“You’re not a cliché. You’re a goddamn miracle.”

Uncertainty tightens my throat. “But—”

“If you don’t want to play that game again, then we won’t. Simple as that. But let’s get one thing straight. You aren’t with me because you have daddy issues. You’re with me because you’re the only person who sees beneath the billionaire shit and the asshole shit. You’re the only one who sees me, and damned if I’m going to let you go.”

Tenderness softens my tension. “I do see you. And I love you.”

“I’m not so different from my brother. Maybe not even that different from Joe Causey.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

“I’m a selfish bastard. That’s why I’m using you. Why I’m playing this game with you. There’s darkness inside me.”

“Then maybe there’s darkness inside me, too. Because I liked the game.”

He sighs, pulling me close, cradling me as if I’m fragile. “I’m corrupting you, sweetheart. Day by day. Orgasm by orgasm. Soon you won’t even recognize yourself.”

Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Emily Rochester

Paige sleeps in the Minnie ears Mateo brought her.

The sleeping itself is a tough sell. There’s too much to look at on the plane. The first time I try to get her to nap, it’s too early. The second time, it’s too late. She finally falls asleep underneath a cashmere blanket, the headband still in her blonde curls.

We go directly to Disneyland Paris from the plane. If we’d flown commercial, this would be hell. In Mateo’s private jet we were basically in a flying hotel. I feel lighter in Paris, and lighter still when our private tour guide ushers us through a separate entrance. Lisa supplies us with wrist bands that have Mickey’s silhouette on them. “These will let you skip any line,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be with you all day, ensuring that you have a magical experience.”

It is magical. It’s magical from the first step we take onto Main Street. Lisa accompanies us, along with four people from Beau’s security firm. I think this is a little much—five people to make sure the three of us are okay?

But then people notice Mateo.

He’s a movie star wherever he goes. The difference in Eben Cape is that he grew up there. Most people at home don’t feel any specific urgency about getting his autograph. They don’t need his autograph.

Here? Different story. A woman approaches him before we’ve reached the end of Main Street. She’s breathless, holding out a Disney-themed autograph book. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “Would you mind? I—would you mind?”