“Noted.” I wish he would go with me to Laduree, but I knew what I was getting myself into with this trip. Plenty of alone time in Paris. “I’ll buy you some.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he says, stopping at a crosswalk and waiting for the cars to pass.

  “I want to.” And I do. If I can’t bring him with me to the store, then the least I can do is buy his favorite flavored macarons so he can snack on them later.

  Without warning, he grabs my hand, looking both ways before he starts walking. “We need to cross the street,” he tells me. “The building is on the other side.”

  I follow after him, a sleek black car heading toward us, picking up speed to fly by us once we’re out of the road. “That was close.”

  “Traffic is insane here. Be careful when you cross.” He lets go of my hand, and I feel the loss immediately. Did he only take my hand for safety reasons? Or for something more?

  Stop reading into his small gestures. They mean nothing.

  “Here’s the building.” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and I do as well, tilting my head back to take it all in. I can definitely tell it’s been neglected. The exterior is faded and chipped in places. The windows are dirty, some of them are even cracked, and the double doors that I assume are the entrance are filthy, with yellowed newspaper taped up so no one can see inside.

  “It’s…large.” I don’t know what else to say. From the outside, it’s nothing special.

  At all.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” His wry tone causes me to look over at him.

  “You do?”

  He nods, slipping his hands into his pants pockets as he gazes up at the building. “It hasn’t been in use for years, so she’s lost her luster, and she’s not that impressive. But once upon a time, she shined. Brighter than any of these other hotels she’s competing with.”

  “Brighter than the Ritz?” I find that hard to believe.

  “Brighter than the Ritz,” he reaffirms. “For some reason, the Descheauxs focused their attention on another one of their hotels in Paris. Maybe they thought the Vendome location didn’t need to be watched. It was doing so well. But that’s the tricky thing with the hotel business. Just because it’s your top location, your best earner, doesn’t mean you can forget about it. Your best location needs constant attention.”

  “How do you manage with so many hotels to oversee?” I ask.

  “Lots of travel. I’m rarely home.” His smile is weary. “Maybe that’s why I think Monterey and Carmel are the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. I’m just so glad to be back.”

  “Monsieur Wilder, it is so good to see you!”

  We both turn to find an elegantly turned out, gray-haired gentleman headed our way, his younger version following directly behind him.

  “The Descheauxs,” Alex murmurs close to my ear, making all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He clutches my hand once more, his finger shifting across the diamond ring. “You wore the ring. I’m glad you didn’t forget.”

  “I won’t take it off the entire time we’re here,” I whisper to him, pasting on a smile as the two men draw near.

  “It is very good to see you again. Very good,” says the elder Descheaux as he stops in front of us. “Admiring our old beauty, eh?”

  “Yes, and hopefully she will be our new beauty here soon,” Alex says, his voice smooth and full of confidence.

  I can’t help but be a tiny bit impressed.

  “Alain, this is my fiancée, Caroline,” Alex says as introduction.

  I let go of Alex’s hand just as Alain draws me close, his hands grasping my shoulders as he kisses first one cheek, then the other. “Nice to meet you,” I tell Alain once he steps away from me, though he keeps his hands on my shoulders.

  “You, my darling, are a beauty,” he says, his eyes twinkling as he takes me in. Though I get zero creepy vibes from his compliment, or the way he’s looking at me. It feels more like it’s coming from my grandpa.

  “Thank you,” I say when he releases his hold on me. My cheeks are warm because that’s what they always do when I receive a compliment or am feeling awkward. Currently I’m experiencing both emotions.

  “And Caroline, this is Louis,” Alex says.

  I shake Louis’s hand—he doesn’t kiss my cheeks—as he says, “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”

  His accent is thicker, his mood broodier. His longish black hair blows in the wind, falling across his eyes so he’s constantly shaking his head to clear his vision. He tucks the thin black scarf he’s wearing closer to his face, which only emphasizes his prominent nose. He’s an attractive, well-dressed man, though not as handsome as Alex. And I get the sense Louis doesn’t want to be here and his father forced him to come to this meeting. I could be wrong but…

  I usually have a good read on people.

