Page 64 of Eat Slay Love

I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Thank you."

His lips quirked. "You waited ten years. You’re not the sort of woman who jumps into one-night stands."

"True."

He sighed. "However. . ."

I raised a brow. "However?"

His lips brushed against my temple. “You’ll find that once I have you in my bed. . .that ten-year wait will make a lot of sense.”

“Mmmm.”

"Let’s just hope that I don’t kidnap you in the morning and sneak you into Paris."

A laugh bubbled from my throat, further keeping me comfortable.

Yet, there was still a tiny bit of nervousness from what could come next.

Holy shit. I’m really about to do this.

Chapter eleven

The Art of Worship

Fabien

In France, we have a saying—l’instant décisif—the decisive moment.

It is the moment where it all matters, where fate balances on the edge of a blade, where time slows, and you either seize the opportunity or watch it slip through your fingers.

Henri Cartier-Bresson, a French photographer, coined the phrase, believing that in every story, in every life, there isonemoment that shapes everything after it.

A single second where everything aligns—light, emotion, motion—and if you capture it, you own something timeless.

I never thought I would have a moment like that.

Not in my line of work.

Not in my life.

Yet tonight,this is my moment.

And what’s more unbelievable. . .it refuses to end.

Because I have stumbled upon a goddess.

An American goddess with dark brown eyes that threaten to unravel me, full lips I could worship for years, and curves that could have toppled kingdoms in centuries past.

And what do the men in this country do with such a woman?

They let her roam free.

Unclaimed.

Unworshipped.

Ridiculous.

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