“It’s so crazy. There’s old castles, but there’s Art Deco, and there’s this water,” she murmured as I let her walk ahead of me, taking everything in on both sides of her. She stopped for every building on her left and every jagged rock in the water to her right. It crashed gently against the shore, sweeping over our bare feet as we carried our shoes. “If The Great Gatsby took place anywhere but West Egg, it would be here,” she decided before finally turning and giving me the chance to look at her face.
Her excitement was unbridled and it had her eyes brighter than I’d ever seen them.
But she closed them and smiled when I held her cheek. With the moonlight shining down on her, she was as beautiful as I’d ever seen her. It made it hard for me to reconcile that at nine at night, we still had work to do. All I wanted was to take her into my hotel room and fall into bed with her. To hear more about her little road trips with her mom around Texas. I wanted to find out everything I possibly could about her, and the fact that I didn’t have all the time in the world to do that infuriated me.
I asked myself how I hadn’t planned this trip better, and given myself more time with her before the Roths arrived.
All I wanted was to touch Sara in every way that made her smile. I wanted to show her all my favorite parts of the town and let my memories with her serve as the last I left Biarritz with. I wanted to ask her a million simple questions I somehow didn’t have the answers to yet.
I didn’t know where her favorite restaurant was back home, and that for some reason bothered me.
I wanted to be the one who had all the information, all the elements to make her the happiest woman in the world. But with the Roths and their advisors arriving in twelve hours, and Sara far from brushed up on how to give a tour of the resort, I didn’t have the time. I had work to do, and for once, I fucking hated it. For once, I just wanted to relax.
I just wanted to be with Sara.
“What are you thinking?” she asked when she finally opened those glimmering eyes again. I smiled down at her as I replied.
“Nothing.”
It was difficult leaving Sara’s room in the morning while she was still asleep, but I had just gotten word from Colin that he’d arrived, and so had the Roths with their team.
I let Sara rest. We’d been up late after arriving at night yesterday, and spending the next three hours touring the property before going back to her room.
I asked some more of my questions last night as we relaxed in the bath, my front to her back, her head resting against the crook of my neck.
Shamelessly, her favorite restaurant in the city was a West Village spot that sold only French fries and, apparently, “a glorious selection of condiments.” Her dream vacation was to either Tuscany or Monaco.
“Why Tuscany?” I asked.
“Because wine.”
“Fair enough. Why Monaco?”
“Because Grace Kelly.”
“Your best friend once said my mother looked like Grace Kelly.”
“She so does! I totally thought that yesterday. And Lia totally went on her Grace Kelly kick because of me. She’d never watch old Hollywood movies without me bugging her to.”
So I’d collected some answers in French fries and Grace Kelly. Unsurprisingly, I wanted more.
“Biggest goal?”
She hummed against the ridge of her wine glass while thinking.
“The thing I dreamed for longest about was definitely going to prom and feeling like a princess in some big, puffy ball gown,” she snorted. “Since I was five, I fantasized about every detail down to the big reveal of my dress, and the walk down the stairs, and my date putting on my corsage as my parents took pictures.”
“Jesus.”
“Don’t blame me. The stupid movies ruined me,” she giggled. “But anyway, since that ship has clearly sailed, I’d say the big goal is making enough money in the future to buy my parents a home in London. So they can fly back and forth between there and T
exas. A three-bedroom, preferably. For when I visit.”
“Why three bedrooms? Do your parents sleep separately?”
“My dad does snore like a beast, but no. I imagined for like, my kids.”
“Yeah? And how many kids do you want?”