  “Let’s go inside, shall we?” Alain asks us all with a pleasant smile. He goes to the double doors and unlocks them, holding one open as he gestures with a flourish for me to come forward. “Ladies first,” he says, and I enter the cavernous abandoned lobby first, scanning the room slowly.

  It’s huge. And I can tell that once upon a time, it was extraordinarily beautiful. The floors are dusty crackled marble, the walls constructed of warm wood paneling that has faded with age and neglect. There are multiple chandeliers hanging from the ceiling—I have a feeling there are multiple chandeliers everywhere in Paris—and the crystals are covered with thick dust, dulling their shine.

  As Alain takes us on a tour, I can see why Alex and his father want this place. The layout is already there. There are four floors total, three of them for guest rooms, and at one point, there were three restaurants and two bars within the hotel. It has conference rooms, two ballrooms and banks of elevators that are no longer in service. Because of that, we walk up four flights of stairs, until we’re standing in front of a gray steel door. Alain unlocks it, Alex helps him open it, and then we’re outside, standing on the very top of the building, the wind whipping against us fiercely.

  But the view is magnificent.

  “There’s the Eiffel Tower,” I practically squeal, pointing at it standing in the distance. I slowly turn in a circle, ignoring what the men are talking about as I drink in the view. And what a view it is. “It’s like you can see the entire city up here.”

  “You almost can,” Alain says, pulling away from the other men to come stand next to me. “The Louvre is over there.” He points to a building close by. “And the Arc de Triomphe is over there. Ah, and Concorde Column is just right there, not too far of a walk from where we’re at.”

  Excitement courses through me at seeing all of these famous icons I’ve only ever seen before in photographs or a movie. Oh, I’ve watched YouTubers go to Paris too, and that’s always cool.

  But now I’m actually here. In Paris. Standing on top of a building that’s practically in the middle of the city. At least, that’s what it feels like.

  I’m having a total surreal moment right now.

  “You and your lovely fiancée should join us for dinner this evening,” Alain says, turning so he can face Alex.

  I turn as well, to find Alex walking toward us. “We’d love that.” He stops right beside me, slipping his arm around my waist. “Wouldn’t we?” His words, his adoring gaze, are just for me.

  “Yes, we would.” I rest my hand on Alex’s very hard, very warm chest, and turn to smile at Alain. “Thank you for inviting us.”

  “I’ll bring my wife, and Louis and Manon will join us as well.”

  The sullen Louis makes his way over to his so we’re a little foursome having a conversation. “I’m sure Manon will enjoy meeting you,” he says to me. “She does love giving girls such as you a makeover.”

  Um. I think this asshole just insulted me.

  Alain snaps at him in French, the look on his face clearly showing he’s displeased. Which tells me this asshole definitely insulted me.

  Great.

  Twenty-Six

  Alex

  I did notice the snide remark Louis made toward Caroline, and I was ready to call him out for his asshole behavior, but Alain beat me to it. Deep down, I was glad his father reprimanded him first—I may not know much French, but I know Alain scolded his grown son. And that had to embarrass Louis.

  But damn it, the more I thought about it, the more Louis’s callous remark infuriated me. So much so that I refused Louis’s offer for a tour around Paris, which was probably rude. I didn’t want to spend any more time with him than necessary.

  The way I acted pissed me off too. Caroline is my fiancée—fake, but they don’t know that—and I should’ve stood up for her from the moment he made that shitty remark. I should’ve told Louis where he could shove his makeover comment. Straight up his ass.

  Yet like an asshole, I didn’t. I’m as bad as Louis is.

  I begged off the city tour offer by claiming I had work to do. Alain almost seemed quietly pleased with that answer, which means I scored a few points for being a workaholic. Lucky me.

