When the Heart Falls(33)

WINTER DEVEAUX

CHAPTER 13





CADE'S BODY WARMS me as we walk across a bridge over the Seine River. The sun is setting, filling the rain dampened city with warm tones of gold, red and yellow and reflecting off the water. I shiver at the drop in temperature, and Cade pulls his arm out of mine and settles it over my shoulder.

I've never walked with a man like this, like a couple, even though we aren't technically a couple, and I memorize how it feels, the butterflies in my stomach and the heat from his body, the way a new hunger burns in my belly.

We stop and lean over the fence, admiring the river and watching the boats full of couples as they glide along the water.

Hundreds of locks are latched onto the fence, each with initials or names written on them. I hold one in my hand, studying it. "What do you think this is about?"

Cade shrugs. "No idea."

An elderly couple passes us and stops a few feet away, lock in hand. Their white heads come together like clouds as they kiss and then click the lock onto the fence. The woman holds the key in her hand, then throws it over the side.

Curiosity compels me forward, Cade at my back. "Excuse me. Do you speak English?" I could have the conversation in French, but I don't want to leave Cade out.

They turn to us, their arms wrapped around each other, matching gold rings on their fingers. "We do," the woman says with a strong French accent.

I smile. "I'm Winter, and this is Cade. We were just wondering what these locks are."

The old woman's pale blue eyes light up. "This is Lover's Bridge. Couples put locks with their initials here and throw the key into the Seine to symbolize their eternal love. It is said, if you kiss on Lover's Bridge, you will be happy together forever." She looks up at her husband, who kisses her forehead. "It's our 60th anniversary, so we are celebrating."

I look at the thousands of locks on the fence and think of all the love stories they represent. I slide my finger across one, wishing I could tap into those stories with just a touch. "Sixty years is a long time. Congratulations. How do you stay together that long and stay so in love?"

Cade squeezes my shoulders, and I know he's thinking of his parents.

The husband wraps his arms around his wife and says, "The key is to marry your best friend."

The wife pats her husband's hands. "That, and always assume the best motivation from your partner. It's easy to think the worst when you're angry or hurt or scared, but if you choose to believe the best in what they say and do, you will be much happier."

The couple walks off, hand in hand, and we're quiet as we make our way across the rest of the bridge, each lost in our own thoughts. I wonder if I will ever find anyone that will still love me in sixty years when my hair turns white and my skin wrinkles. Does true love really exist outside of movies and romance novels? It would seem so, if that couple is any indication.

The lights in the sky turn darker, reds burning into purples as we approach a familiar landmark. Excitement bubbles up in me like champagne. "The Eiffel Tower? Is that where we're going?"

Cade chuckles. "Dag nab it. Is it that obvious?"

I wave my hand in front of me. "Well, it's kind of right there in the open, so yeah."

"Have you been yet?" Cade asks.

"No. This is so awesome." I'm practically jumping up and down now, pulling him by the hand.

"Perfect, we can experience it for the first time together." He laughs and jogs to keep up with me.



A few hundred steps into the climb, I reassess our decision to 'save time' by climbing instead of taking the lift to the first two platforms. "Cade. I'm dying. You might have to carry me the rest of the way."

My legs burn, and my breath is labored, but he looks like he's on a pleasant country stroll. "You can do it," he says. "We're almost to the first level."

But we don't stop at the first level. Nope. We both want to see the sun set on Paris, and it's setting fast, so we need to get to the top deck quickly.

By the time we get to the second deck, my legs are wobbly, like cooked spaghetti, barely holding me upright. Since there are no stairs to the top deck—darn, what a bummer!—we take the lift and arrive at the top just in time to see the sun setting over Paris.

The view stuns me speechless, and I almost forget to take pictures.

Cade breaks the silence. "This is the tallest building in France. It was originally built as the entrance arch to the 1889 World's Fair and was only supposed to stay up for 20 years. Can you imagine if they'd dismantled the Eiffel Tower? It's so iconic."

"I'm glad they didn't." I point to a spot on the horizon. "Look, the Arc de Triomphe, and there's Champ de Mars. I spent an afternoon at that park just reading. Best day ever. Well, one of the best days. The view from here is amazing."

Cade's voice softens. "Yes. It is."

He's looking at me, not the view, and my heart jumps into my throat. "I used to go up on tall buildings all the time in New York, but it's not the same. Everything there is so big, so grand, fighting for attention. Here, you're on top of the world."

"There's actually a reason for that." He smiles and I can tell he's about to go into one of his architectural lectures, which I actually love. "Since the 13th century, Paris has been mined for gypsum and limestone, but nobody tracked how many tunnels they dug or where they went. Basically, Paris is sitting on a giant, unmapped anthill. By the 1700s entire sections of Paris collapsed into the ground, but it wasn't until the 1950s that they declared the tunnels off limits. Now there are weight restrictions imposed on buildings to keep the city from caving in."