Page 62 of It Happened In Paris

Paris stirred once as I set her down, murmuring, “This is the best story,” before slipping back into slumber.

“Maybe today was too much. We still need to be careful with her condition,” Vivian whispered as we slipped out.

“I know. She was so excited today, though. The rest of the week we can slow down,” I assured her.

In our room, I wrapped my arms around her from behind, and swayed with her, gazing out at the sparkling city below. In the peaceful quiet, the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall matched each beat of my heart.

Vivian turned toward me. “I’m trying not to worry about tomorrow—just staying in this bubble with you.” Her eyes brimmed with hope, caution, and longing.

“My plan will work, I promise. One way or another, after tomorrow, Adrien will be nothing more than a forgotten name.”

She rested her forehead against my chest, but it wasn’t long before our lips found each other. Her hands fisted in my shirt, and she clung to me with everything she had.

This woman and our daughter—this family we’d built from heartbreak and healing... They weremine.

I’d protect them with everything I had, especially here—where our story first began.

23

GARDEN PARTY

RICHARD

I knewthe moment we turned onto the narrow street lined with stone walls and ornate wrought-iron gates that Vivian had caught on. She straightened in the passenger seat, gazing out the tinted window at the familiar avenue of old-world Parisian mansions.

“I’ve been here before,” she exclaimed. “I’ve visited this neighborhood a few times. Adrien’s parents own a mansion around the corner.”

I nodded and smoothed my hand over my lapel. “Yes, they do. It’s a few doors down from the Buchanan mansion. When we were younger and spent time here, Rex and I used to play with their sons, although Adrien was the baby, much younger than the rest of us, so I didn’t know him as well.”

She raised her brows. “I can’t believe you knew them? You’re just now telling me?”

“My parents and Adrien’s have been friends for years. Jeanne and my mother were on the same arts foundation and even chaired other charities together for a while,” I explained. “But ever since Miriam settled with Mr. Astor in New York City, she’s been less present here.”

Her gaze narrowed, not in anger, but in surprise. “You never mentioned that.”

“As I devised this plan, you said you only wanted to know what part you needed to play today, which is the most important one of all.” Leaning in, I pressed a kiss to her lips as the car came to a stop outside the tall gates. “We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

The driver of the car ahead opened the back door, and we saw Paris rush out first. Her blush-pink tulle dress caught the sunlight like spun sugar, and her soft gold ballet flats shimmered as she stepped onto the cobblestone pathway. She patiently waited with her nanny and tutor by her side.

Our driver opened my door next, and I assisted my lovely date as she stepped out. Vivian gathered her long French blue skirt in one hand, the soft silk fluttering around her legs, while draping a cashmere shawl over her shoulders. Although the weather was perfect for the occasion, I had already promised her my suit coat should any rain come our way.

“Fuck, you’re breathtaking,” I said, holding her hands and leaning in, whispering into her ear. “Regal—as if you truly belong in this mansion with me.”

“The Buchanan mansion, I presume?” she asked as we broke apart, her eyes drifting upward to trace the ivy-covered columns of the limestone facade.

“Technically, it’s now the Buchanan-Astor mansion. My mother and Mr. Astor are hosting a garden party today,” I replied casually, adding, “I thought we would enjoy an afternoon out. You wanted closure. I wanted Adrien to finally face consequences. It’s easier to confront a snake like him in the open when you’ve already set the stage.”

She stared at me for a long moment before slowly nodding. “I hope you’re right.”

“My instincts tell me I am.”

She laughed softly. “That’s reassuring—and mine tells me to trust you… as if I have any choice. So, come on then.”

Paris piped up, “Daddy, is this a castle?” as she fell in step between us, gripping both our hands.

“You could call it a petite castle, one of the finest properties in the heart of Paris. I promise to give you both a grand tour later.”

We passed through the gates and along a winding path beside the house until the garden revealed itself like an impressionist painting of a delightful Parisian day.

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