Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“I’m up for anything. Take me places and show me things. Show me more of the real Paris!” I say delightedly.
It’s a risk, one I know we’re both taking. Going to the Sun Orphanage was too, but being seen together in public is an entirely different level of danger. We’ve been carefully avoiding it, but today, I desperately want to be ourselves. Simon and Autumn, with no restrictions, no worries, out to proudly celebrate a great donation to the orphanage and the progress Simon made with Tristan.
For such a simple desire, it’s majorly complicated. I choose to pretend otherwise though.
Simon nods and does just that. He finds a parking spot in the heart of Paris, on a side street. “We can explore away from the usual tourist places. Shall we?”
He helps me from the car and offers me his elbow. I take it, feeling quite enamored with his gentlemanliness. And we walk.
We share choux cremes at a little bakery that’s mere blocks away from the Latin Quarter, close enough to have the youthful, energetic vibe, but quiet enough that unless you know what you’re looking for, you’ll never see the small shop with wooden shutters over the windows.
We stop at a little boutique in an alleyway off the Champs-Elysees, where Simon waits patiently while I run my fingers over some of the most luxurious fabrics that grace Paris, oohing and ahhing over every one of them.
But the final stop is along the Champs itself, along a block that sports brand-name stores like Gucci, Fendi, and more. But those stores aren’t where Simon takes me. Instead, he approaches a glass door and presses a buzzer. The glass is frosted over, so I can’t see inside, but the name sounds vaguely familiar.
When the door cracks opens, a man in a black suit looks Simon up and down and then does the same to me. He must see whatever he’s looking for because he opens the door further, inviting us in.
Inside, I stop in my tracks, my eyes open wide. “Holy shit!” I whisper. This feels like the sort of place you need to be quiet . . . and probably shouldn’t curse, but it’s too late for that now.
Simon chuckles. “Beautiful, non?”
I look around at the U-shape of glass cases, each lit with bright light to show off the sparkly contents. There must be millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry in here.
“What are we doing here?” I whisper again.
“Bonjour! Puis-je vous aider?” a woman says from behind one of the cases. She’s wearing a black silk blouse, a black pencil skirt, a bun high on her head, and red lipstick. She could look like a severe school teacher, but rather, she looks quintessentially and classically French.
“We’d like to look around, if you don’t mind,” Simon answers.
The woman looks Simon and me over much like the man at the door did. I think her reasoning is quite different, though, because she drops her chin deferentially, saying, “Of course. Perhaps something in this area?”
We step to the case she’s indicating to see it’s full of huge solitaire engagement rings and bedazzled wedding bands.
“Oh!” I exclaim. “I don’t think so.” I look to Simon in shock. He’s not proposing . . . is he?
“Perhaps not quite yet,” he agrees. “A necklace might be nice, though?”
I gawk at him. “Why are you asking me? The fanciest piece of jewelry I own is my Grandma Daisy’s ring, and it’s in a lockbox at home because I’m too chickenshit to wear it out. Not because it’s expensive, but because I would die if I lost it.”
The woman smiles serenely, obviously understanding English but not commenting on my lack of riches and jewels.
“I’m asking you because I’d like to buy you something, Princesse,” Simon says earnestly.
I want to refuse. Not because I don’t want his affection but because I don’t need some flashy outward show of it. I know how he feels and how I feel.
“Simon—” I start.
Sensing her sale is slipping off the hook, the saleswoman interjects. “Ah, I have just the thing!” she tells Simon, winking like they’re a team against the crazy woman who wants to turn down a piece of jewelry.
I slip my hand into Simon’s, holding him a little tighter, and he grins, knowing I’m feeling a bit possessive myself.
The saleswoman opens a case, pulling out a beautiful, intricate diamond and ruby necklace that would be the centerpiece of any red-carpet event. In the center is an at least one-carat ruby crafted into a heart shape, interlaced with a series of diamonds that tie the heart in a knot.
Simon takes the piece from the saleswoman, standing behind me to put it around my neck. I look in the mirror . . . at the necklace on my neck and Simon behind me.
“This looks fantastic with your hair. It’s yours, if you’d like,” Simon murmurs in my ear.