Page 54 of Intersect

* * *

Later, we lie in bed, a slight breeze blowing in from the open doors of the Juliet balcony, sunlight streaming in. “I still can’t believe you did that,” he says for what must be the seventh time. “I don’t think you realize how badly it could have gone.”

I smile. “Except it didn’t. The guy beside me hogging the armrest was the worst thing that happened the entire flight.”

He isn’t impressed. “You still have to get back home.”

I stretch my arms over my head. Given that I’m naked and the sheet’s fallen to my waist, I’m assuming I can distract him once more into forgetting his worry. His eyes fall to my chest and his hand slides over my stomach to cup a breast. His brow furrows and his hand moves to cup the other one. “They feel…bigger.”

“Maybe it’s all the sadness eating I’ve done since you left.”

He is absolutely still for a moment. “You wouldn’t only gain weight there, Quinn.”

I laugh. “I know what you’re getting at but…you can’t possibly believe I’m pregnant. Aside from the impossibility of it, we just wouldn’t know this early. I wouldn’t have gained weight anywhere yet. It’s only been a week.”

His frown deepens. “We’ve already established that nothing about this is normal. We’ve also established that it at least seems as if you got pregnant right away in the past, no matter what kind of contraception we used. And if you’re not technically human, there’s no reason to think a pregnancy would progress at a normal rate anyhow.”

I feel the tiniest whisper of worry and banish it. “That palm reader is making you paranoid.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But you could take a test, just to be sure.”

I grab his hand and press it to my sternum. “Stop,” I whisper. “It’s not possible, and we’re in Paris. Together. Please don’t ruin this for me right now.”

I see the effort it takes him not to argue. He forces a nod. “Then I suppose I ought to let you enjoy a part of Paris that isn’t this bed?” he asks, rising. “I’m telling you right now, it’s the best part. And please don’t argue with me or you’ll destroy my self-esteem.”

I take in the naked backside I’ve missed so damn much for the last week. “It’s been an okay part so far,” I tease.

He turns back toward me, arching a brow. “I know you didn’t just refer to sex with me as okay.”

“It was totally…pleasant,” I counter, digging my nails into my palm to keep from laughing. “Just, you know, brief.”

He kneels on the bed, his gaze dangerous. “Three hours was brief?” he growls. “Then by all means, tell me what you’d consider not brief.”

I smile at him as he hovers over me, supporting his weight on his forearms. “Three hours and fifteen minutes ought to cover it.”

* * *

Eventually we do make it out of the room, into the sweltering heat of Paris in August. “So what do you want to see?” he asks.

There’s so much I want to see that I don’t even know where to begin. I start throwing out names, ticking them off on my fingers as I go. “The Louvre, the Orsay, the Palais Royale, Notre Dame, Sacre-Coeur, the Jardins du Luxembourg, the…”

He laughs. “Sorry, I should have been more specific. What would you like to see today?”

I bite down on a smile. “You tell me. I’ve only been here on our honeymoon, so all I remember is the room.”

“Which is precisely as it should be,” he replies solemnly. “But I’ll humor you since it’s your first day.”

He leads me to the path above the right bank of the Seine, where we end up walking mile after mile, solely because there’s never a point when I’m ready to stop looking. As soon as the Eiffel Tower fades from view, we are looking at Les Invalides and the Alexander III Bridge, leading to the Champs-Élysées, but I’m not ready to stop.

All day he indulges me and my excitement never dims. We eat dinner at a bistro in Ste Germaine des Pres Nick’s heard of. I’m so tired I’d probably collapse if we were home, but here I just want more and more and more.

We sit outside in a light breeze, under the hum of stars and streetlights, and I’m so happy I’m not even sure what to do with it all. I feel like a bottle of champagne that’s been shaken hard and needs to explode.

“We should walk along the Seine when we leave,” I suggest, though my muscles are burning from all the walking we did today. Fifteen miles, easily.

Nick shakes his head. “I’m putting my foot down. I don’t know how you’re still going when you’ve been awake for two days straight, but I’m telling you, any moment now the fatigue is going to hit and you’ll be comatose.”

“Never,” I swear. “I’m staying awake the whole time we’re here.”