Marrying Mister Perfect

by Lizzie Shane

  Please.

  It was Jack. And Paris.

  Right there, sitting in Kelly’s kitchen with the kids screaming like maniacs in the next room, surrounded by the smells of freshly baked blueberry scones, Lou’s heart melted into a puddle of wax, taking her will to resist with it. “Okay,” she heard herself say, before Kelly’s squeal temporarily disabled her eardrums.

  She scribbled the details on a pad Kelly shoved under her hand and hung up, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. And wondering what had just possessed her to agree to meet Jack in Paris.

  Her handwriting on the pad looked foreign. Lou looked up and met Kelly’s eager gaze.

  “Oh God,” she groaned. “What did I just agree to?”

  “Paris!” Kelly bounced on her chair. “L’amour, baby!”

  “I’m supposed to be looking for apartments this week. I need to get a job. Resumes. I should be thinking about resumes.”

  Kelly looked at her as if she’d started speaking in tongues. “Louisa Renee Tanner, if you do not go to Paris tonight, I am going to disown you as my best friend. Now, stop being an idiot and grab the kids. We’ve got to get you packed and on that flight!”

  With Kelly acting as Field Marshall, they were back at Lou’s house—Jack’s house, not hers, she reminded herself—in less than ten minutes. Five minutes after that Lou stood in the middle of her bedroom feeling inexplicably lost as Kelly bustled around her throwing toiletries into an overnight bag.

  “Did he say how long you’d be gone?” Kelly asked.

  Lou caught the brush Kelly flung at her and dropped it into the bag. “Just over two days, including the flights.”

  “So just one day and one night in Paris. Where’s your lingerie?”

  “Kelly!”

  “Oh, don’t pretend to be shocked. I know you’ve got something naughty stashed somewhere. I didn’t take you to Victoria’s Secret so you could admire yourself in the mirror. Get your naughty bits and throw them in the bag.”

  Lou obligingly grabbed her “naughty bits”. She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that tomorrow she would be in Paris, France. After nine years holding onto her passport, it would finally get a stamp in it.

  For all that Paris still felt surreal, it was a lot easier to grasp than being in the most romantic city on the planet with Jack. After she’d resolved to let him go.

  “Kelly, what am I going to do? Tell me what the Plan is.” She needed Kelly’s strategy right now.

  “No plan. Where are those cute red heels we got you? They looked kinda French, didn’t they?”

  “They should be in the closet. What do you mean there’s no plan?”

  “No plan. Oh! Here they are.” Kelly emerged from the closet, holding a pair of red heels above her head like trophies. They found their way into the bag. Lou had no idea what else had ended up in there. She’d just have to trust Kelly.

  “I should pack up a bag for Emma and TJ.” They’d spent the night at their grandparents’ once or twice and had been begging to be allowed to stay over with the twins, but she’d never just dumped them off on anyone so precipitously.

  Kelly zipped Lou’s bag and pushed it into her hands, sliding the strap over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about Emma and TJ. Between your folks and Jack’s folks and me, they’ve got more people wanting to look after them than any two children could ever want. We’ll just pick up whatever we need later. I’ve got a key. Right now, we have to get you to the airport.”

  She herded Lou out of the room and down the hall. Lou caught her arm, stopping her at the top of the stairs before they got back in range of the kids.

  “Kelly, seriously. What do I do? I need a plan.”

  Kelly put her hand over Lou’s on her arm and gave a gentle squeeze. “No plan this time. No games. No strategies. Just enjoy him. Enjoy being with him.”

  Lou swallowed thickly and nodded. It remained unspoken that this would probably be her last chance to be with him. Her life suddenly felt very Casablanca. They would always have Paris.

  Lou closed her eyes for a moment. Paris. She was really going to Paris.

  “Come on, Aunt Lou!”

