"Where are we going?"
"Montmatre. I know the perfect place."
Her jaw fell open and her eyes were like saucers.
"No, Ruth, not the Sacre Coueur."
A huge sigh of relief flowed over her.
"I'm good, but I'm not that good," added Harry.
Ruth smiled, he was very good.
"Besides, I would imagine you'd prefer somewhere a little more intimate."
"Harry, as adorable as all this romantic enthusiasm is," she paused, "..and it is incredibly adorable." He grinned. "You can't just go around deciding to get married on a whim…"
"Hardly a whim, Ruth."
"Yes, okay perhaps."
"It's been five years."
"You've wanted to marry me for five years!"
"Give or take."
"Okay, definitely not a whim, Harry. I concede."
"You were saying, Ruth."
"Yes, I was saying something wasn't I…..oh, yes, you can't just come to Paris and say I want to get married right now and then go window shopping for churches."
"Oh, Ruth, where's your spirit of romance?" he smiled.
"Double parked somewhere between practicality and realism."
The cab turned into a narrow sidestreet. They were close.
Harry turned to her, his eyes alight and his face awash with an excitement and happiness she had rarely seen.
"What makes you think that a man who can get a fake into the Musee d'Orsay, just to propose, couldn't possible organize a simple service in a Parisian church, Ruth?"
She gasped.
"You didn't?"
"No, I didn't,. Lucas did," he laughed, "but under my instructions, so if anything's not right you can blame me, as I'm sure you will."
"Oh, Harry."