“It is. Are you surprised?”
“I would have lost a bet. I would never have picked this place for you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because the Art Bridge isn’t the first thing I’d imagine as being on your list of top must-see spots.” Mr. Alpha Male has a thing for this Parisian tourist attraction?
“It’s nestled perfectly between the Institut de France and the central square of the Louvre Palace, it overlooks the Seine and the view from the left or the right is equally superb,” he says, extending his arms and turning his head side to side to illustrate his point.
“You’re right. I can’t argue, but I’m still quite shocked you’d feel this way about this bridge.” This guy always manages to surprise me.
“I read about the recent changes and it’s a shame they had to cage all these locks behind glass partitions, but then again, this bridge must be a few hundred years old if not more.”
“I feel the same. I read about it as well, but the French are passionate about protecting their artistic heritage—and rightly so. Perhaps these glass barricades are the only way,” he says, tapping the partition with his foot.
“I used to call this bridge the love bridge. I’d come here all the time when I lived in Paris with my sister and we’d watch lovers add a padlock to the rails as a symbol of their undying devotion to each other. It’s too bad years of wear and tear has forced the politicians to block access to the rail. I understand the bridge can no longer sustain the weight of the locks, but it’s like closing the door to love.”
“The love bridge? What an appropriate name,” he says, wrapping me in his arms before stealing another kiss. “These panels are ironic in a way. I understand why the French erected them, but I don’t think anything can take away from the charm of this iconic pedestrian bridge.”
“I agree.”
“When you lived here, did you and your boyfriend come here to add a padlock? Did a little French boy write your name and a love message on a lock and then toss the key in the Seine after securing it to the bridge?”
“No, I wasn’t allowed to have any boyfriends at the time,” I answer, pulling him closer to me. “What about you? Did you whisk your girlfriend from London to Paris to add your own lock to the love bridge?”
“Alas. It never crossed my mind.”
Suddenly I realize there’s music coming from behind him. “There’s a band? They never used to allow musicians on this bridge. I guess even the rigid French bureaucrats can bend.”
“Hey, do you think they take special requests?”
I pull away, surprised by his question. “You should ask them.”
“Yeah, I flunked French a few times, love.”
We both laugh.
“You’re either going to have to translate for me or we’ll end up standing here listening to them play random songs. It’d be a shame since no one else on this bridge seems to care about this poor trio of musicians.”
I look around and notice for the first time the bridge is fairly deserted. Considering it’s Christmas Eve and the city is packed with tourists, there are only four other men standing on either side of the Pont des Arts. Something about them seems odd—as if they don’t belong in this serene picture.
This is so unusual. On any given day, there are crowds of curious people ogling the lineup of love padlocks.
“You’re so concerned for them. All right, I’ll play translator, what do you want them to play?”
“Ask them if they take requests and then I’ll tell you what I want to listen to,” he says, shooing me away with his hands. “Go along, you’re the one who speaks all these languages.”
I roll my eyes at him, perplexed, before walking towards the two violinists and the guy sitting in front of a keyboard.
“Bonjour, messieurs. Comment allez-vous?”
“Bon après-midi, madame.”
After greeting them, I enquire to see if they do take on special requests from an eager passerby. “Mon ami se demandait s’il était possible de faire une demande spéciale?”
“Mais bien entendu, madame.”
“Ah, c’est génial.”
“Qu’est-ce qui vous ferait plaisir d’entendre? Où devrais-je demander à monsieur?”
“Son français n’est pas terrible, donc je lui demande et je reviens.”
“Je vous attends, puisque je ne parles que très peu l’anglais.”
The band leader shares how his English is extremely basic and I let him know it’s best for me to ask Nikolaj what he wants to listen to.
“You’re in luck, they do take special requests,” I declare, approaching Nikolaj.
“They do?” he answers flatly.
Boy, you don’t have to sound so excited. You’re the one who was dying to listen to a specific song a few minutes ago. “What do you want to listen to?”
“I think the day calls for something mellow, don’t you agree?”
“You’re being demanding here, mister. What if soft tunes aren’t part of their repertoire of songs?”
“Ask them.” He grins. “You’re the one who speaks French, not me,” he adds, walking away.
He kills me when he’s in this playful mood. I turn around and look at the band leader, who seems quite eager to please.
“Monsieur a décidé?” He leans in, asking me if Nikolaj has decided on his song choice.
“Et bien, il voudrait entendre une musique douce. En fait, il est fort possible que ce genre ne fasse pas partie de votre répertoire.”
“On peut bien essayer.”
“Bon d’accord, donc je lui demande.”
I turn around to let Nikolaj the band is willing to try their hand at a mellow song.
“Great, love. Tell the band leader I want to listen to All of Me, by John Legend.”
“What?” He wanted mellow. All of Me is downright romantic.
I haven’t even had time to turn around and share his request with the trio before by magic John Legend’s harmony seeps through their instruments and the voice of the superstar blares from speakers.
How did this happen?
I turn around, astounded at the passion with which the trio pours their heart and soul into the beautiful melody. A small dock and an iPhone sit on the wooden planks in front of the keyboard player.
