Page 59 of It Happened In Paris

Vivian met my eyes as I entered the cabin. “All good?” She asked, while the flight attendants collected our wet umbrellas and coats.

I pressed a kiss to her temple and spoke in a hushed tone. “Everything is arranged. Adrien won’t be a problem much longer.”

“I won’t pry into the details. You’ve told me what I need to know for my part in the plan. I just hope it all goes off without a hitch.”

“It will. I’m treating this like any other business negotiation—which I’ve handled hundreds of times. Trust me, I alwayswin.” I had to, for Paris’s sake. She nodded, leaving the specifics to me. I appreciated her trust more than she realized.

Over the past few weeks, my plan took shape to thwart Adrien’s threats. A special party would take place. Adrien would be there. My staff made sure all the guests were invited—including one very important individual, the final pressure point and key to the entire plan.

Adrien may have outmaneuvered me at the hospital, but this time, he wouldn’t hold the advantage. I ran a hand through my damp hair and sighed. With a flight ahead of us overnight to Paris, no sense worrying about it now.

The nanny and tutor arrived on board and settled in. The flight attendants made sure Paris got a grand tour of the jet, her eyes wide with wonder.

On the flight deck, she met Captain Reginald, and politely asked him, “Can I see Paris from the sky?”

“Eventually, but not until we’re a little closer,” he said.

“What about the Eiffel Tower?” She didn’t miss a beat.

“You’ll see that too once we’re flying over France. But between now and then, mostly you’ll see the ocean below, until it gets dark outside, then you might see stars above.” He smiled at her inquisition.

“Can I learn to fly?” She peered at all the controls.

“Sure. When you’re old enough,” he chuckled.

“Was Paris named after me?” she continued with endless curiosity.

“I think it was around long before you were, but we can pretend someone named it after you,” I interjected, saving Reginald from having to answer that one.

“Okay, we should probably let the captain get ready to fly. What do you say to him?” Vivian curtailed more questions.

“Bon voyage!” She waved, and the captain handed her a cute pin that read Junior Captain in raised letters over a pairof wings—her badge of honor. She had Vivian pin on her right away.

“Thank you. I know you’re eager to get there. Don’t worry, I’ll keep this bird in the air and keep you safe, little miss,” he assured her, tipping his captain’s hat.

Back in the main cabin, Paris spun slowly in a little circle, taking in every detail. The jet was exquisite—one of the last major purchases my father made before he passed. Polished, rare wood surfaces mixed with plush ivory leather filled the interior with brightness and warmth. The luxurious seats made you feel as if you were sitting on a cloud, or even dozing off, which we hoped Paris might soon do as darkness fell.

Vivian gave me a hesitant smile, squeezing my hand as if to anchor herself. I pulled her in for a quick, reassuring kiss.

“We’ll be there before you know it,” I told her.

“Kissing again? Why do mommies and daddies always have to kiss?” Paris giggled and plopped into a seat and made a beeline for the window.

We hadn’t yet sat her down to explain “us,” choosing to keep displays of affection to a minimum around her. Still, Paris seemed to understand, knowing that Vivian and I shared a bed, and we had been living together as a family since we left the hospital. She never questioned it, which I took as a sign that she wanted to belong to a family.Mine.And this trip would make that happen.

I planned to make it official soon—beginning with changing Paris’s name, and then working on making Vivian a Buchanan, too.

“Hey, this pillow has a B on it,” Paris exclaimed as she picked up the royal blue velvet pillow and traced the gold-threaded monogram with her finger.

“B for Buchanan,” I said, and eased into the seat beside her.

“Can I be a Buchanan?” She asked, jolting me. Vivian and I traded glances. She sent me a nod of approval. We hadn’t planned on talking to her about it here, but…

“Would you like to be one, like me?”

She scratched her head.

“Ma chérie,what that means is that you’ll be Paris Buchanan. No longer Paris Bardeaux,” Vivian calmly explained.

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