28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ali
“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” I announce, wiping the corners of my mouth with my napkin.
We have devoured our afternoon tea. We have had little sandwiches, scones with jelly and clotted cream, delicate little pastries, and tea. The menu showed pages and pages of different flavored teas and I’m going to need to bring one of each home.
“Same. I’m scared to move in case I puke,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his stomach.
“This was really sweet of you. Who knew you could do something so nice?” I tease, lifting my tiny China teacup and taking a sip.
“Well, I might have one more thing up my sleeve.”
My eyes widen. “What? No, I was just teasing. You’ve already spoiled me this trip. You don’t—”
He presses his index finger to my lips to quieten me. “Sssshhh, just let me have my moment, Ali Cat, okay?” I nod, not saying another word. I really am seeing a different side to him on this trip. Sure, the sex is great, mind-blowing in fact, but I enjoy just being with him, talking about the mundane things. I have never had this type of connection with anyone.
“Finish up your tea. Your next surprise is almost ready.”
I must have received a bang to the head because I willingly let Harry not only blindfold me, but stuff earplugs in my ears. Convinced he was taking me to one of those sex dungeons, I protested at first. We boarded what felt like a train from the feel of the seats and after what felt like forever, Harry removed my blindfold and earplugs, but to my annoyance, all I was met with was open fields when looking out the window. I’ve never been to the UK so I had no idea where he could be taking me but truthfully, as long as I was with him. It didn’t matter.
“Ready to be blindfolded again, Ali Cat?”
I eye him suspiciously across the table that separates us.
“Come on, Ali Cat, humor me…”
A warm breeze hits my cheeks and my dress whirls around me as I step out of the car, taking Harry’s hand. My heels land on something hard, some type of stone, if I’m not mistaken. He removes the earplugs and the sound of beeping horns and engines drift in the air. I inhale, trying to guess my surroundings.
“Where are we?” I ask nervously. “I swear, if you are taking me to the edge of a bridge and are about to push me, I’ll be dragging your ass down with me.”
A deep rumble burst from his chest, the chest I have been leaning against to steady myself. His mouth nestles against the shell of my ear. “Keep your eyes closed, okay?” I nod in agreement. He lifts the eye mask and my face creases as a bright light hits my face.
He moves beside me, taking my hand once again in his. My heart races in anticipation.
“Three… two… one… open.”
Slowing peeling my eyes open, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. A gust of wind blows my hair around my face as the most stunning piece of architecture comes into view.
“Oh, my god.” My words are barely audible. They're, right in front of my eyes is the Eiffel Tower. “You brought me to Paris?” Stunned, I face him and there is a look I haven’t seen on his face before.
“You said you needed a photo of the Eiffel Tower, so I figured it would be better to see the real thing,” he says it like it’s no big deal. Like he hasn’t just brought me to the fashion capital of the world. The most romantic place on earth.
“I don’t know what to say… Thank you… I…” I look back at the Eiffel Tower in all its glory across the river. It’s only then I notice we are standing on a bridge, with river boat cruises floating up and down beneath us, the afternoon sun beginning to set behind the Tower, giving Paris a stunning auburn glow.
I step towards him, wrapping my arms around his neck, his large hands finding my waist, tugging me close. Even in my three-inch heels, I have to go on my tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.
“You keep surprising me, H.” He does. He is so unexpected. Not only does he surprise me in the physical sense, but emotionally too. Underneath the party boy, the jokester, the man that has women falling at his feet, is someone incredibly thoughtful and kind. I still can’t get my head around the fact he wants to pursue me, but for now, I am going to let myself enjoy it because I know only too well how temporary life is, and with him, I feel brave enough to take a tiny leap of faith.
“Back at you, Ali Cat.” He nuzzles his nose with mine and I close my eyes, praying that this isn’t another dream.
The sun has set over Paris, and we have set up a little picnic on the riverbank so we could have the perfect view and watch the Eiffel Tower light up and sparkle. We found the cutest bakery down a small, cobbled street and brought fresh bread, cheeses, a cheesecake of course, and macaroons. Harry said he had one last little surprise left for me.
“Ready… open.” Harry opens his mouth as wide as he can so I can toss a macaron into his mouth. I throw my hands in the air in victory when he catches it. He claps, chewing as he grins at me.
When I’m around him, this silly, goofy, happy version of me appears. I didn’t have much fun growing up. I never got to be silly, carefree as a child. I was working from the age of three. My childhood was spent at dress fittings, in hair and makeup. There was never time to play, hang out with friends, ride a bike, get messy, no time to just be a child. I was forced to grow up and deal with things most adults don’t go through in their lifetime. Every day I spend with Harry, he heals a little part of me and my inner child; he makes it feel safe for her to come out and experience things she never got to.
So, I am making sure I am enjoying these moments, however fleeting they may be. I’m in Paris with a man who looks at me and treats me like I am more than just something shiny and pretty, an object, something that serves a purpose to them. He looks at me like I matter; like I am more than just a pretty face. He looks at me like I’m worth more.
“Your turn,” he says, holding up a pink macaroon.
“I can’t fit that in my mouth. It’s too big. You need to break it in half, at least.” He looks at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Baby, please, I have watched you deep throat my cock like it’s an Olympic sport, and he’s a beast. Trust me, this will fit in your mouth.”
A burst of laughter explodes from me, tears running down my cheeks. The type of laugh that has your body vibrating. It’s loud and unladylike, but god, does it feel good. I crawl over to him, settling in his lap, and kiss him. I have never had a boyfriend, never had a relationship, never been around a guy I have wanted to kiss just because. But there is a pull between us, like a magnet. I am drawn to him whenever he is near. I want to be close to him, to feel him, to be held by him. The little voice in my head that tells me I am not worthy of him tries to invade my thoughts. When he knows all your secrets, Alice, he won’t want you anymore.
