The flight to Paris was the first of the many good times that awaited them. In the private cabin of the Vale jet, the transition from "The Wedding of the Century" to "The Rest of Our Lives" began in the soft, amber glow of the reading lights.
Julian didn't work. For the first time in his professional life, his laptop remained closed. He simply watched Amara sleep, her head resting on his chest, the small silver-and-emerald clip from Amira still glinting in her hair.
They arrived at a private estate in the 16th Arrondissement, a limestone sanctuary hidden behind ivy-covered walls. The air smelled of rain, yeast from a nearby boulangerie, and the heavy, romantic promise of a Parisian autumn.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Vale," Julian whispered, lifting her over the threshold of the master suite.
