened after about twenty minutes.
The drive was… smooth.
Ares barely talked.
Just drove.
One hand on the wheel.
Relaxed.
Music played low through the speakers.
Dom Kennedy.
The ocean flashed beside us while the highway opened up.
He finally spoke again a few minutes later.
“I used to ride with my mom to Paris when she transported shit.”
I turned toward him.
“That’s cool, but you know this is going to be boring.”
He shrugged like it was normal. “It’s not as bad as you think.” He glanced at me briefly.
“I got some plans for us. It won’t be just straight driving.”
“Well,” I muttered, “I’m hungry.”
He smirked immediately. “I know,” and added, “Foodie.”
I frowned.
“You trying to say I eat too much?”
“That burger yesterday told me everything.”
I rolled my eyes again.
“That is detox hunger.”
“Whatever you say.” He tapped the steering wheel once. “Food is our first stop.”
About thirty minutes later, the car rolled into Nice.
The ocean stretched bright blue beside the city, the kind of view that made you forget the world was dangerous.
Ares pulled into a small parking lot near the water.
When I stepped out of the car, the breeze hit my face immediately.
Warm.
Fresh.
But I noticed something else. A black SUV was parked across the street.
Two men sitting inside.
Watching.
I glanced at Ares. “We’re not actually alone, are we?”
He followed my gaze briefly. “My security.”
“Of course.”
“They won’t bother us.” He gestured toward the restaurant across the promenade. “Come on.”
The place sat right along the water.
White tables.
Blue umbrellas.
The smell of seafood drifting through the air.
We sat down at a table overlooking the Mediterranean.
A waiter approached immediately.
Ares switched into smooth French so easily it almost annoyed me. He ordered half the table before I could even look at the menu.
“Grilled sea bass,” he said.
“Truffle fries.”
Then he glanced at me.
“And a sparkling blood orange soda for her.”
“No alcohol,” he added.
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
I raised an eyebrow.
“You always control the menu?”
“Yup.”
I crossed my arms. “That’s rude.”
He leaned back in his chair slightly. “Uh huh.”
When the food arrived, I forgot about arguing. The sea bass was perfect. The fries were fresh. And the soda was actually good.
For once… neither of us was arguing.
He watched the water.
I watched people walking along the promenade.
At one point, the wind blew my hair across my face.
Before I could fix it, Ares casually reached over and brushed it away.
“Your hair is growing like you wanted,” he said, sounding interested.
“I know. Doc gave me some biotin pills.”
Neither of us commented on him brushing my hair away.
After lunch, we walked along the promenade for a few minutes to let our food digest.
Eventually, we headed back to the car.
When I got back inside, something inside me had shifted.
The drive didn’t feel like a punishment anymore.
As the car pulled back onto the road toward Paris, I leaned back in the seat and glanced at Ares. Maybe nine hours with him wouldn’t be that bad after all.