Page 85 of Whispers in the Dark
“Well, I’m not an expert in French, but I’m pretty sure that’s what the sign says. So, I don’t think we can just—”Hold up.I blink, taking a step out of his hold to look up at him. “You didn’t,” I say, disbelief flooding my chest.
A slow grin spreads across his face as he holds out his hand.
“Mauro…” I shake my head, glancing between him and the monument behind us. “Renting a bookstore is one thing. But shutting down the Eiffel Tower so we can have it to ourselves?” I laugh breathlessly. “You can’t do that. That’s not possible.”
His smile softens, his head tilting to the side.Anything is possible.His fingers nudge mine, and I clasp onto him, in complete shock.
He rented out the Eiffel Tower…
He had the Eiffel Tower shut down so we could have it all to ourselves…
And now I’m certain of it.
I’m definitely dreaming.
Still caught in a fog of disbelief, I follow him toward a discreet side door near the ticket booth. A sign in English catches my eye as we pass—1,665 steps to the top. My stomach dips. I silently pray Mauro doesn’t expect me to climb all of them.Why did I wear heels?
He raps his knuckles against the glass, and within moments, a man appears on the other side. “Monsieur Alarie.” The man dips his chin in greeting and then exits the door. “Right this way.” He leads us up several steps to a waiting elevator. Stepping inside, he gestures for us to follow suit, and once we are securely inside, he presses a button, closing the door.
I swallow hard as the elevator lifts, hearing the gears grind. I’ve never loved elevators, but I’ll gladly use them instead of walking sixteen hundred steps. Mauro’s hand tightens around mine, and when I look up, I see the tension dancing across hisfeatures as he yanks at his collar. I remember then, his fear of small spaces. How they drag old memories to the surface. Memories he’d rather forget.
And yet he’s here, doing this for me.
My chest aches at the thought, heavy with meaning I don’t allow myself to dwell on.
And I quickly force the feeling away.
This is all temporary, and I can’t be delusional thinking it’s more than that.
This isn’t a fairy tale.
I lift my hand and cup his cheek, drawing his gaze to mine. “It’s just me and you,” I tell him. His body relaxes as if he’s exhaled a breath he had been holding on to for too long. He lowers his head, his lips landing on the top of my head, leaving a kiss as his arms wrap around me.
Minutes later, the elevator stops, and the doors glide open. The attendant steps aside, extending one arm with a smile. “Profitez de la vue.”
We step out onto the metal walkway, the structure beneath our feet solid yet impossibly high. A protective, birdcage-like railing curves around us, framing the open air beyond.
My breath catches as tears spring to my eyes.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, taking in the view before my eyes.
Paris stretches endlessly below, streets glowing, the Seine curving throughout, and rooftops shimmering beneath the night sky. Emotions wash over me all at once, overwhelming and fierce, and I grip the cold metal railing to steady myself.
My mom was here in this exact spot.
“She was here,” I say softly. “Both of them.” My hand lifts to my chest, feeling the steady thrum of my heart racing. “My parents were here. There’s a photo of them on the Eiffel Tower from years ago.”
Mauro steps behind me, his arms coming around me, caging me in as his hands settle over mine, warm against the cold metal.
I turn in his embrace, and concern flickers across his face as he lifts a hand to wipe away the tears slipping down my cheeks. I catch his wrist, holding him there.
“Happy tears,” I tell him, and immediately, his features relax. “This is…” My voice falters as the day crashes over me all at once. The bookstore. The sights. The dinner. This. It’s all too much for me to take in.
Why would he do all of this for me?
He stares down at me, watching me with something in his eyes I can’t quite name. I reach my hand toward his face, grazing my palm over his scruff. I’m slightly worried that what I’m about to say will ruin this moment, knowing he doesn’t want me to mention our past, but I can’t keep the words inside me a second longer. “I’m forever grateful that our paths crossed all those years ago.”
“Stop!”
