Page 8 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
I should have been lettingTessa lead me around Paris this whole time because the view from behind is fantastic. The jeans she wears are tight and stretchy, hugging her ass. She’s got a beautiful figure—petite on top, generous on the bottom.
She glances back at me and holds out her hand. I lazily let my gaze wander up before reaching out for her hand and catching up to walk by her side. The corner of her mouth quirks up into a smile.
While I never would have called myself romantic, I certainly am compared to Tessa. My heart aches hearing the pain in her voice, the way she tries to brush off her history and pretend that she’s fine.
Someoneshould remind her how it feels to fall in love.
Our next stop is the Victor Hugo Museum, and Tessa pauses outside the door and asks, “Did I mention that my degree is in English Lit?”
“No. Have you been here before?”
She shakes her head, and I lead her up the stairs. I’m still holding her hand, which I have never done with another tour group. This tour for one is intimate and comfortable. We feel like a couple.
When Tessa told me she was moving to The Algarve, I said that it wasn’t that far. Tessa thought I meant for her flight from here, but I was thinkingif I wanted to see her again.I donotneed to be having ideas like that, especially when Tessa is so far out of my league. The surprise in her voice when she found out I work three jobs would be enough, but it’s also in her dress and her mannerisms. Her bag is designer, her earrings are, I’m pretty sure, real diamonds, and even her pants are nicer than anything I’ve owned, with a cut that compliments every curve.
She makes me think of old photos of movie stars: classic and timeless beauty.
When my brain isn’t thinking about her being classy, it’s thinking much dirtier thoughts. Throughout the day, Tessa’s smile has grown, and she’s added a little more swagger to her walk. The woman I first saw at the cafe, alone and sad, trying to get out of our tour, is not the same woman I have now.
We spend an hour in the museum, no backstage pass this time, and learn about the life of the famous writer, including the many talented people of Hugo’s time that were entertained here and the facets of Hugo’s life most people don’t know about, like his own art and decorating. Tessa enjoys herself so much I am loath to pull her out, but I know she’ll like our final stop even more.
When we arrive, Tessa glances up at the bookstore’s sign. “You know, I didn’t pack many books to bring with me to Europe.”
“I thought that might be the case.”
She side-eyes me. “This could be dangerous. You may have to help me carry books back to the hotel.”
“We can take a car if you’d prefer.”
Her mouth twists to the side, and there’s a twinkle in her eye. “Let’s see what kind of damage I can do,” she says as she steps into Shakespeare and Company. An hour later, we emerge, laden with two bags of books.
“You enjoyed yourself,” I remark.
Tessa slumps onto a nearby bench, the bags hitting the ground. “I trimmed it down,” she pants, “by at least half.”
She picked out books for herself—a contemporary memoir and two classic novels—and books for her friends—a vegan cookbook, two business books, and a handful of modern novels. “I can’t believe there were no romance books. I was hoping to find a series we could all swap around every time we see each other.”
When the books are back in the bags, I take a bag from her. “Do you want to walk or hire a car back to your hotel?” I ask.
Tessa glances up at the sky. Although sunset is still a couple of hours away, it’s starting to cool slightly. The shadows are elongating, and office workers are out on the streets.
“Would it be terrible to walk?” she asks.
“Not at all.”
Her hotel is in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, and we’ve done a loop in the city. I’m still pointing things out to her as we go, sharing whatever tidbits of information I have that I think she might enjoy, although her responses are quieter as we near the hotel.
“Have you stayed here before?” It’s a boutique hotel, small and modern, located right on Saint-Germain. Liveried staff open the doors for us.
“Yes, every time I come here. It’s almost nostalgic now.”
Tessa leads the way over to a seating area and puts her bag of books down. I put the other bag next to hers, and Tessa fans the collar of her top. This is the end of the tour. My responsibilities are over, but I don’t want to go. Tessa’s friends don’t arrive until tomorrow, and I can’t bear the thought of leaving her alone.
“Tessa,” I begin.
“Holy shit,” she mutters under her breath, eyes wide at something over my shoulder.
“Who? What’s wrong? What is it?”
