Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Alina
“Ican’t believe I’m standing next to the Eiffel Tower,” I whisper aloud dreamily.
My lips part as I tip my head back to take it all in.
The iron lattice stretches endlessly into the night, lit in a warm golden glow that spills across the sky, wrapping Paris in something almost magical.
“I feel like I’m dreaming.” I chuckle as I look back over at the sign that reads “fermé” strung before the gate.
Years of high school French make the meaning unmistakable.
“Too bad it’s closed. I would’ve loved to see the views from the top.
” A cool breeze brushes past us, and instinctively, I tuck myself beneath Mauro’s arm.
Everything about today feels like a dream.
One I never want to wake up from.
Mauro steps in the direction of the gate, guiding me along with him. “Wait.” I lightly tug on his arm. “Where are you going?”
He tips his chin toward the ticket booth.
“But it’s closed.”
Is it?
“Well, I’m not an expert in French, but I’m pretty sure that’s what the sign says. So, I don’t think we can just—” Hold up. I blink, taking a step out of his hold to look up at him. “You didn’t,” I say, disbelief flooding my chest.
A slow grin spreads across his face as he holds out his hand.
“Mauro…” I shake my head, glancing between him and the monument behind us. “Renting a bookstore is one thing. But shutting down the Eiffel Tower so we can have it to ourselves?” I laugh breathlessly. “You can’t do that. That’s not possible.”
His smile softens, his head tilting to the side. Anything is possible. His fingers nudge mine, and I clasp onto him, in complete shock.
He rented out the Eiffel Tower…
He had the Eiffel Tower shut down so we could have it all to ourselves…
And now I’m certain of it.
I’m definitely dreaming.
Still caught in a fog of disbelief, I follow him toward a discreet side door near the ticket booth. A sign in English catches my eye as we pass—1,665 steps to the top. My stomach dips. I silently pray Mauro doesn’t expect me to climb all of them. Why did I wear heels?
He raps his knuckles against the glass, and within moments, a man appears on the other side.
“Monsieur Alarie.” The man dips his chin in greeting and then exits the door.
“Right this way.” He leads us up several steps to a waiting elevator.
Stepping inside, he gestures for us to follow suit, and once we are securely inside, he presses a button, closing the door.
I swallow hard as the elevator lifts, hearing the gears grind.
I’ve never loved elevators, but I’ll gladly use them instead of walking sixteen hundred steps.
Mauro’s hand tightens around mine, and when I look up, I see the tension dancing across his features as he yanks at his collar.
I remember then, his fear of small spaces.
How they drag old memories to the surface. Memories he’d rather forget.
And yet he’s here, doing this for me.
My chest aches at the thought, heavy with meaning I don’t allow myself to dwell on.
And I quickly force the feeling away.
This is all temporary, and I can’t be delusional thinking it’s more than that.
This isn’t a fairy tale.
I lift my hand and cup his cheek, drawing his gaze to mine. “It’s just me and you,” I tell him. His body relaxes as if he’s exhaled a breath he had been holding on to for too long. He lowers his head, his lips landing on the top of my head, leaving a kiss as his arms wrap around me.
Minutes later, the elevator stops, and the doors glide open. The attendant steps aside, extending one arm with a smile. “Profitez de la vue.”
We step out onto the metal walkway, the structure beneath our feet solid yet impossibly high. A protective, birdcage-like railing curves around us, framing the open air beyond.
My breath catches as tears spring to my eyes.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, taking in the view before my eyes.
Paris stretches endlessly below, streets glowing, the Seine curving throughout, and rooftops shimmering beneath the night sky. Emotions wash over me all at once, overwhelming and fierce, and I grip the cold metal railing to steady myself.
My mom was here in this exact spot.
“She was here,” I say softly. “Both of them.” My hand lifts to my chest, feeling the steady thrum of my heart racing. “My parents were here. There’s a photo of them on the Eiffel Tower from years ago.”
Mauro steps behind me, his arms coming around me, caging me in as his hands settle over mine, warm against the cold metal.
