Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
He grins, eyes locking with mine. “I like risk.”
When the food arrives, we dig in, savoring every bite. The croissant is flaky and buttery, the chocolate rich and indulgent. My cappuccino is frothy, and the hint of cocoa on top is a small delight. Axel’s coffee steams beside him, dark and strong, just like him. We talk between bites, continuing our dance of teasing and flirtation, a dance I never dreamed I would have with Axel.
“You know,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “You’re making this look far too easy. This wandering around a museum, eating pastries, laughing.”
“Maybe I was Parisian in a past life,” I say.
“Or maybe you’re just a dangerous minx who can turn her hand to anything.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Dangerous? Me? You’re the one who brought me here and now has me flirting with you in public. That’s dangerous.”
He tilts his head, a slow, deliberate smile spreading. “Touché. But you have to admit flirting with me is kinda fun, isn’t it?”
“Only,” I hide a grin behind my coffee cup. “If you admit that you’re infuriatingly smug.”
“Infuriatingly smug?” He feigns hurt, placing a hand over his chest. “I thought I was doing very well in the charming department.”
“You are,” I concede, my eyes sparkling. “Insufferably charming. But don’t let it go to your head.”
Our laughter bubbles easily. For a while, it’s just us, enjoying the quiet thrill of being in Paris together and the gentle current of something more flowing between us. Finally, we set down our cups, the last sips of coffee gone, and even crumbs cleared from our plates. I stretch my arms lazily, excitement rising in me again.
“Are you ready to continue?” I ask, my voice full of energy.
Axel stands up, brushing off his jeans although there’s nothing on them, a slow smile on his face. “Absolutely. Lead the way, my enthusiastic guide.”
I laugh, linking my arm through his as we step out of the café and back into the seemingly endless galleries. The late morning sun casts a warm glow through the tall windows. The day is still young, and there’s so much more to explore. And somehow, I know that with Axel by my side, every moment will feel just a little more electric, a little more alive.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
AXEL
The Louvre is a beast of history and grandeur, swallowing us up. I keep one hand in my pocket, the other one at my side, brushing against Jo’s as we join the slow-moving queue for the gallery that has Jo so excited, the small one with the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper, pushing forward inch by inch. I glance at the faces around us, all tourists craning their necks, but my eyes keep drifting to Jo. She’s quiet for the moment, taking in the high-ceilinged corridors, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration as her mind catalogues and analyses everything around her.
“Are you excited?” I ask, leaning slightly toward her.
She grins, her eyes sparkling, the kind of grin that makes me forget everything but her.
“Excited? Axel, I’ve been waiting for this moment for what feels like my entire life. I might burst from enthusiasm.” She laughs, light and airy, a sound that seems to echo around the cavernous hallways, makes me want to bottle it up and keep it forever.
“Where’s my commentary? Why have you gone so quiet?” I tease, elbowing her lightly.
A faint flush colors her cheeks. “You don’t need my commentary. My father was a connoisseur of fine art. I’m sure he must have taught you a lot.”
“Yes, he did,” I say honestly. “He taught me to know the brush strokes, the value, the provenance, but you see the beauty in the smallest details, and I like seeing them through your eyes.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “Flattery won’t get you closer to the Mona Lisa faster, you know.”
“But it might get me closer to you, though?” I say with a wide grin.
Jo rolls her eyes, but she laughs. Her laugh is soft and musical, and I realize I’m grinning like an idiot. I’ve made her laugh, and that feels like a victory. I can’t believe this is the woman I was so determined to hate. When I learned the truth about that email that hurt Joseph so much, that it wasn’t her who sent it, and that she had no idea he even existed, I was so fucking relieved and happy I wanted to punch the air. Already, I was finding it harder and harder to turn off my feelings for her and maintain the outward impression that I didn’t like her.
Finally, we’re inside the gallery. Under thick glass, the Mona Lisa is less imposing than I expected, yet the painting extrudes energy like no other painting. Perhaps it is all the billions of eyes that have witnessed it. The slight smile, the knowing eyes, the way centuries of obsession cling to her image like a shroud. Jo leans closer to me, whispering under her breath.