My God, I hate to admit to it, but I cry every time I hear this song.
I turn around to make sure Nikolaj is happy with his request, but I’m caught off guard when I notice him standing so close to me. His eyes are locked onto mine and I read something so intense my heart swells to the point where I can barely breathe. I’m utterly mesmerized by the fire burning in his electrifying blue eyes and I swear I could melt right here on this love bridge on this perfect Christmas Eve.
“Nik, what’s going on?” I ask in a shaky voice.
“You’re my end and my beginning.” He speaks those lyrics at the same time as John Legend sings them. “Ciara, you’re my drug. You’re my ecstasy. You’re all I want. All I need. Baby, you’re my everything,” he continues before choking up.
He drops to one knee and looks up at me so solemnly I think I’m about to faint, dizzied by the charge of emotions running through my body. I quickly look up when I hear a murmur from afar. Two of the men who were casually standing on the bridge are blocking a crowd of curious passersby desperate to find out what’s going on.
God, Nikolaj is on one knee. What is he doing?
“You’re my chosen one. I’ve spent my life jumping from one bed to another to avoid falling in love, but you had me wrapped around your little finger the minute you strutted in the bar in Toronto where we first met. When I woke up wrapped around your warm body the next day, I knew you were it—I never wanted to leave your side. I simply had to figure out how to seduce you because you played hard to get, love.” Nikolaj slowly opens the little red box he’s been cradling and I blink, gasping for air when I lay my eyes on the biggest stone I’ve ever seen in my life. The breathtaking e
merald-cut diamond dazzler he’s chosen for me is surrounded by a frame of brilliant diamonds that extend to each side of the ring.
I’ve never in my life seen anything remotely this spectacular.
“Ciara Isabella Herrera, you’re the only woman who knows what my heart sounds like from the inside. Will you marry me?”
Dear Lord, did he ask me to marry him?
“What?” I hyperventilate. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I bring my hands to my mouth and my chest at the same time, afraid his question will cause me to pass out. I don’t think my heart has ever beaten this fast ever.
My love for him consumes me and I’m so overtaken by this perfect moment in time I can only nod my head with my hands clamped to my face, desperately trying to hold back the torrent of happy tears threatening to overflow.
I can’t believe he wants me to be his wife. This is surreal.
The lyrics of the song fill my head and my heart. “Cause all of me loves all of you.” I’m still so shocked I haven’t been able to find the right words to express how content I am right now or how deeply I love him.
“Baby, are you going to give me an answer? It’s pretty cold down here.”
His question surprises me. I can’t help but laugh aloud at my reaction.
“Oh. I’m sorry, honey,” I blurt out, still shaken by everything. “Yes. Yes. Yes. I want to be your wife.” I fight back the tears. “I’m all yours,” I declare before allowing the first tear to escape. “I can’t think of anything else I want more than to wake up with my head resting on your chest and to fall asleep nestled in your arms, Nikolaj.”
He jumps to his feet and kisses the first tear away before slipping the magnificent ring on my finger. I gasp before jumping into his arms and showering his face with little kisses.
“Do you like the ring? Your sister came out shopping with me. I arrived in New York a few days earlier to have time to find a setting fitting for my princess,” he whispers in my ear.
“I do. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“I’m happy you like it. I couldn’t have done it alone,” he says before dropping me to my feet.
“Sofia was your accomplice?”
“I needed a woman’s perspective. I figured she was the best person on the planet to guide me and help me find the ring to make you say yes.”
“You’re a clever one.”
“I do my best.”
“Are you the one behind this little impromptu concert? With bodyguards to boot? And did my sister tell you how much I adore John Legend’s song?”
“What can I say?” He flashes that devilish smile I can’t resist.
This must be the most perfect moment of my life.
“Are you crying, Ciara?” he asks tenderly, as he wipes away the second tear with the back of his hand.
“Of course not. It would be silly of me,” I reply as the third tear rolls down my face.
“Does this mean I’ve melted your heart and you’ve finally warmed up to me?”
“In your dreams,” I say, playfully hitting his chest. “It simply means I have a little dust in my eyes,” I lie. I’m officially bawling because I’m so deeply in love with this man and I can’t think of anything I want more than to marry him.
“Don’t cry, baby.”
“But I can’t help it.” I exhale. “I’m so utterly happy right now.” I’m still unable to control the tears.
“If this is your happy face, I cannot wait to see you when you’re upset at me,” he says, caressing the tip of my nose with his. “I guess we have the rest of our lives for me to find out.” He looks down at me, fists the collar of my coat and pulls me closer to him before tenderly kissing my lips.
I could lose myself in this kiss.
“You do realize you’ll have to be my wife twice?”
“How so?”
“We’ll have to have a lavish wedding in Copenhagen and another sumptuous one in New York.”
“You’re such a greedy man.”
“Me? Never,” he says with an unabashed smile. “I don’t ever want to live without you, Ciara,” he says, locking his lips with mine.
And I hold him a little closer—the man I love.
The Seduction Factor Book 6—
Always & Forever
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