Chapter Ten

Pont des Arts

"Somehow, I thought it would be bigger."

"I warned you..." Maddie commented, as they meandered through the crowds pouring out of the Louvre. He followed her toward the pedestrian bridge, a wood-and-iron confection spanning the Seine. Today was their first real opportunity to sightsee, and Maddie apparently planned to take full advantage; there was a determined gleam in her eye that, he thought, probably boded ill for the soles of his loafers.

"I know...it's just that, after fighting through that forest of Nikons, you expect it to be—"

"Larger than life?" she finished, the corner of her mouth quirked up. "Well, the mysteries surrounding it certainly are: who was she? Why is she smiling? For my money, though, if you really want larger than life, you have to see the David."

"Why, thank you." He doffed an imaginary hat.

She punched his shoulder lightly. "Not you, David—THE David. By Michelangelo? Seventeen feet tall, long-limbed, perfectly sculpted, with massive hands and a huge—"

"Yeah," he smirked. "He coulda used me as a model."

"Ha! The David doesn't have a hair on his body. Besides, what would you have been doing in sixteenth-century Florence?"

"Aw, Blondie, you never know where I'm gonna show up."

Maddie pointed to the cool green river, rushing through the wide arches of the bridge. "I know where you're gonna end up if you don't stop talking."

"Make me," he almost said, hoping she would shut him up with a well-placed kiss.

She leaned on the heavy black railing, curls blown back by the breeze. Damn. Her face still held the glow that the parade of Renoirs and Leonardos brought out in her. Standing in the cool marble galleries, he had watched her covertly, her fingers in the air, tracing the well-known lines of each one. He found himself only half-listening as she talked about brushstrokes and color and symbols, turning away from the priceless paintings to appreciate the living art right next to him.

Not that he was going to tell her that.

Now, though, as she turned her eyes to him, he could see she was troubled. "Were we right to turn him in, David? I mean, if those girls were of age—gave their consent—"

"But what if they weren't?" he interrupted. "And even if they were, you've still got your potential blackmail, coercion, fraud...Ol' Gorgeous George had a whole bunch of illegal moves he could've been making. We did the right thing, Maddie. Let the French feds figure it out."

She nodded. "I just hate to think of him in prison, for his daughter's sake. She's so young..."

David privately thought that rotting in the Bastille, if it still existed, would be just about what Meclan deserved. As it was, he would probably be sent to some minimum-security joint, with fresh croissants for his breakfast every morning.

"She'll be fine. Look at you—you were fine. In fact, I'm starting to see how you got to be so bold and brassy."

For a minute, he thought he'd gone too far. Taking a cautious step back, he braced himself against the rail, just in case she had any recurrent thought of throwing him over. To his surprise, he felt cool lips brush his cheek. "I wanted to thank you, David."

"For what?"

"For standing up for me...and for not judging me. It wasn't easy—I hated being in that house again. I'm...I'm glad you were there."

Warmth spread through him like a shot of really good scotch. He had forgotten how good it felt—her needing him. A little seed of hope took root; for now, he brushed it aside, knowing he was still balanced on a knife edge.

"What's un bon ami for, anyway?" Pulling her arm though his, he smiled. "C'mon, Goldilocks, what else have you got to show me? There better be some dancing girls on this tour somewhere..."

-0-0-0-

Le Tour Eiffel

The elevator was packed.

It was easy, under cover of the press of humanity, to rest his hand unobtrusively on her waist. Maddie raised one eyebrow at him as they shot up, up, up...but said nothing, only making a beeline for the outer observation deck when the doors finally opened.

"Why do people feel the need to build stuff this high?" he panted, when he caught up with her. He had lost a few seconds trying to extricate himself from the wheels of a particularly tenacious stroller.

She shrugged. "Maybe they like being able to see everything. Oh, look, David, there's Notre Dame!"

He squinted into the setting sun. "Lord of all you survey, huh? I don't know...I think I'd build my castle on terra firma...some fields, coupla goats maybe—that'd be enough of a view for me."

Leaning over the balustrade, Maddie thrust a hand through the wide metal webbing that encircled the deck. "It's amazing—"

"Maddie!" he hissed, pulling her arm back to safety. She looked at him in surprise.

"David, what— Are you uncomfortable?"

"Me? Nah—I love it up here. The buildings—all those tiny cars—" Just then, a gust of wind blew through, and the tower swayed with it; he flattened himself against the glass of the interior viewing room.

"You are! You're—you're afraid of heights? How is that possible? I've seen you jump from rooftops...climb out on ledges…fight a guy up on billboard scaffolding…"

"Yeah, well...every one of those times I was too worried about somebody else to think about plunging to my death!" he said, defensively.

Maddie shook her head, lips pressed tight against an imminent chuckle. "You think you know a person..."

The slight dizziness had passed now, and the deck felt fairly solid; he scrubbed his hair back and grinned a little sheepishly. "Always like to keep you on your toes."

She held out a hand, and they walked a circuit around the "troisième étage," as it was called. The first few lights blinked into the grey dusk. Maddie stopped by the railing; David stood behind her. "You have to admit," she commented, "Things look a lot simpler up here than they do on the ground."

"They sure do."

It wasn't just Paris he was seeing more clearly. He hadn't realized it at the time, but maybe this trip was what they both had needed—a chance to look at things differently. The painful memories they'd shared a few nights ago were still there, would always be there, but he no longer felt walled off, alone in his loss…and somehow, he knew she felt the same.

The sky was a vivid dark blue now, the city brilliant in gold and white. As if she could read his thoughts, Maddie spoke. "David? The other night...I'm glad nothing happened."

Disappointment fell heavily, straight to his gut. Had he misinterpreted her words on the bridge, her sighs, her looks...again?

"I'd hate to think I'd forgotten it."

His stomach flipped, this time with anticipation. He turned her around, searching her face. Yes, there was an invitation in her eyes - one he didn't hesitate to accept.

The grief-driven desperation that tainted their last kisses was gone. This kiss owed nothing to the past, but was a celebration of the present...a promise, perhaps, for the future. David lost himself in her, oblivious to the indulgent looks and occasional whistles; it felt like a long time until they came up for air.

There was a smattering of applause when they finally broke apart. Maddie glanced around, cheeks flushed pink. "David..."

A small, wizened hand patted his arm. David looked down; an elderly woman, blue hat perched on her gray curls, was beaming up at them. "Bénédictions—ah, good weeshes—sur votre marriage, mes chères."

Maddie, flustered, shook her head. "Mais non, madame. Nous ne sommes pas de se marier."

David wasn't sure exactly what she'd said, and for a moment, he had the mad urge to take the congratulations of a group of strangers as a sign from the heavens. Then—Get a grip, Addison, he thought. Let's take things one step at time here.

Shrugging his shoulders, he smiled at the old woman. "Eh, keep 'em in your pocket, Maddie. You never know, they might come in handy sometime."

TO BE CONTINUED

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