It translates to ‘Point zero of the roads of France.’ In other words, it’s the point from which all other distances in France are measured. It’s the beginning of everything. Welcome to Paris, Anna. I’m glad you’ve come.
“You tell me I’m beautiful,and that you like my hair and you like my smile. You rest your leg against mine in darkened theaters,and then you act as if nothing happened when the lights go up.You slept in my bed for three nights straight,and then you just…blew me off for the next month.What am I supposed to do with that,St. Clair? You said on my birthday that you were afraid of being alone,but I’ve been here this whole time.This whole time.”
We are still holding hands. Okay, we should let go. This is the point where it would be normal to let go. Why aren’t we letting go? I force my gaze to the Grand Bassin. He does the same. We’re not watching the boats. His hand is burning, but he doesn’t let go. And then—he scoots closer. Just barely. I glance down and see the back of his shirt has crawled up, exposing a slice of his back. His skin is smooth and pale. It’s the sexiest thing I have ever seen. He shifts again, and my body answers with the same. We’re arm against arm, leg against leg. His hand crushes mine, willing me to look at him. I do. Étienne’s dark eyes search mine. “What are we doing?” His voice is strained. He’s so beautiful, so perfect. I’m dizzy. My heart pounds, my pulse races. I tilt my face toward his, and he answers with an identical slow tilt toward mine. He closes his eyes. Our lips brush lightly.