No wonder he’s gotten away with so much in his life. It’s impossible to do anything but laugh along with him when he’s so tongue-in-cheek self-aggrandizing.
He’s still hamming it up when a six-man security detail meets us in the hallway—double the princes, double the risk, I guess—and escorts us downstairs to the lobby and out the front door. A long, black limo is waiting for us at the curb and I slide in, doing my best not to make a spectacle of myself in my skintight dress. But, for the record, this whole limo thing is a lot more challenging than it looks.
“So, where are we going?” Savvy asks Kian as we pull into traffic.
“Don’t look at me,” he answers. “Garrett planned it.”
“I thought going out was Kian’s idea?” I ask in an accusatory tone that’s harsher than I intend. It gets Garrett’s attention, though, has him looking at me with questioning eyes. I hate that I sound like that, hate even more that I can’t help wondering if he was lying to me earlier. Can’t help wondering if this whole thing is just a way to get us in front of the paps again.
Which would be fine, since that’s what I agreed to. But I really, really don’t like being lied to.
“It was. But when you were getting dressed I made a few calls. Since our plans changed, I tried to come up with something I thought you would like.”
The confusion in his eyes—combined with his explanation—has me feeling like a harridan. But even that’s not enough to make me relax as we glide through the darkened streets.
I’ve been to Paris a number of times and I know the city pretty well. But I’m so lost in my head that I don’t realize where we’re going until we pull up in front of the glass pyramid.
“I thought it closed at six today.”
“It does,” Garrett acknowledges. “But I asked for a private showing.”
“You asked for a private showing of the Louvre and they just agreed?” I ask.
He grins. “I’m pretty sure they know where to find me if something goes missing. Besides, you said the Louvre is your favorite museum. I thought you might like to see the art when there’s nothing around to distract from it.”
The ice that’s been skating through my veins for the last hour melts just a little. Damn it. Just, damn it. How am I supposed to get my head on straight when Garrett keeps doing stuff that shows how well he knows me? Stuff that tells me he spends as much time thinking about me as I do about him?
We climb out of the limo, which is even more treacherous in a tight dress than climbing in, and walk past the tourists loitering in the square. Garrett and Kian are recognized—of course they are—and all around us phones are being whipped out, pics being snapped. The security guards surround us so no one can ask for a selfie, but it’s hard not to feel like a spectacle as we make our way toward the door. It’s easier to ignore than it was a week ago, but I still hate it. I have no idea how Garrett, Kian, and Savvy handle it with such equanimity.
A curator meets us at the door. He greets us in flawless English, then takes the four of us on a private tour that pretty much blows my mind. I’ve been here over a dozen times through the years and thought I knew the museum pretty well. But he shows me a number of beautiful, fascinating pieces I’ve never noticed before.
We spend nearly four hours trailing him around and listening to him talk about the various artworks. It’s the best, most amazing tour I’ve ever been on, and there’s a part of me that wants to beg to stay. It seems ungrateful, though, so I settle for casting a couple of wistful glances over my shoulder as we make our way back to the car.
“I’ll bring you back,” Garrett tells me softly as he pulls me into his side. “And next time, we can stay all night.”
My pulse jumps a little at his implication that there will be a next time, but I refuse to get ahead of myself. A few hours ago, I was freaking out about just the idea of staying around. One trip to a museum and the nebulous promise of a second doesn’t change that.
“Can we get dinner next?” Savvy asks as we settle into the car. “I’m starving.”
I realize with a shock that it’s close to midnight. No wonder my stomach’s been growling for the last two hours. Our picnic was over ten hours ago.
“Sorry about that,” Garrett tells her with a grin. “But I’ve got reservations in ten minutes that I hope will make up for the wait.”
Reservations at midnight seems a little odd, even in Paris. But since this is my first real night out with the royals, I decide to keep my mouth shut. After all, what do I know about partying with the very rich?
It seems even more odd when we pull up in front of the Eiffel Tower a few minutes later. After our experience at the Louvre, I know better than to comment about the fact that the tower closes at midnight. Instead, I let Garrett lead me to the elevator.
We wait as the last tourists of the evening disembark, then take it to the top of the tower. Two members of the security detail came ahead, so when the elevator opens onto the deck, we’re allowed to step right out.
Savvy gasps when she sees the table for four set up on the observation deck, under the stars. I know there’s a restaurant in the tower—I’ve even had Champagne in it a couple of times—but I’ve never seen a table set up out here before.
Tonight’s a far cry from our first, awkward date in that village restaurant with the truly bizarre food combinations. With the golden lights of Paris twinkling beneath us, I can’t help but feel a little like I’ve stepped into a fairy tale. But the good part of the fairy tale—with the happily-ever-after instead of the evil witch.
“Not too shabby,” Kian says as we take our seats at the table. “Looks like you do know how to wine and dine a lady when you put your mind to it.”
Garrett gives him a mild look as the hovering waiter pops open a bottle of Cristal. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been the one who had trouble with the wining-and-dining portion of the evening.”
Kian laughs. “Not my fault that some of us can close the deal without it.”