I shake the thoughts away. Determined even more, to just enjoy and be in the moment with him.
“Thank you. This trip has been a dream,” I say, stroking my hand over his stubble.
“You’re welcome, baby.” He kisses me with the kind of kiss that stirs up a feeling in your belly that then trickles down to your toes. This wasn’t meant to be anything, but there’s no way I can slow this down, even if I try. I am falling for him. I just hope he meant what he said. I pray he catches me.
We walk through the streets of Paris, hand in hand, a belly full of pastries and the best champagne I have ever tasted. Paris is stunning in the day, but at night, the glow emanating from the Eiffel Tower casts a hue over the city, the cobbled streets dimly lit, traditional French music floating through the air from nearby restaurants.
We cross street with ease and smoothness; he steps behind me, maneuvering me to the inside of the sidewalk, swapping our interlinked hands, his stride never faltering as he does, and I realize he’s done this every time we cross the street.
“What was that slick move about?” I ask, turning to face him.
“Haven’t you heard of the sidewalk rule?” He meets my gaze with a glint in his eye.
“I have. I’m surprised you have. What other tricks have you got hiding up sleeve, Mr. Walker?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Miss Hart?” His tone is playful.
Hell, yeah, I would.
His suggestive words temporarily distract me, and I wobble on my heel as we turn the corner. Harry thankfully catches me before I roll my ankle.
“Woah there, has my girl had a little too much to drink?” he teases.
My girl?
I don’t correct him because, deep down, I don’t want to. Today has been a dream, like living in a bubble and I don’t want to burst it. Not yet.
“I think I might have had a teeny tiny bit too much,” I slur, using my thumb and index finger to gesture a small amount, trying to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling. But no such luck. I stumble again as my heel gets caught in a gap in the street.
Damn these old, cobbled streets.
Before I can protest, his large arms wrap around my thighs and hoist me up over his broad shoulder. I squeal in excitement as he breaks into a light jog. My hair tumbles down around my face, getting caught in between my fingers as I grasp desperately to the fabric of his pants, needing something to hold on to as my body slides down his back.
“Harry, I’m falling,” I scream, but not in fear. I feel anything but fear when I am with him.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he says breathlessly.
“Put me down,” I say, hitting his butt with my purse.
He continues to jog, his grip on me tightening, hand on my ass, preventing my dress from riding up and exposing me to the people of Paris. He rounds a street and then comes to an abrupt stop, planting me on my feet. It takes me a second to regain my focus and steady myself. My eyes zone in on a giant blue wall covered in different styles of writing.
“What’s this?” I ask, pointing to the wall.
“The wall of love,” he says a little hesitantly, as if unsure about bringing me here. “It has just about every language and every way to say I love you. It’s one of the many things Paris is famous for. I thought you might want to see it, to, you know, take a picture to send to the girls.”
I give him a coy smile, chewing on the inside of my cheek. I’m not the shy, coy type, but he stirs up feelings and emotions that I never thought capable of feeling. In the past few days, he has done more for me than anyone ever has in my lifetime.
I open my purse, take out my phone, and snap a few photos, sending a couple to Ria and Gabby.
I walk closer to the wall, running my fingertips over the written words, not understanding a word of it but still completely mesmerized. “It’s beautiful,” I say in a hushed tone. My eyes never leave the wall, traveling along taking all the different words till my eyes land on his. I still, the way he’s looking at me has my belly fluttering.
“Do you know what languages these are?” I ask, pointing to a cluster of words.
“Yeah, that’s Italian, this one is Spanish…” he trails off, pointing out different words and telling me the nationality.
“Okay, Rosetta Stone . Who knew you could speak so many languages?” He lets out a low deep chuckle that has me grinning like a love-struck teenager.
“I don’t know all the words, but my mom and dad traveled a lot when we were kids and they made it a thing that we learned some basic language before visiting a country.”
“That’s very smart of them.”
“It was.”
“So, say something to me in Spanish.” I eye him curiously, not entirely convinced he can speak it.
“Quiero tener sexo contigo,” he says with ease.
“What does that mean?” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise at how well he speaks.
“I want to have sex with you,” he says in a suggestive tone, sliding his hands around my waist and burying his head in the crook of my neck.
I shove his chest playfully. “Trust you to know that line.” I chuckle, tapping my index finger on my chin thinking about what else to ask him. “Okay, say something in Italian.”
“Ti voglio in ginocchio per me,” he says, again with ease.
“Do I want to know what that means?” I say flatly.
Moving closer, his lips brushing my ear he whispers, “I want you on your knees for me.” I shiver in excitement.
“Why am I not surprised that these are the phrases that you know?”
“I heard foreign languages get the ladies going, so I learned a few phrases that would come in handy.”
“Is that right?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.
“You tell me, Ali Cat, are you nice and wet for me?” He winks, his tongue running along his bottom lip and I watch it, completely hypnotized, knowing just how good that tongue feels.
I shake my head, laughing. “Okay, okay, last one. Say something in French.”
Silence falls between us as he cups my face with his large hands, brushing his nose against mine, his hot breath fanning against my skin. I take in a sharp inhale as the pad of his thumb dusts over my bottom lip and just when I think he won’t say anything and maybe he’ll kiss me, he says softly, “Je pense que je tombe amoureux de toi.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ask me again when we’re back in New York, and if you still want the answer, I’ll tell you.”