Page 34 of Tender Offer (Chance at Love #3)

Madison

Fifteen Years Ago

“ W here are we going?”

“Can you walk in those?” Preston’s eyes drift to my platform loafers as they shuffle to keep up with his stride. “Want me to carry you?”

“Don’t be silly,” I huff, narrowly missing a crack in the pavement. “Where are we going?”

He brings our interlaced fingers to his lips. “Patience, Puff. We’re almost there.”

Preston called off his trip to London, and he’s been full of surprises today. We ate breakfast in bed and made love on his balcony. It was the perfect lazy Friday afternoon. By three o’clock, we were out the door for the start of an adventure I’ll never forget. So he says.

He warned me to wear flats, but it will be a cold day in Hell before I part with my heels.

Thankfully, the weather is still relatively mild, and nothing’s frozen over.

I still wasn’t prepared for the freaking Louvre.

For two hours, a personal guide escorted us on a private tour through endless exhibits.

Among pockets of crowds—and me in a pleated miniskirt and sweater—it was an intimate experience.

Preston has been more attentive, trading long hours at the office for time with me. Some days, we do McDonald’s runs at his request. Others, we stay up late talking about who we would be if we weren’t attached to our expectations, mine self-inflicted, and his courtesy of his family.

A romantic with a big heart.

He guides us to a man in a tux who’s playing a violin next to the Pont des Arts.

“Here.” Preston’s long coat is a shelter from the breeze off the Seine.

“Better?” His breath fans across the pulse point in my neck, which he pecks, igniting a valley of butterflies.

He buries his face against my throat, the warmth of his chest and the scent of his musk flooding my center.

Our bodies sway to the violinist in perfect step. Soon, the sun bows to dusk. Street lamps come to life, and the Louvre’s pyramid illuminates the distance.

“This is beautiful.” Aside from that, I’m speechless.

“I got you something,” he murmurs into the curtain of my hair flowing freely toward the river.

His fingers tickle my side when he reaches into his coat pocket to fish out a gold padlock and key charm on a simple gold necklace.

“Couples secure padlocks to the railing here to symbolize their love,” he says, nodding to the hundreds of metal locks shimmering under the glowing tent of stars.

“They write their names, lock it on the railing, and throw the key into the river.” He shakes his head.

“But we’re not compromising the bridge’s structure or fucking up the environment. ”

We chuckle.

“I got this necklace so you can have a piece of Paris. Something to remember us by.”

Tears tremble on my eyelids, the distance a blur of embers in a violet sky. I never expected to fall in love. I fought against it at first, and I wish our circumstances were different. I wish this didn’t involve deception, no matter how small or unintentional.

Would our dreams flow down the same path if distance and status didn’t separate us?

Would Preston love all of me if he saw all of me?

His touch will fade.

So will his laugh.

But I’ll have our memories, and I’ll cherish them along with this locket.