  Poor Caroline probably doesn’t want to go back to the hotel. Not yet. This is her first full day in Paris and it hasn’t been that great.

  “Don’t be mad over what Louis said to me,” Caroline says as we slowly make our way back to the hotel.

  “I’m madder at myself. I should’ve defended you,” I mutter as I glance in Caroline’s direction.

  She appears shocked by my confession. “You’re not used to running to my defense. I get it.”

  “Still. That’s no excuse.” I see the macaron shop in the near distance and I rest my hand at the small of her back, steering her toward the door. “I need a macaron to cheer me up.”

  More like I want to make her happy.

  Caroline pauses, waiting for me to open the door to Laduree for her. “Are you trying to cheer yourself up? Or are you trying to cheer me up?”

  I hold the door open, dipping my head close to hers to whisper, “Both.”

  The smile on her face makes me want to smile too, because I put it there. I’m the reason she’s smiling. Seeing her like this, the joy radiating from Caroline as she takes in the shop with wide-eyed wonder, helps me forget about the Descheauxs and the pressure I’m under while we’re here in Paris. I focus instead on her reaction, how she stops before the glass case filled with a rainbow of macarons, studying them with reverence.

  “It’s so cute in here!” she exclaims, and I try my best to see the shop in her eyes. The walls are white, the moldings intricate, reminding me of a wedding cake. The mirrored wall behind the glass case has macaron “trees” in various colors, brightly colored boxes and racks of silky ribbons in a variety of colors I assume they use to for their gift packages.

  “It is very cute,” I agree with her, nodding toward the case of colorful macarons. I should tell her I think she’s very cute, but I keep the comment to myself. She’s not even really listening to me. All she can do is eye the macarons, not that I can blame her. “What flavors are you going to get?”

  “Oh gosh, I don’t know! There’s too many!” She’s bouncing on her feet, her hands clasped in front of her and I wonder if she’s going to start clapping.

  I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

  The employee behind the counter asks how many we want, and if we want a gift box. Caroline asks for a half dozen and says no to the gift box, but I interrupt her, telling the employee we want a dozen and we’ll definitely take the box, stepping back to let Caroline pick out the color of said box.

  “A dozen?” Caroline asks, turning to look at me while the woman goes to get the box. “I don’t need that many macarons.”

  “We’re going to share,” I tell her as I examine all the different flavors.

  “Oh.” Her eyes go wide and she turns back to the counter when the woman asks her which ones she wants. “Do you have a favorite flavor?” Caroline asks me. “Wait, you like the pistachio and the Marie Antoinette.”

  I nod.

  She asks for two each. One for me, one for her.

  By the time we’re exiting the shop, Caroline is all smiles, swinging her small, pale green bag with all the excitement of a little girl who was just given her favorite treat. And I suppose that’s the case here, though Caroline is the farthest thing from a little girl.

  “Have you had one before?” I ask her as we stop just outside the store, Caroline unable to stand it anymore.

  “From Costco. They were all right.” She reaches inside the bag.

  I make a derisive noise. “These are nothing like Costco’s.”

  Caroline hands me the bag after she takes the turquoise box out, and carefully removes the lid. “I should hope not.” She peels back the tissue paper, plucks a blue macaron from its spot and offers it to me. “Want it?”

  “You taste it first,” I urge, and she does so, sinking her teeth into the slightly chewy, creamy macaron. The expression of pure bliss on her face tells me she’s enjoying it, and when she pops the rest of the delicate cookie into her mouth and moans?

  I’m instantly uncomfortable, wishing I could adjust myself.

  Who knew a woman eating a macaron could be so damn sexy?

  “You have to eat this.” She takes the other blue macaron and gives it to me, and I take a bite, nodding my agreement as she reaches for another one. We stand outside of Laduree, stuffing our faces with macarons, polishing off a half dozen of them in mere minutes, which I can see is a disappointment to her.

  “Maybe we should’ve got two dozen,” she says, her voice sad as she settles the lid back onto the box.