I turn in his embrace, and concern flickers across his face as he lifts a hand to wipe away the tears slipping down my cheeks. I catch his wrist, holding him there.
“Happy tears,” I tell him, and immediately, his features relax. “This is…” My voice falters as the day crashes over me all at once. The bookstore. The sights. The dinner. This. It’s all too much for me to take in.
Why would he do all of this for me?
He stares down at me, watching me with something in his eyes I can’t quite name.
I reach my hand toward his face, grazing my palm over his scruff.
I’m slightly worried that what I’m about to say will ruin this moment, knowing he doesn’t want me to mention our past, but I can’t keep the words inside me a second longer.
“I’m forever grateful that our paths crossed all those years ago. ”
“Stop!”
My eyes find his…
His knees drop to the grass…
My arms slip around him…
His heart beats as fast as mine…
I swallow the lump of emotions building in my throat as I remember that day.
One that changed both of our lives forever.
Creating a secret between the two of us we would never share with the world.
He lowers his head and rolls our foreheads together, pressing his lips to mine.
I breathe in his familiar scent.
I feel his warmth and the steady pulse of his heart beneath my palm.
But it’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
Not when I need all of him.
“Mauro,” I whisper, curling my fingers into his jacket. “Take me to bed.”
The iron gates groan as they slide apart, revealing a long stone driveway. Heavily armed guards step back, their presence a reminder of just how well protected this place is. Our vehicle rolls forward until it comes to a smooth stop at the foot of the estate.
The driver exits first, opening my door. Cool night air brushes my skin as I step out. Mauro immediately appears by my side.
“Your bags have already been sent up to your room,” the driver informs us.
Mauro dips his chin in acknowledgment, but his focus never leaves me.
Like a man with a singular purpose, he takes my hand in his, his grip firm and certain, and leads me up the marble steps.
We pass through the towering front doors, and the moment they close behind us, the world outside disappears.
He stops abruptly.
And before I can speak, his hands come up to cradle my face, his touch lighting my skin on fire.
His lips meet mine with an urgency that steals my breath, all restraint forgotten.
I shrug my jacket from my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as I curl my fingers into his shirt, needing him closer.
His hands slide down my body, tucking beneath my ass and lifting me effortlessly as I gasp in surprise.
Instinctively, I cling to him, my arms tightening around his shoulders and my legs anchoring alongside his torso as he turns toward the staircase.
He takes the steps two at a time, carrying me as though nothing will get in the way of what he wants.
Me.
With quick work, I unzip my boots and tug them from my feet, the sound of them tumbling down the stairs echoing behind us. My hands greedily glide down his shirt, my fingers at once unhooking every button.
He nudges a door open and carries me inside, lowering me onto the bed with a care that makes my breath falter. For a moment, he just looks at me. And I mean, really looks at me. With a soft vulnerability shining in his eyes as if he can’t believe I’m really here with him.
But why would that be?
His hand brushes my hair back, his touch slow and worshipful, as if he’s memorizing me.
Engraving me into his mind. He leans down, his forehead resting against mine.
Slowly, he presses our lips together. I close my eyes, letting myself sink into this feeling, knowing that whatever is about to happen next doesn’t need words.
His lips trail over my neck and across my collarbone, sending a shiver down my spine.
My breath feels heavy as he continues his path around my sweater, his fingers gripping the hem and lifting it enough to reveal my stomach.
I suck in a sharp breath as he kisses the spot right over my belly button, pushing the fabric up higher, exposing my breasts, which are practically spilling out of my black lace bra.
I lift my arms above my head, and he doesn’t hesitate to remove the material from my body completely.
His eyes take in the sight of me, growing darker. Hungrier.
They narrow in on the small metal clasp residing in the center, and he unhooks it in one swift motion, the cups splaying out to my sides.
His lips catch onto one of my nipples, sending an electric jolt to my core.
My fingers thread through his hair, untying the strap that holds his strands back.
I whimper as my other nipple is grasped between his thumb and index finger, twisted, and pinched.
The sensation has me squeezing my thighs together as the throbbing between my legs intensifies.