Page 95 of Jude

The distant glowing silhouette of the Eiffel Tower pierced the twilight, beautiful enough to make my breath hitch.

The transition from the tarmac to the terminal was quick.

Thanks to the VIP customs handling arranged by the tour management, we bypassed the long tourist queues.

A border official in a crisp navy uniform checked our passports, stamped them, and waved us through the priority lane in under five minutes.

Through it all, Jude’s hand rested flat on the small of my back, guiding me through the shifting currents of the crowded concourse.

He stood tall, his broad, muscled physique cutting a path through the sea of travelers without him even trying.

He wore just a simple black crewneck sweatshirt and jeans, but the casual clothes only emphasized his rugged, brawny beauty.

He was breathtakingly handsome, even more so every time his eyes locked on me.

With his fingers tracing the curve of my spine, pushing me ahead of him to shield me from the crowds, I felt precious.

I knew it was no sign that his intention to shift our relationship into romance was changing whatsoever.

Heck, the ring I bought him still sat somewhere in his room back in Nashville, but his care gave me a small sliver of hope.

Under the dusk of a stunning Parisian sky, his touch made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered.

My breath hitched as my silly, stupid heart held on to the hope that over time his actions would override his wariness.

Soon our Escalade driver steered us away from the tarmac and onto the ancient cobblestone avenues.

The entire city seemed to ignite in a spectacular display of gold and amber illumination.

I took it all in with wonder as we glided past towering stone monuments.

My gaze fell on intricate iron balconies, above sidewalks crowded with stylish locals sipping espresso under canvas awnings.

‘I’ve never been to Paris. It’s like stepping into a magical movie,’ I whispered to Jude.

He leaned in close to me to peer at what I was looking at.

‘The Champs-Élysées layout was one designed back in the seventeenth century by the king’s landscape architect. The idea was to create a grand horizon line. Those paving stones give the avenue a distinct, rich gray-purple hue when the twilight hits it.’

I arched a brow, surprised by his knowledge.

‘It’s my third visit to the city,’ he added with a shrug, ‘and I did the obligatory tour the first time. Never gets old though, babe.’

The vehicle pulled to a halt along a tree-lined boulevard, right in front of the Château des Fleurs, our hotel for our stay in Paris.

The exterior structure showcased classic architecture, with carved limestone reliefs and wrought-iron window frames that spoke of centuries of prestige.

‘Dio,’ I whispered, stepping onto the pavement as Jude secured our luggage. ‘It’s a palace.’

‘It was once the old Bal Mabille,’ Angel said, appearing next to me with his guitar case slung over his shoulder. ‘Back in the nineteenth century, the Parisian elite gathered here for botanical garden parties, dancing under chandeliers hung straight from the oak trees. The merry-go-rounds are gone, but the vibe is still the same.’

When we crossed the threshold into the lobby, the interior aesthetic shifted into a breathtaking fusion of plant-based elegance and splendid ballroom design.

Plant-painted stained-glass windows caught the overhead light, casting intricate patterns of emerald and gold across the polished marble floors.

The joie de vivre of those ancient, enchanting evenings remained alive in every nook, blending Art Deco heritage with vibrant, modern energy.

Jude led the way up the grand staircase to our two-bedroom accommodation, unlocking the oak door with a brass key card.