  Provided she made the flight. Lou leapt down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Jack paced in the lobby of the Hotel Pont Royal. He barely registered the rich dark wood paneling and ornate marble floors. He was too consumed with agitation as he waited for Lou to arrive.

  Her flight had landed over an hour ago. Shouldn’t she be here already?

  Jack hoped she slept on the plane because he had a full day of Parisian thrills planned for them. Miranda had pulled numerous strings to arrange it all, but he knew it would be worth it to see the look on Lou’s face when she finally got her dream day in Paris.

  The last few days of his life should have been amazing. He strolled with Marcy through the Prado museum in Madrid and drank sangria while they watched a private flamenco show.

  And the entire time, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Lou. She had consumed him. Worry ate away at his enjoyment. If only things were settled between them. If only she knew how he felt and he could be sure of the same.

  She’d always been there at his side and if he asked her to stay he knew she would, but he had to know she was staying because she loved him as more than a friend and not because she felt obligated to help him. He’d always taken her presence for granted, but now he needed to woo her into staying.

  Paris was his trump card. He’d known she wouldn’t be able to resist the city of lovers. Now all he had to do was find out how she really felt about him, get her out of her head, and woo his way into her heart.

  All before he was supposed to fly off to the Swiss Alps to ski and sip cocoa with Katya. Love on a clock. So his impatience was justified.

  Then Jack looked up as the doorman opened the door and there she was. The camera crew that Miranda had arranged swarmed around them.

  Her coat was unbuttoned, revealing a simple black dress that hugged her curves. She fiddled with the bright red scarf twisted around her neck as she scanned the lobby. Her eyes lit on him and a wide smile burst across her face. She looked chic and sophisticated—gorgeous enough to be picked as a Suitorette any day of the week—but it was that smile that squeezed a vise around his heart.

  Jack grinned back and quickly crossed the distance to her side in long strides. “Welcome to Paris.”

  Lou’s grin grew even wider, if such a thing were even possible. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get tired of hearing people say that.” She closed her eyes, basking in the moment. “Paris. I can’t believe I’m really here.”

  “Believe it.”

  Jack grabbed the shoulder strap of her bag, meaning to carry it upstairs for her, but Lou jolted away from his hand on her shoulder, her eyes flying open again. The bag started to slide down her arm. He caught it and swung it over onto his own shoulder. She took a quick step away from him. Her smile never wavered, but he knew they’d both noticed how skittish she was. The wooing thing wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

  “So what are we going to do first?” she asked, her cheer a little forced.

  “First we drop your bag in the suite upstairs and get some breakfast. Can’t see Paris on an empty stomach.”

  She brushed away that suggestion with a wave of her hand. “Oh, I’m fine. Let’s just get started. I’m not here long. We don’t have a second to waste.”

  “It won’t take a minute,” he insisted, taking her elbow and holding it even though she shied away from him. He guided her into the elevator, squeezing to make room for the camera, and pushed the button for the top floor.

  Jack let go of her elbow as the rickety elevator lurched upward. She sidled away, as much as the cramped quarters would allow, under the pretext of admiring the paneling on the far wall. She’d never avoided being touched by him before. He hoped this meant she was more, rather than less, aware of him physically, but he’d have to tread carefully today.

  Lo
u was holding herself back, trying to keep the boundaries between them intact. The way she pulled away from him frustrated Jack, but he could be patient. He had Paris—and if Marcy wasn’t mistaken, her own heart—on his side.

  He had all day.

  When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, Lou burst into the hall, needing to put some distance between herself and Jack. She pulled up short when she realized there was no hallway, just a small foyer and a large, ornately carved door.

  Jack appeared at her side, key in hand. His nearness sent little shivers rocketing through her body, eroding her will to resist. Why had she decided they shouldn’t be together? She’d had a reason, she was certain of it, but now, with him standing so close and his body heat pressing against the outside of her arm, she couldn’t remember all of her carefully thought out reasons why they had to keep things strictly platonic.

