Page 32 of Host for the Holidays
I jerk my head the opposite direction of home. “Come on. I wanna show you something.” I may not be able to show her the Eiffel Tower without stealing the wind from Josh’s sails—if he evenhassails—but I can show her other parts of Paris I know she’ll appreciate.
Madi raises her brows, and I can see the curiosity spark in her eyes. As we start walking, I’m feeling a weird mixture of nerves and anticipation. If it wouldn’t be weird and a bit reckless, I’d blindfold Madi with the scarf she’s wearing. I just know the look in her eyes when she sees our destination will be worth it.
Suddenly, she stops. I do, too, wondering if she’s onto me. But Madi doesn’t know the city, and there’s no way she knows what’s one minute away from us. She’s staring at something right behind me, though, so I turn around, looking for whatever has captured her attention.
“Wait, are you taking me to the metro?” she asks.
I frown for a second, then spot it: the stairs leading down to the nearest station.
“Is this your plan to force me to experience Paris properly?” Her voice is teasing, but I can’t miss the wariness in her eyes.
“What? No. I wouldn’t do that to you.” What kind of a guy does she think I am? “You’ll like this. I promise.”
She relaxes a bit and smiles. “Okay, lead the way.”
We start walking again, and I can’t help looking at her, hoping she’s not looking at the signs around us that tell her exactly what site we’re near.
She looks up at the buildings to our right. “Is Paris always this magical? Or is it a Christmas thing?”
I grimace. “After Christmas, this place is just a pile of rubble.”
She laughs and elbows me.
What is it about getting hit in the ribs like that that feels so dang good?
Stop, Rémy. She’s got a boyfriend.
I force Josh’s face into my mind. Now it’smewho wants to throw an elbow, though, and the destination isnothis ribs. Is my level of dislike for the guy disproportionate to what I know of him? Maybe.
“Okay, turn around.” I take Madi by the shoulders, and, giving me a weird but curious look, she obeys as I guide her backwards.
“Rémy,” she says, laughing a bit, “I have a hard enough time walking when I can see where I’m going.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let you run into anyone. Or anything.” Keeping my hands on her shoulders, I guide her across the street when the light changes for us. Her eyes are fixed on me, full of trepidation and adventure. She can’t stop laughing, and it’s contagious.
People are looking at us, but I ignore them. I’ve seen way weirder things in Paris, and I know that, like me, people will just chalk it up to living in a city full of weird tourists.
We head into an arched stone passage, and Madi’s eyes go big as it gets darker. She grabs my hands on her shoulders and stops. “Oh my gosh. Rémy, are you taking me into that underground tunnel with all the bones?”
I try to ignore the way it feels to have Madi’s hands covering mine. I didn’t wear gloves, but I can feel the warmth of her hands through hers. “The catacombs?”
“Yes! Siena told me about them. They sound terrifying.”
“They’re actually really cool. But no. I’m not taking you to the catacombs. Come on.” I urge her to start walking backward again. “We’re almost there.”
We walk a bit farther, navigating the crowds of people coming the opposite direction. Madi keeps her eyes trained on me and her hands on my forearms to stabilize herself as she shuffles backward. I have to adopt a sort of penguin waddle to avoid hitting her feet with mine. Both of us are smiling as I try to help her navigate the uneven stone ground and the tourists too busy filming live TikToks or coming up with a clever photo caption to watch where they’re going.
In hindsight, I realize that this is not the most platonic idea I’ve ever had, but I can’t find it in myself to regret it. It’s impossible to regret anything that makes Madi smile or her eyes light up like this.
We come to the edge of the arched passageway, and I stop us, taking my hands from her shoulders with more regret than is strictly necessary. “Okay. Turn around.”
She holds my gaze for a second like she might get a hint from my face about what she’s going to see. Then, she turns.
FIFTEEN
MADI
The Louvre Pyramidis lit up from inside, its crisscrossing pattern reflecting on the pool around it like a pristine mirror. Everywhere I look is the massive complex that is the Louvre—an enormous square of perfectly symmetrical buildings with gray rooftops, a thousand windows, and ornately carved stone, all lit by a line of tall lamp posts running around the whole plaza.
