Last night, while he’d been holding her in bed after making love to her for two hours, a devious whisper had crawled through his brain. What if he lied and said he’d fallen in love with her, in that theatrical, fantasy-land, can’t-live-without-you way she wanted? Would that lure her at last?
But he couldn’t do it. A marriage based on lies was even worse than one based on emotion. And, more than that, he respected Carrie too much to lie to her. She would marry him with clear eyes, or not at all.
So he’d placed all his bets on one roll of the dice by taking her to Paris, to the city of her dreams. He intended to show her, once and for all, what it would mean to live as his countess.#p#分页标题#e#
They left the lab and he held open the Ferrari door for Carrie, then drove them into the center of the city. The wind blew against his face and hair in the convertible, even in the slow traffic down the Boulevard Saint-Michel, and the sun felt warm against his face.
He spent hours showing her the sights of the city, including a private tour that whisked them to the top of the Eiffel Tower with all of Paris at her feet. They visited the Arc de Triomphe and then skipped all the queues at the Louvre for a short private tour led personally by a museum curator. Théo had intended next to shower her with jewels and gowns in the exclusive shops of the Champs-Élysées, but when Carrie suddenly sighed and said she would kill for a snack, he shook his head with a laugh. “I know just the place.”
Carrie leaned against his shoulder as he drove, and his body tightened. As he drove toward the Ile St. Louis he couldn’t stop giving her little glances out of the corner of his eye. As he changed gears his hand brushed her knee. He felt her shiver, heard her intake of breath.
And he suddenly knew he couldn’t give her up. Not for honor. Not for anything.
She wasn’t leaving this city without agreeing to be his bride.
He pulled the low-slung sports car in front of a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant on a winding street on the Ile St. Louis—one of the two tiny islands on the Seine in the center of Paris.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, looking around at the slender streets.
He smiled down at her as a valet hurried around the car. “Lunch.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned. “Not more foamy quail eggs.”
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I know you better than that now.”
Handing his car keys to the valet, he came around to the passenger side and helped her out of the car. He touched her hand and didn’t want to let go. Once inside, they were guided to the most romantic table at the intimate, cozy restaurant, in a shadowy corner near the medieval fireplace. He held her hand across the table. It was as if they’d gone back in time, he thought, looking at her beautiful face in wonder. As if they were the only two people in the world.
They ordered the prix-fixe menu for fifty euros. It started with céleri rémoulade, was followed by coq au vin, all washed down with the house red. For dessert he chose a platter of cheeses, while Carrie had crème brûlée. And all throughout the delicious, intimate meal, in the dark, low-ceilinged old restaurant, he asked her questions.
As she spoke, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The sound of her voice was like music. His sexy lover. The angelic mother of his child. Her lustrous skin was the color of cream in winter, and her chestnut hair cascaded in waves down her bare shoulders. Her laughter was the sound of bells. He felt lost in her in a way he didn’t understand, in a way he’d never felt before.
He couldn’t lose her. Not now.
Not ever.
Carrie was chattering easily, on her second glass of wine. Her cheeks had turned pink as roses. “This is the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.” She held up the glass. “To you knowing what I like.”
He grinned. After clinking glasses, they both drank deeply. “And to our son,” he said, lifting his glass a second time.
“Oh, that’s even better! Yes! To Henry.”
They both drank, and he leaned across the table to refill her glass. They smiled at each other across the table, the mood warm and happy, and with some other emotion he couldn’t quite understand. But it was now, he thought, or never.
With a deep breath, he pulled the black velvet box out of his pocket. He placed it on the small table beside the empty ceramic bowl that had once held crème brulée.#p#分页标题#e#
“This is the last time I’m going to ask, Carrie,” he said huskily. “Will you marry me?”
The color in her cheeks turned pale as she stared at the huge canary-yellow diamond surrounded by white diamonds, set in platinum. She lifted her chin, and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I can’t.”