The girl pauses her brush stroke and looks up at us. “Bonjour.”
“Hi. I don’t speak French, sorry.”
“I speak English.” The girl smiles.
“I didn’t mean to bother you. I just can’t believe how much yours looks like the original. You’re so talented.”
The girl blushes and runs her free hand along one of her blond braids. “Not at all. I can’t quite make the canvas come alive, but my mother says I improve each time I paint it.”
Milly looks up at the portrait of a man on horseback. “How many times have you painted it?”
The girl sighs. “Many.”
“I’m so impressed.” Milly is practically glowing.
“Thank you, mademoiselle.”
“I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to tell you how amazing you are.”
“Merci.” The girl gives a little bow and turns back to her canvas as I lead Milly away.
“You’re great with kids.” I’ve never really thought about having children. It’s just not anything I thought I’d want. But just watching Milly with that little girl already has my head spinning. Shit, I need to settle the fuck down. Especially since this trip to the Louvre isn’t solely for fun.
“I’ve always liked kids. I mean, I don’t hang around a lot of them or anything. But I like the way they say exactly what they mean. Sometimes with adults—a lot of the time, actually—they don’t say what they mean at all. I have to try and guess, but I usually end up getting it wrong.”
“It’s okay to wear your heart on your sleeve and expect others to do the same.” We turn a corner and climb a few steps into a section of ancient Mesopotamian art.
“These are interesting.” She peers at a particularly well-preserved platter, the edges upturned and intricate designs showing reeds along the edge. “They’re a lot more 3D than the European collections.”
“The Sumerians used pottery to tell a story.” I stop in front of a vase encased in glass and lit with small spotlights overhead. “This one tells of a particularly good harvest. See the wheat and barley here?” I point.
“Yes. What’s that? A goat?” She leans closer.
“Yes. The upper relief has rams and ewes.”
One eyebrow raised, she turns to me. “You sure know a lot about art.”
I make note of the almost-invisible sensors placed around the room. Three are pointed directly at the glass case surrounding the vase, and I’m certain there’s a weight sensor beneath the piece. The moment I move it, an alarm will sound.
The Louvre is well known for its high security, but I’ve breached it before. This time will be slightly more difficult given the central location, but I can do this. I have to. My life depends on it.
“Mateo, errr, I mean James, are you all right?” She presses her palm to my cheek.
“I’m fine.” I lean into her touch. “Why?”
“You just looked sort of—I don’t know—worried for a second.”
Jeez, the way she looks at me, the care in her eyes—I still can’t believe how lucky I was to find her in that parking lot.
“I’m great.” I turn and kiss her palm. “Let’s go get some lunch. Then I’m taking you to the Eiffel Tower.”
She smiles, and I can’t help but kiss her. There’s a lot riding on this heist, but there might be even more riding on this unexpected, all-consuming feeling I’m having for Milly.
12
Milly
This day has been perfect. I don’t want it to end. I’m so happy that I get to share this with Mateo.
He keeps me tucked close to his side as we leave the Eiffel tower to head back to the hotel room. I’m as excited about that as I am about seeing more of Paris. An older woman starts to sing as we walk by. I snuggle closer to Mateo, feeling the romance in the air. He drops some money into the case she has open in front of her as we pass.
This fake honeymoon is going straight to my head. I want it to be real. No one in my whole life has made me feel the way Mateo does. He not only sees me, but he understands me too. And considering the way he is with me, I think he likes what he sees.
“Can I ask you something?” I stop walking when we get to the edge of the Eiffel Tower. The woman starts a new song. From the sweet, soft tone, I think it’s a love song, but I’m not sure because she’s singing in French. That only makes it more beautiful and romantic.
“You know you can.” He brushes a piece of my hair out of my face.
“In one of my favorite books the couple danced next to the Eiffel tower. Could we–” I’m cut off before I can finish asking. Mateo already has his hand in mine. His other one moves to my hip, guiding me to the sound of the music. He’s light on his feet and much more graceful than I would have imagined. Especially for his size.