Page 88 of Forgotten Desires

“On the ground.”

She pouts and I fight back a laugh. After we’re in the air, she eats her food and I convince her to come lie in the bedroom with me.

We still have about five hours before we land. I pull her to my chest and she drapes her leg over me.

“I hate surprises.”

“I know.”

“And yet you’re doing it anyway,” Brynn grumbles as she nestles against me.

Clearly, she’s not all that mad about it.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be forgiven,” I say, pushing her hair back.

“We’ll see.”

And then Brynn sighs heavily and we fall asleep together.

There’s a knock on the bedroom door. Brynn groans and pulls me closer to her. “Not now. I’m sleepy.”

“Yes?” I call out to either Jessica or Brynn’s brother.

“We’re going to be landing in twenty. We need you both to come take your seats,” Jessica instructs.

“Thank you, we’ll be out in a minute. Please pull all the window screens down so my wife can’t see where we are.”

Brynn’s head pops up. “We’re landing and you’re still hiding it from me?”

I stifle a laugh. “Come on, let’s get in our seats.”

Normally she’s not this peppy when she wakes up, but this time she’s moving a little faster.

We get to our seats, where Jessica has laid out a few pastries. The two of us snack a little and then we start our descent.

Grady lands the plane expertly and then he comes over the speakers. “Mr. and Mrs. Knight, welcome to Paris.”

Brynlee turns to me, her face alight with joy. “Paris?”

“I thought we needed a honeymoon after all.”

“But . . . we can’t. We don’t have time.”

I take her face in my hands. “We wasted years, Brynn. I can take two days and give you Paris.”

I’d give her the whole fucking world if I could, but for now, we’ll at least have this.

* * *

Seeing Paris through Brynn’s eyes is something I’ll remember forever. She’s damn near giddy as we stroll along the streets, grabbing pastries at different places along the way. Her smile never fades as she takes in the sights and shops.

“Crew, I do not need a purse that is over ten thousand dollars,” she complains as we’re in one of the high-end designer stores on the Champs.

“You’re in Paris, you need a souvenir.”

“No, I don’t. This trip, the fact that you took me to freaking Paris when we agreed we wouldn’t, is more than enough.”

I take her hand, moving her to another section of the store. “Every woman I know would’ve jumped at the chance for that bag.”

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