Page 222 of The Friend Situation

“Forever, gorgeous.”

“Paris?”I gasp when I see the Eiffel Tower.

“Lex said it was on your bucket list,” he explains.

I meet his eyes. Weston has many properties around the world. This is just one of them. “I thought you sold your French townhouse a decade ago. I remember reading an article about it.”

“You’re so fucking cute. I never get rid of the things that make me happy. You also shouldn’t believe everything you read about me. I considered listing it but never did,” Weston says, stealing a kiss as the car door opens for us.

Paparazzi wait outside on the stoop and on the sidewalk. Signs are propped up near the door, each congratulating us on our marriage.

Weston takes my hand, protecting me from the cameras, and leads me up the steps.

“You’re the people’s prince,” I tell him.

“That makes you the princess,” he replies with a wink.

It’s easy for me to forget his importance when we’re alone, but in public, it’s impossible to ignore.

Weston Calloway isthe moment. He always has been.

When we step inside, our lips crash together.

“How long do we get to stay here?” I ask.

“As long as you want,” he says. “But Lexi’s baby announcement is in two weeks. We can’t miss that.”

“Two weeks,” I repeat.

He grabs my hand, guiding me through the house and giving me a tour. It’s surreal to be standing here. Weston bought it when he was attending university.

“You’re the first and last woman I’ve ever brought here. I can’t wait to share everything with you,” he says.

We climb the stairs and enter a beautiful bedroom with a wall of windows. He opens a patio door that leads to a balcony that overlooks the Eiffel Tower.

“Wow. The perfect view,” I whisper, admiring it.

“I agree,” he says, admiring me.

My face softens as I lean toward him, kissing him.

“Tell me about the magic of Merryville,” Weston says.

I snicker. “It’s an old wives’ tale about finding true love in Merryville and never leaving the town because of it.”

“Did you take me home to finalize your love spell?” Weston asks with a chuckle.

“Did it work?” I ask.

“Yes.” He chuckles against my lips, pulling me up into his arms.

He carries me inside and lays me gently on the bed.

“I’m madly, deeply, obsessively in love with you,Carlee Calloway. Damn, even your name is sexy.”

“Because it’s yours,” I say. “Just like me.”

His palms slide against my hips, waist, and breasts. A moan escapes me as his mouth trails down my neck, his teeth grazing my collarbone.

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