I couldn’t stop checking out Julian’s ass. I’d opted for the designer jeans I purchased during yesterday’s shopping trip paired with a blush-pink sweater and oversized cashmere jacket. Julian had taken one look at me, walked into the closet, and returned wearing a ribbed black sweater that clung to his muscular body, a loosely knotted tartan scarf, and a pair of jeans that looked like they’d been gifted to him by the gods.
“It’s like you’ve never seen a man wearing jeans before,” he said, catching me in the act again.
“I’ve never seen you wearing jeans before,” I corrected him. Lifting my face up, I grinned at him. “Why do you wear anything else?”
“Jeans still feel a little modern for my tastes.” He hooked an arm around my shoulder as we turned off the house’s quiet, tree-lined street.
“Modern?” I snorted.
“Sometimes, you forget I’m an old man.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead.
I grabbed the hand dangling over my shoulder, frowning to feel his calfskin gloves. They were buttery soft, and in the fall air, they hardly looked out of place, especially paired with the leather jacket he’d grabbed on our way out the door. It was simply that the gloves reminded me of every obstacle that stood between us.
“Here.” He guided us into a small bakery. “Best breakfast in Paris.”
I listened as he ordered in French, and a few minutes later, we each had a hot café and a fresh croissant. I took my first bite as we stepped out the door and stopped in my tracks. A dozen layers of flaky, buttery heaven melted across my tongue. I groaned in approval.
“You’re making me jealous of a pastry, pet,” he murmured as he coaxed me gently back onto the sidewalk so other customers could enter.
I swallowed and licked my lips. “You should be. I think I just lost my virginity to it.”
“You’re hilarious,” he said darkly as he steered me down the street.
“This isn’t like croissants back home,” I admitted as I took another bite.
“You approve?”
“I’m thinking about marrying it,” I said with a sigh. “Where are we going?”
“To one of my favorite spots in Paris,” he said.
“When was the last time you were here?” I asked, sipping my coffee. “What if it’s not there?”
“That is one of the things I love about Paris,” he told me as we crossed the street and continued past a row of beautiful limestone buildings. “It doesn’t erase its past like some cities. The new grows around it.”
“So, nothing ever changes?”
“No, things change, but the important things do not.” A horn honked as we cut across another street, and Julian shouted at the driver. “Unfortunately, some things do. I miss the days when it was all carriages–except for the smell.”
We continued down the street. Julian pointed out architecture and told stories about every spot we passed.
“You’ve spent a lot of time here,” I said as we waited for our chance to cross a larger intersection.
“I’ve spent a lot of time everywhere,” he said with a shrug.
Nine hundred years allowed for that, I supposed. The crossing light turned, and Julian slipped his hand into mine as we stepped onto the street.
This wasn’t a date. It was a scene from a movie. Each second that passed was even more impossibly perfect than the last. I never wanted it to end.
The streets grew more crowded as we continued. Everywhere I looked, tourists snapped photos. Boutiques gave way to shops selling tiny Eiffel Towers and cheap sunglasses. This was Julian’s favorite spot in Paris? I guessed things had changed a little, but I gasped as we rounded the corner, and I spotted part of Notre Dame. I’d seen pictures of it before the fire, but even now, surrounded by scaffolding, it was amazing. Julian stopped beside me.
“What the hell happened here?”
I blinked, momentarily confused. “The fire…”
“Nobody mentioned a fire,” he told me, and I remembered that he’d been asleep when the landmark burned. “I suppose Celia had to leave a few things out of the dossier. I’ll have to remember to tell her in the future that I care more about things like this than the advent of social media.”
My stomach clenched at his use of next time. Did he plan to go back to sleep when the season ended? I didn’t have the heart to ask. Instead, I forced a smile.
“Come on.” He tugged me toward a stone bridge that sat over the Seine. We crossed quietly, hand in hand, and entered another world. The chaos that enveloped the city faded with each step we took.
“Where are we?” I asked, looking around at the old stone buildings.
“Île Saint-Louis,” he said as we passed some quiet bistros. “I spent most of the eighteenth century getting into trouble here.”
“Trouble, huh?” It seemed impossible to imagine trouble could be found in the quaint neighborhood. He guided me down a side street and paused in front of a nondescript gate.
“And this is Paris’s best-kept secret. At least, I hope it still is.” His crooked grin made my heart skip a beat. He pulled off a glove and then placed his palm on the iron gate. It swung open, revealing a courtyard that seemed impossibly big given the street it sat off.
“How?” I peered inside.
Julian put his glove back on, smiling at my amazed expression. “Welcome to Île Cachée.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
THEA
I stared at the world waiting beyond the gate, but I couldn’t process it. Turning, I looked back at the street. Graffiti blighted a building, flyers cluttered a nearby streetlight, and traffic hummed in the background, punctuated by honking horns. Behind me was Paris. In front of me was an entirely different world.
