Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
And I fell. So far, so deep.
I came, gasping for air, holding him as if I’d never let go.
In the morning, I awoke with Winnie sprawled over me with one arm flung across his face, looking somehow even more beautiful than ever. My heart swelled till it felt too big for my chest. Bloody hell, this couldn’t be good for me.
I had to snap out of it. I needed coffee and there were things to be done, damn it—calls to return, emails to write, and important research regarding four-thousand-year-old relics. I needed a little separation, a little time to myself. I was usually so good at being alone, but now…all I wanted was Winnie, and this had to stop.
Winnie’s eyes fluttered open, a smile ghosted the corner of his mouth. “G’morning.”
“Good morning.” I swept hair from his forehead, a speech about my busy day on the tip of my tongue. Instead, a voice that sounded remarkably like mine said, “Let’s get out of town, shall we?”
11
WINNIE
Alistair navigated Parisian traffic like a pro while I gazed out the passenger side window of our rental car, taking in the blur of suburban sprawl and freeways that reminded me of every other big city I’d ever visited. The same…yet different. Special. Like the beginning of a new adventure.
Maybe it was the melodic French music on the radio and the steady, calming presence of the man behind the wheel. Either way, it was pure magic. And when Alistair veered off the main highway, it got even better. The French countryside was a tapestry of green and gold with fluffy clouds in a pretty blue sky. Church steeples, castle ruins, sheep, and cows dotted the hillside.
He followed the signs to Fontainebleau, a charming small village with narrow streets and quaint buildings—not a tacky strip mall in sight.
We parked the car and walked a few blocks down cobblestone streets to the iron gates guarding a château with a grand horseshoe staircase that looked like something straight out of Cinderella.
I blinked in wonder. “I think I’ve seen pictures of this place. It’s pretty famous, huh?”
“Lesser known today than Versailles, but yes, Fontainebleau was once the royal hunting lodge for Henry II, Louis VII, and even Napoleon,” Alistair explained. “The forest and gardens go on for ages beyond the palace itself.”
“That ginormous palace was a hunting lodge?” I let out a low whistle. “Must have been nice.”
“Royalty lived very well. I’ll take you to Versailles and Vaux-le-Vicomte too, so you can see just how well.” The professor held his arm out and inclined his head. “Shall we go inside?”
We walked through room after room decorated with lush fabrics, gilt-framed mirrors, priceless portraits of important-looking royals, and crystal chandeliers as big as small cars. We opted to do a self-guided tour with headphones, but Alistair kept interrupting the recording to point out details and give his spiel, so I turned off the sound fifteen minutes in and listened to my lover’s rendition of historical events instead.
He painted pictures with words, conjuring kings and queens living large in fifteen-hundred-plus rooms. They hosted lavish hunting soirees and partied like OG rock stars. Alistair talked about Napoleon’s abdication in the main courtyard on that fabulous staircase and a pope who’d been imprisoned there two hundred years ago.
I took over the storytelling as we strolled the circumference of the huge lawn arm in arm under darkening skies.
“Rewind, honey. The year is 1800, and we’re the royalest guests at the ball.” I glanced at the clouds gathering on the horizon and continued. “The king has been dying to get us to attend, and we finally gave in and agreed. I’m setting the fashion standard in a gorgeous purple silk jacket and those adorable pants with the high socks, and there are definitely gold buckles on my shoes. Pure gold. You’re looking dapper in deep-blue velvet, carrying a walking stick and—”
“Why do I need a walking stick?”
I squeezed Alistair’s arm. “You don’t need it, but it’s the fancy kind that makes people go, ‘Oh, check him out. He must be somebody.’ C’mon, everybody wants to be somebody.”
“Do they? I’m perfectly happy to remain in obscurity myself, and though I’d hate to pop your bubble, there are a few things wrong with your story. There was no ruling king in 1800. The last one had his head lopped off, and—”
I put a hand over his mouth and shook my head. “Don’t ruin the fantasy. No pesky facts allowed.”
“Oh, in that case, we might as well be joint kings of this tiny estate.”
I beamed at him. “Yes, yes, yes! It’s dreadfully small, darling. I need an upgrade, stat.”
“And you shall have one five times the size and—oh, dear.” Alistair held his palm up and frowned. “Is this celestial precipitation? I don’t believe I permitted rain today. Did you, darling?”