Wyatt didn’t pull away, though. He did the opposite and opened his fingers, allowing Roman’s to slip through.
“Remember that one time in high school French?” Roman asked as memories flooded back, like a dam had broken. “When Mrs. Bodin caught us making out under the desk?”
Wyatt laughed, his smile brighter than the sunshine. “And you told her that we were just practicing our French kiss.”
“Fucking ridiculous. God, kids are terrible.” Roman matched Wyatt’s belly laughs.
“Atrocious, monstrous. They scare me, and I work at a science museum with daily field trips, so you can imagine the horrors I’ve seen and heard.”
“Worked,” Roman corrected. “After this, you’ll be able to buy out the Science Museum and turn it into a leather bar or something.”
“That’d be a big-ass leather bar.”
Roman shrugged. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all, no. I don’t mind a harness or two.” Wyatt smirked, lighting a fuse deep in Roman’s core. Heat spread from where their hands met, climbing up his arm, down his chest, trailing his abs and settling in his balls.
Fuck, I can’t wait to get him back in our hotel room. We’re not sleeping tonight.
“Maybe I can call it The Throat Goat?” Wyatt mused.
“The Throat what?”
“Throat G.O.A.T.: The throat that’s the greatest of all time. At, well, you know.” Wyatt pressed his tongue against his cheek, creating a familiar-looking bulge.
Roman laughed, nodding his head as he filed away the new vocabulary. “I think that can work,” he said. “Definitely inspired by the owner.”
Wyatt cocked his head with a smile playing on his lips.
They turned onto a tight street full of tourists window-shopping the various boutiques. Ahead of them was the Eiffel Tower, framed by the Romeo and Juliet balconies that adorned the row of buildings on either side of them. Roman and Wyatt separated as the crowd grew thicker, people filing between them with their eyes on their phones, trying to capture the perfect shot of the Eiffel Tower, likely already taken about a thousand times today alone.
A couple of streets over, they found themselves in front of Amelia’s bakery, its storefront displaying a decedent assortment of sweets through the glass: buttery scones that glittered with powdered sugar, red velvet cupcakes next to a shining mango tart, and an assortment of blueberry croissants that looked unreal. A stand full of colorful macarons was arranged to resemble a rainbow. The scent of fresh-baked goods wafted through the open door as smiling customers walked out with a bag full of baguettes.
“Buy me a chocolate croissant,” Bang Bang said before Roman entered the store. “Actually, get me three.”
Roman gave him a thumbs-up and entered, immediately spotting Amelia behind the counter, chatting with a customer as if they were old friends. She looked up and said a cheerful “Bonjour” in Roman’s direction, which he returned. He made himself busy looking over a refrigerated case of the most elaborate and detailed cakes he’d ever seen. The piping alone must have taken days with some of them, designs with perfect filigree flowing around three tiers of smooth white icing, a stunning collection of frosting roses and tulips sitting on top like an actual flower crown. Roman could see how she had earned her title as one of the most creative and expert bakers in all of France.
The customer grabbed his box of macarons and hugged Amelia over the counter. She turned toward the back room, leaving her employees to take care of the front, mentioning something about an alert in her security system. Except none of them could handle Roman’s request, so before she disappeared to the back, he shouted out for her, “Bonjour, Amelia.”
She stopped, one hand on the door. Her apron was covered in flour, some of it dusting the strands of her long black hair. She cocked her head and offered Roman a smile. “I’m so sorry, sir, do I know you?”
“No, you don’t. But I knew your son.”
Her hand dropped from the door, and a wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows.
This was it, the moment of truth. She either had the page and recognized the phrase, or she didn’t, and this job would become a whole lot more complicated. Her son had mentioned that she kept the page in her home above the bakery, but what if she didn’t understand the importance of it? What if she got rid of it? Forgot the phrase?
Thankfully, Roman didn’t have to wait long at all to get his answers.
Here goes nothing.
“Listen to the blue jays sing,” Roman said, hoping to all hope he wasn’t just saying this to sound dumb. “It’s like paradise.”
Her eyes widened with fear, and her skin blanched. She walked backward toward the door and nearly shouted her next words.
“Get out. Go!”
Chapter 18
Wyatt Hernandez
Wyatt looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed, longer than he thought it’d take to either get the page or figure out she didn’t have it. They were seated around a bistro table, the white-and-blue weaving fabric matching those of the chairs. Phantom cracked his knuckles and moved to stand but didn’t make it off his seat before Roman walked out of the door, a cheery bell ringing over his head in contrast to the dark storm that clouded his expression.