Page 64 of The Stipulation
“Like you’ve discovered something.”
I tilt my head. “Maybe I have.”
“And?”
I squeeze his hand once. “I’m not telling you… yet.”
His eyes darken, not with irritation, but with intrigue. “Tease,” he murmurs.
I watch how the sunlight catches his hair and eyes in a way that makes him seem impossibly untouchable. As if he is a god among mere mortals.
The air is thick with the scent of flowers, the faint river breeze, and something else, something electric that hums quietly between us. I realize, almost with a thrill, that this morning, this quiet, ordinary morning, has shifted everything. And all of Paris seems to hold its breath with me.
What will happen next is a secret that only the cool morning light seems to know.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
JO
The morning air has lost its crisp quality as we walk back toward the Seine. The sun is higher now, glinting off the water in dazzling shards. Boats drift languidly downstream, their wakes sending tiny ripples against the stone embankments.
Axel slows down, tilting his head to one side with that half smile, half thoughtful expression that makes my stomach twist.
He slides his hand into mine. “We’ve wandered bridges and streets … why not see the city from the river?”
I glance over at him, teasing. “Are you suggesting a cruise? Like a Bateaux-Mouches? A tourist boat with a million people?”
He laughs softly, a low sound that I love hearing. “No, not that kind. My PA has arranged something a little bit … quieter. A private boat. Just us. One hour, cruising past bridges, islands, the historic heart of Paris.
I raise an eyebrow, delighted and slightly flustered. “Private, huh? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me?”
“You don’t know better,” he murmurs, letting his fingers squeeze mine as we descend the steps to the dock.”
I feel heat creeping up my neck, and I let my fingers linger in his. “Well,” I say, smiling. “Then I’ll consider myself lucky.”
The boat is waiting for us, small and sleek, bobbing gently against the dock. Its polished wood gleams in the sunlight, and the canopy above promises shade without blocking the view. Axel steps on first, then turns around to offer me his hand in a perfectly gentlemanly gesture. I feel almost giddy as I accept the warmth of his palm pressing against mine, as I climb aboard carefully.
As soon as we’re in, the boat glides away from the dock, the gentle hum of the engine mingling with the lapping of the river against the hull. I lean against the railing, letting the city unfold around me. The Seine is wider here, flanked by quays lined with chestnut trees and elegant stone buildings. I can see the Pont Neuf behind us, the bridge we crossed this morning, its arches glowing gold in the sun. Axel stands close to me, his shoulder brushing mine, his presence a steady warmth.
“Look,” he says softly, pointing to the left. “That’s theÎle de la Citéfrom the water. You can seeNotre Damein a different light, still standing, still magnificent.”
I follow his gaze. The cathedral rises like a solemn guardian above the gardens, its damaged upper sections stark against the sky. Even in its post-fire state, there’s a strength there, a kind of resilience that takes my breath away. I feel a shiver run through me, partly from awe, partly from standing this close to him.
“It’s so incredibly beautiful,” I murmur, my voice full of reverence.
He leans closer, close enough that I feel the warmth of his breath on my neck, and I fight the urge not to turn my head and kiss his delicious lips. He wraps his arms around me from behind, and I lean back against him, putting my hands on top of his, where they rest on my stomach.
“It’s not as beautiful as you,” he says, and it’s a soft, intimate delivery. As if we are the only people on the boat. He kisses my neck, and my cheeks heat up. I glance down at the deck, pretending to inspect a rope, though I can feel his gaze lingering on me.
The boat drifts under the first bridge, thePont des Arts, the famous love lock bridge. The sun catches the tiny metallic padlocks, turning them into a glittering mosaic above us.
“Have you ever heard of it?” Axel asks me, nodding toward the locks. He stands beside me now, his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.
“Of course,” I say. “Couples lock a padlock there and throw the key into the river, a symbol of their eternal love, right?”
He glances at me, mischievous. “Want to tempt the gods and add one?”