  She’d made a list of her reasons on the plane—in between being pampered with every possible luxury and sleeping like a baby in the cocoon-like seat of international first class. It was a good list. A rational list. Emma. TJ. Something about making an idiot of herself on national television…

  Jack reached past her and Lou focused on the key, trying to get a grip. The old fashioned key matched the elegance of the old hotel. It was gorgeously European.

  Then Jack pushed the door open and Lou gasped. The penthouse was massive and every inch of it defined luxury. Jack nudged her into the room and she stalled just over the threshold, gaping like a hick.

  As Jack slipped through one of the pairs of double doors leading off the main room to dispose of her bag, Lou walked dazedly through the main room, trailing her fingers along the back of a Louis XVI chair. When Jack came back into the room, she turned to him with wide eyes. “Jack, this place is amazing.”

  He grinned, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. “You haven’t seen the best part yet.”

  He strode toward her and grabbed her by the shoulders. Her heart jumped in her chest and for a brief moment she thought he was going to kiss her. That would be the best part. But then he turned her around and marched her toward the floor-to-ceiling windows—which she suddenly realized were a series of sliding doors leading out onto the most massive terrace she’d ever seen.

  A pair of comfortable-looking wicker chairs cozied up to the railing. A small table in front of them held a basket overflowing with flaky croissants. And the entire cozy scene looked out over Paris straight toward…

  “The Eiffel Tower,” Lou whispered, breathless.

  “Not a bad view, eh? And see there? That’s Notre Dame.”

  Lou heard a little squeaking sound she was pretty sure was coming from her own throat, but she couldn’t form actual words.

  “You can see Sacre Coeur from the other side.”

  Jack’s hands slid down from her shoulders along her arms, wrapping around her as they went until she was cuddled in front of him, facing the most gorgeous view man had ever created. His chest pressed against her back and he gently rested his chin on her hair.

  “Jack,” she finally managed to whisper.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I never dreamed it would be this beautiful.” Or that everything would feel this perfect. The most wonderful man she’d ever met had his arms warm around her and Paris was laid out at her feet. She wanted to hold onto this moment for the rest of her life.

  At that exact second, the first strands of La Vie en Rose drifted up from the street below.

  It was worth it.

  Whatever came later. Whatever heartache was in store it was all worth it for this moment. She would never regret a second of the path that had brought her here—even if the damn show tore them apart.

  “Today is for you, Lou,” Jack said softly, his breath ruffling her hair. “No kids to distract you, no one else’s desires to worry about but your own. It’s all about you, Louisa.”

  Lou hugged the arms wrapped around her middle a little closer, then stepped away, albeit reluctantly. “Then let’s get started.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “That is the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.”

  “Ditto.”

  Lou glanced over at Jack to find him gazing steadily back at her. He wasn’t even looking at the sculpture. The line was cliché, but coming from Jack, it still made her heart race. Her cheeks heated and she averted her eyes. They fell back on the white marble in front of her.

  “You’re bored out of your mind, aren’t you?” she asked without taking her eyes off the Canova.

  They’d already done a quick visit to the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame—though she’d foregone going up in either one since they were tight on time. She’d debated between the Musee D’Orsay and the Rodin Museum before deciding to go with the famed Louvre, and she was delighted with her choice—but Jack had never had much patience for classic art. She was amazed he wasn’t climbing the walls.

  “Believe it or not, I’m having the time of my life. You’re so engaged in every moment—to use show parlance. How could I be bored when we aren’t wasting a single second?”

  He came to stand at her back again, wrapping his arms around her from behind and cradling her close. “So. What’s so special about this sculpture? I thought we’d be over at the Mona Lisa for sure.”

  “Honestly? The Mona Lisa’s never really done it for me and trying to see her through five rows of people and three inches of bulletproof glass just doesn’t appeal. But this…” She gestured to the life-size lovers held forever in white marble just inches in front of them. “This is Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss.”

