Page 7 of Finally Forever
“Too huge?” He scratches his arm. “I had four carats picked out, and I thought that was too small. But when I showed the jeweler a picture of you and gave him your ring size, he said three was more than enough. I can get a smaller diamond if you want—or a bigger one.” He reaches for my hand.
I snatch it away and hold it close to my heart. “No. I want this diamond, in this perfect ring you had made especially for me. I’m never taking it off.”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a deep swallow. A soft smile tilts his lips. “Good. I told him it needed to be sweet, like you.”
I shuffle toward him, closing the small space between us, and gaze up at him with a hungry look. “I’m not that sweet.” I walk my fingers up his chest to his neck and drop the towel, letting it fall around my feet. Pushing up, I cup his cheek and pull him to me for a kiss. “I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
He groans. “So fucking perfect.”
And then I’m in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist as he carries me to our bedroom. He kisses me until nothing exists in the world except for him.
3
Ainsley
I’m getting married, something I wasn’t sure would ever happen, considering my track record with guys. The best part about being engaged—for a week now—is that it’s to Sebastian, the one person I can’t imagine my life without. The bad part is I have no one important to share the incredible news.
Other than the groundskeeper, Marcel, and his family—his wife and her sister, who both cook and clean the villa—I have no one.
Estella, Marcel’s wife, folds table linens piled in a basket on the wooden kitchen table. She insists we use them, which seems too proper to a girl who grew up eating from paper plates.
“What did your mother say?” she asks in her French accent.
I stand across from her, a cloth napkin in my hand as I fold it and place it on a neat stack. “She was about as happy as she could be,” I lie, as I often do when questioned about my family or past. It comes easy to me now, like second nature. The trick is to tell a version of or stretch the truth. That way, you have fewer chances of getting caught in a lie.
Fabricating stories and learning to do it well scared me until I accepted it as a necessary survival skill for my and Sebastian’s secret life. I’m good at it now—except for the fake names the feds gave us when we were under protection. We don’t use them unless we’re at a hotel or if I’m doing something school related.
“That’s not right,” Estella huffs the way she does when we discuss my mother. “She shouldn’t resent you for moving far away. That has nothing to do with celebrating you. Even if she can’t be here in person, she should still support you and be happy for you from America.”
“She’ll send me a card, maybe a gift.” I’ll be doing the sending. Estella thinks my family is afraid to fly overseas. It’s a simple way to excuse why they don’t visit. “It’ll be fine. We weren’t really close to begin with.” I fold another napkin.
She shakes her head, her brown curls bouncing just above her shoulders. “I’ll never understand that. In France, family is everything. We rely on each other, and though we argue at times, we cherish each other no less.”
I shrug and start a new pile of folded napkins. The other one was getting too high. “Americans are different.” How many times have I used that excuse? “Please, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it.”
She frowns and shakes out one of the square cloths with a snapping sound. “Well, I can celebrate the occasion by making you one of my famous Frasier cakes.”
My mouth waters at the thought of the cream and strawberry dessert. “I wouldlovethat.”
She casts her gaze down at the table with a satisfied grin.
Estella is a kind woman and a loving mother, but she can get into it with her husband. She argues with so much passion, only to forgive him a moment later with a kiss.
Sometimes I wonder what I might have been like had I grown up here with a family like hers. Then I remind myself that thinking about it is a waste of time.
Speaking of time. I glimpse the clock on the wall.
Crap. “I have to get ready.” I excuse myself and hustle to the bathroom in the primary suite. I have a class meeting in Aix-en-Provence, and I need to wash my hair. It’s a pain in the ass sometimes to deal with, but I can only go two days without washing it or else it dries out and gets too tangled.
Sebastian texts me the moment I step out of the shower.
Sebastian:Hey, baby. Are you still going to your class meeting in Aix? If you are, be safe. I told Xavier to be ready to escort you. Don’t go without him.
As if I could. He’s like a shadow.
Me: I am going. I just got out of the shower. And of course, I’ll bring Xavier and be safe.
He worries too much.
