Page 33 of Host for the Holidays
It looks like something I dreamed up, not a real place.
Rémy reaches over and, using the edge of his finger, he pushes up on my chin, closing my mouth.
I smile guiltily. “Stars and stripes showing again?”
“A little.” He’s smiling back at me. “Not as much as those people’s are, though.” He jerks his head toward two girls twenty feet away from us. One is standing on top of the stone rim of the fountain. She’s putting her finger out, pointing downward while her friend squats to take a picture. It’s supposed to make it look like she’s touching the top of the pyramid.
“Are you saying you refuse to take a picture of me like that?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I can’t even pretend to be mad. I’m already distracted by the fountains starting up near the pyramid. “How much is it to walk around?” I’m on a tight budget, but I’m thinking it’ll be worth it to spend a few euros just to take this all in.
“Zero euros.”
I look at Rémy. “You’re kidding me.”
He shakes his head.
“Anyone can just walk around this place? Any time? For free?”
“Between 7 a.m. and 11 p.m., yes. Come on. I’ll show you around.”
I could see Chris Hemsworth shirtless and not be as starstruck as I am right now, walking around theCour Napoléon, as Rémy informs me it’s called. I can’t believe places like this really exist—and that they’re free.
Rémy’s a great tour guide. He gives me bits of information every couple of minutes, but for the most part, he lets me do my thing, which is walking around and snapping photos when I see something I can’t resist capturing. He doesn’t hang around my side and make me feel rushed. In fact, he seems to be taking it all in himself, and I can’t help but grab a couple of shots of him while he does it. He makes a dang good model. The lights from the lamps highlight the lines of his face—the square jaw, the full lips, the deep brow, the shadow of his stubble.
I’m admiring him as a photographer.It’s perfectly normal to take note of beautiful things. Science, like Siena says. To pretend Rémy isn’t one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met would be as unnatural as pretending this isn’t the most beautiful place I’ve ever set foot. And of course I want to capture a beautiful person in a beautiful environment. It’s decreed by whoever decides the laws for photographers, and I am a law-abiding woman.
“What’s that?” I point to the enormous ferris wheel sitting outside the square we’re in. It’s got festive red, white, and green lights fanning out from the center. At the base is a line of small booths with Christmas lights draped from each gabled rooftop.
“It’s the Tuileries Christmas Market,” Rémy says.
“A Christmas market? Right here?”
He nods, his eyes twinkling as he looks at me.
“How do you have IKEA, the Louvre, anda Christmas market within a couple minutes of each other? Doesn’t that violate some international zoning code? There should be a certain distance between amazing things to protect people from a dopamine overdose.”
Rémy shoves his hands in his pockets, laughing.
“I know, I know,” I say with a sigh. “My stars and stripes.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “They’re growing on me.”
I cock a brow at him. “More like growinginyou. You’re half American, remember? Under that shirt of yours, you’re probably wearing a Captain America suit.”Stop talking about what’s under his shirt, Madi.“You’ll claim us someday. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yup. You’ll be singingGod Bless America, waving around your own Old Glory, and snarfing down a supersize order of McDonald’s fries when I’m done with you.” My phone buzzes, and I pull it out, still looking at Rémy to make sure he knows I mean business. It’s a text from Josh.
Josh:I’ll be there in 15.
The text kills my mood like a bug zapper to a fly. “Shoot. How long does it take to get back to the apartment from here?”
“On foot? Twenty-five minutes if we hurry.”
I bite my lip, looking around. I don’t want to leave. I could sit here for hours admiring the view and people-watching. This is the most romantic place I’ve ever been—no contest. I thought I’d be sharing it with Josh. But I don’t even know if Iwantto share it with him because he clearly doesn’t care about that.