  “And who were they?” he asked. “Remember, I was a math and science nerd. You’re the one with the classics minor.”

  Lou grinned to herself, glad she was facing away from him and he wouldn’t be able to see how foolishly delighted she was that he remembered what she’d minored in at college. “Cupid was the god of love and Psyche was the mortal girl he fell in love with.”

  “I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.”

  “With the gods, there always is.”

  “Why did he have to revive her? Is this like an early version of Sleeping Beauty or something?”

  “Something like that.” Lou settled herself more deeply into his arms, as she remembered more and more of the myth associated with her favorite sculpture. “See, Venus was the jealous type, and she decided Psyche was too beautiful, so she sent her son Cupid to trick Psyche into falling in love with something awful. But… something happened, I forget what, and Cupid ended up hitting himself with one of his arrows and falling in love with Psyche himself. He has the west wind carry her away and marries her, but he only visits her at night when she can’t see who he is.”

  “That’s kind of skeezy.”

  Lou shrugged. “No one said the gods weren’t pervy. So anyway, Psyche’s sisters talk her into finding out who her hubbie is by lighting a lamp after he falls asleep one night, but the light wakes him and he takes off, mad at her for not obeying him or something.”

  “So he’s not only a perv, he’s a dickhead.”

  “Pretty much. Psyche searches for him everywhere, but the gods don’t have to be found if they don’t want to be so she’s out of luck. She decides to go to Venus herself, but Venus is still pissed because she’s too pretty. Venus gives her all these impossible tasks that are supposed to kill her, but she keeps surviving. I think she even goes into the Underworld and comes out again alive, all in an attempt to get Cupid back. But then she opens a box—which is always a bad idea in mythology—and an unnatural sleep rises out of it and knocks her out.”

  Lou looked up at the sculpture of a winged Cupid waking a sleeping Psyche with a kiss.

  “That’s when Cupid flies to the rescue. He still loves her, you see. So he kisses her and she wakes up, becomes immortal and they live happily ever after for all eternity. And this,” Lou said, pointing to the statue, “is the moment when she opens her eyes and sees him. The moment when s
he knows all the trials are over and love has conquered all.”

  Jack bent until his cheek rested next to hers. “Why, Miss Tanner,” he murmured, “I had no idea you were such a sappy romantic.”

  Lou twisted out of his grip, giving him a wink as she tugged him by the hand out of the sculpture hall. “I’m just full of surprises, Dr. Doyle.”

  But the truth was, she herself had forgotten about the part of her with a passion for romance and mythology and art. It had been a long time since she’d felt this way. Was it Jack? The reminder of who she used to be?

  There wasn’t much demand in the carpool sector for a minor in classical studies. Her passions had just sort of faded away in the face of practicality. And that practical side of her nature had grown and grown over the years until it felt like that was all she was.

  The only outlet for her fierce romanticism had been her childish infatuation with Jack. But her fantasy of him hadn’t been any more real than the myth of Cupid and Psyche.

  Now things with Jack were all too real—this fantasy day just brought that home all the more clearly—and reality was much more frightening than fantasy. Reality could hurt.

  Practicality had taught her how to build walls around her heart, each brick a rationalization, the mortar made of excuses. She was safe behind them, but she didn’t want to be safe any more. Love was a risk she had to take, even if it broke her heart wide open. Jack was worth it.

  And maybe it would work out. She had a stamp in her passport and the world hadn’t fallen down around her ears. Maybe love could conquer all.

  Jack had snuck through the cracks in the walls over the years, taking up a place in her heart. Paris had punched an even bigger hole in the wall, making her defenses all but useless. But did she need defenses with Jack? She could trust him, couldn’t she?

  “What’s next?” she asked as they threaded through the crowds at the museum’s exit.

  “I thought you’d like to see the Arc de Triomphe, then we have dinner reservations at a cafe on the Champs Elysees. Sound good?”