Jasper Vale (The Edens #4)(73)

“Are we really going to Paris?” I asked.

He met my gaze in the mirror. “We’re really going to Paris.”





The City of Light.

Paris at dawn was magical.

The streets were quiet. Only a few cars traveled along the sleepy roads. A woman walking her dog passed by, but other than the murmured French she spoke into her phone, the city was still tucked in from last night.

Jasper and I stood on the Pont d’Iéna, the Seine flowing beneath the bridge’s arched feet. His gaze was on the river. Mine was locked on the Eiffel Tower, catching the early sun’s rays.

The jet he’d chartered last night had touched down in Paris five hours after we’d rushed from the hotel in Italy. He’d hailed us an Uber to a hotel, but only so that we could drop off our luggage before the same car had brought us here. Just in time to watch the sunrise.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” I whispered.

Jasper’s chin was on my head, his arms around my shoulders. “Dream come true?”

“And then some.”

Because we were together. Because I’d let myself fall into the illusion again.

Someday, I’d go back to Italy. I’d visit Rome and Tuscany. I’d eat my weight in pasta and gelato. But I doubted I’d ever come to Paris again.

This was a memory I didn’t want covered with another.

The breeze caught a tendril of hair, whipping it into my face. I was still in my dress from the wedding. Jasper was in his tux, though he’d draped the jacket over my shoulders to keep me warm.

A yawn tugged at my mouth.

But I refused to move from this spot or admit I was exhausted.

If this was my morning in Paris, I wouldn’t waste it. So we stood together, locked together, as the city began to stir. Tourists and Parisians crossed the bridge. Cars clamored along the roads. Only when the gates to the tower opened did Jasper and I finally abandon our spot on the bridge. Then we spent the day exploring.

From the Louvre to the Notre-Dame Cathedral to the charming, crowded streets of Montmartre, we barely skimmed the surface of all there was to see, bouncing from one place to the next. In another life, each spot would get an entire day of its own, but since we only had one, I made the most of it.

Until the sun had completed its journey across the sky and ducked beyond the horizon. Until we were back in the same place we’d been this morning. On the bridge over the Seine, standing at the base of the Eiffel Tower once more to watch its shimmering lights against the darkened sky.

“Ready to go back to the hotel?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

My feet ached. My bones were weary. It was getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open.

“This is a dream,” I murmured, yawning for the hundredth time. I leaned on Jasper, my arms around his waist, feeling like I could sleep standing up.

I took one last look at the tower, then closed my eyes, committing it to memory.

Committing this place and Jasper, tucking the image away in the deepest corners of my mind, to the place where I vowed never to forget.

If there was ever a place to share before our final farewell, it was here.

“Where to next?” he asked.

“Quincy, Montana.”

It was time to go home.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO





JASPER





“Can I get you anything, sir?” the flight attendant asked.

“No.” I shook my head, keeping my voice low.

She looked to Eloise, curled into a ball and asleep on my lap, and smiled. Then she went to the row behind ours, moving on to the next passenger in the first-class cabin.

I relaxed my head against the seat. We were on the final leg of the trip home, and sleep had been sporadic since we’d left Italy.

I’d managed to catch a few hours at the hotel in Paris, but because we’d changed our flight to depart from France rather than Italy, we’d had to be at the airport early this morning. Eloise had slept some on the flight across the Atlantic, but I’d never been great about sleep on airplanes.

Just a few more hours, then we’d be home. Another hour of flying, the two-hour drive from Missoula to Quincy, then I’d crash in my own damn bed.

We could both use a solid night’s sleep.

Eloise had fallen asleep not long after we’d taken off on this final flight, but she’d kept jolting herself awake, until finally, she’d climbed over the console between us and curled up in my lap. She’d been dead to the world ever since.

I yawned. Exhaustion should have won out—it had been a damn long few days—but I couldn’t seem to shut off my mind. I couldn’t stop replaying what Ashley had told me at the wedding during that short dance.

It had been a load of bullshit about how Samantha would always love me. How it wasn’t too late for us.

I almost felt bad for Sam’s new husband.

Almost.

Clearly, Sam hadn’t married for love.

Did she even know what love was? Did I? What Sam and I’d shared had seemed like love. A bond. Attention. When stacked side by side with my parents, what Sam had given me, especially in the beginning, had resembled love. Once, long ago, I’d been so damn sure that what I’d felt for Samantha was love.

Now . . .