  “We can always come back,” I point out. “The store is so close to our hotel.”

  “True.” Her smile returns, her mood buoyed by my suggestion, and I realize just how easy she is. And when I think easy, I don’t mean it in a bad way. More that she’s so…agreeable. And somehow that sounds unflattering as well, but it’s not meant to be.

  The other women I’ve been with have all been rather difficult. Demanding. Perhaps bratty is the better word to describe them. If Tiffany were here in Paris with me, she wouldn’t want to eat macarons. She wouldn’t want to eat anything for fear she’d wreck her diet and gain weight, something she always complained about when we were together.

  No macarons for Tiffany. She’d rather be in the designer shops picking out a ten-thousand euro bag and putting it on my credit card. Bags, shoes, belts, clothes—she would be buying it all. Going on a shopping spree on my dime.

  Hmm. The idea of taking Caroline on a shopping spree on my dime has a certain appeal, though. Going to dinner tonight with Louis and Manon could be a challenge. Manon especially will have certain expectations for the woman who is my fiancée. The Wilder Corporation is worth a lot of money.

  So my fiancée should also appear as if she is worth a lot of money.

  “We’re going back to the hotel, right?” Caroline asks once we start walking again.

  “I don’t think so.” I stop at the crosswalk and she does the same, staring up at me as we wait for the light to turn green.

  “I thought you had work to do?” She sounds confused.

  “I lied.” I gaze down at her, tempted to skim my fingers across her cheek, to see if her skin is as smooth as it looks. I’m sure it is. “I want to take you shopping.”

  She frowns. “Shopping? Don’t most men hate shopping?”

  I’m not a huge fan. Actually, I’d rather do anything else, but she doesn’t need to know that. And what woman doesn’t love shopping? Though I’m being far too general when I don’t really know Caroline that well. When she was young, she did whatever she wanted. I don’t remember her being particularly girly, but I don’t remember her being a total tomboy either. She was just…Caroline. And I realize now that I admired her so much for that. She always seemed so comfortable in her own skin. She still acts that way.

  “Don’t you want something new for tonight’s dinner?” I ask.

  “I don’t need anything new. I brought a really nice black dress that should work perfectly for tonight.” The light turns green and I start walking across the street, Caroline keeping pace beside me. “And you should see my shoes. A pair of black patent Dior slingbacks I found on clearance at Nordstrom Rack last year that were still a little pricey for my budget, but I decided to splurge. So I really don’t need anything. I’m fine. You’ve been more than generous to me on this trip. As in, you haven’t let me pay for anything, and that’s not fair. I can manage to pay for a few meals or whatever.”

  She’s completely rambling, which is adorable.

  “I don’t want you paying for anything,” I tell her, my voice calm compared to her chattering. “You’re my guest. I invited you.”

  The streets aren’t very busy, thank God, which is a good thing considering how narrow the sidewalks are. I step off twice to get out of the way of groups of ladies whose arms are laden with bags from a variety of stores.

  “And I’m trying to tell you I don’t need anything. I’m perfectly fine.” She smiles brightly. “Just keep me in macarons and I won’t ask for anything else.”

  I’m almost insulted by her protest. I can’t believe she’s turning down my offer, but the look on her face is sincere. She wants nothing.

  Well, too damn bad. I’m going to get her something. She’s beautiful on her own, but I want her to walk into that restaurant tonight sparkling like a goddamned diamond.

  Like she’s my diamond.

  Twenty-Seven

  Caroline

  We’re in the Chanel store, the one on Rue Cambon. The very one Coco Chanel herself opened and worked and lived out of until she died. And did I mention she also lived at the Ritz? I’m living the Chanel lover’s dream right now, let me tell you.

  I’ve never been in an actual Chanel store before. Oh, I’ve wandered into the Chanel section at a department store a few times. Glanced at the items without even bothering to look at the price tag—if I could even find it. “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it” is what some old song from the ’80s said.