Page 101 of Back for More

Come find me.

Come be with me.

For a day and a week and a month and forever.

Because you can.

Because I want you to.

Know that I’m missing you even right now when you’re just one room away from me.

Know that I will always think of myself as the best guy you’ve ever known.

Because I really fucking am.

So don’t even think about leaving me ever again.

Got it?

Merde.

Où est la discothèque?

Bonjour.

Don’t ever forget it…Je t’aime.

~ Wes

I run out of the bathroom and fling myself onto the bed next to Wes. “Aww, baby,” I say, kissing him all over his face and neck. “Are you worried that I’m going to leave you once I get all that money?”

“No,” he says, but there’s just a tiny little tremor in his deep voice, and it’s so cute. “You fucking better not. I will hunt you down.”

I remove my bathrobe and join him under the covers. “Well, I’m not leaving you. You’re stuck with me. Whether you like it or not.”

“I like it.” He turns to his side so we’re both facing each other on our pillows. “Veux-tu m’épouser?” he asks.

I look at him, quizzically. “Do I want a blouse?”

He rolls his eyes. “Seriously? That’s the one French sentence you don’t understand?”

I shrug.

He reaches under his pillow and pulls out a small velvet box. “Will you marry me?” He flips the box open, and even though it’s nighttime in the City of Lights, I swear there is somehow a glint from the huge but elegant diamond ring and it is blinding me. Or maybe it’s the tears.

“Oui,” I whisper. “Holy shit, Wes.Oui.” I kiss him and let him slide the ring onto my finger.

I totally understood what he said.

I just wanted to hear him say it in English so I know that he knows what he’s asking me. I mean, it has been a long travel day. I am so glad he didn’t ask me to marry him at the Eiffel Tower or someplace obvious like that. This is where it matters. In bed. Just us.

“Locking me down on the eve of my twenty-fifth birthday,” I tease. “You’re such a gold-digger.”

“We will have a pre-nup, of course.”

“We will not.”

“We will. It’s not up for discussion.” He kisses me hard on the mouth before I can protest. When he pulls away, I am breathless and he says, “I have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“Où est la discothèque?”

I pretend to think about it, lift up the sheets, and point down to where I believe the discothèque may be located.

“Ah,bon!” he exclaims as he disappears beneath the exquisite bed linens.

I hold my left hand up in front of my face and stare at the ring on my finger before my eyes shut and my fiancé does marvelous things inla discothèquethat give me shivers. “Mon dieu,” I whisper. “Merde.”