Is everything satisfactory? Jean-Paul asked as the bellhop delivered her backpack. Elena nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Mr. Carter has arranged for a selection of clothes to be delivered in the morning, he continued.
If you need anything, at all, simply dial zero on the telephone. After they left, Elena sank onto the edge of the king-sized bed, overwhelmed. She’d gone from rushing to catch a budget flight to Atlantic City, to staying in a luxury hotel in Paris in less than 24 hours.
It felt like she’d stumbled into someone else’s life. Her phone buzzed with a text from Damien. Breakfast at nine? The E? Hotel restaurant is on the roof.
Incredible views. Elena hesitated before typing back. Okay, but I need to figure out a flight home tomorrow.
His reply came quickly. We’ll sort it out. Sleep well, Elena.
Despite her exhaustion, Elena found it… Hard to fall asleep. The bed was too soft, the room too quiet, the situation too surreal. She kept expecting to wake up in her cramped bedroom in New Jersey.
Late for her shift again. When she finally drifted off, she dreamed of flying over cities of light, with Damien Carter’s mysterious eyes watching her from across endless skies. Morning came with golden sunlight streaming through curtains she’d forgotten to close.
For a moment, Elena was disoriented. Then it all came rushing back. Paris.
The private jet. Damien Carter. A glance at her phone showed it was already 8.30. She’d slept nearly ten hours, something she hadn’t done in years.
Elena rushed to shower, wincing as she put on the same clothes from yesterday. As promised at exactly nine quick, there was a knock at her door. A hotel employee stood there with several garment bags and boxes.
Compliments of Mr. Carter, the woman, explained in accented English. He thought you might appreciate some fresh clothes. Before Elena could protest, the bags were laid across her bed, and the woman was gone.
Inside, she found several simple but clearly expensive outfits, all mysteriously in her size. Jeans, blouses, dresses, even shoes and underwear. The thought of Damien selecting underwear for her made her face burn, though she suspected he’d probably had an assistant handle the actual shopping.
Elena chose the least fancy option, dark jeans and a soft blue sweater that felt like a cloud, against her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything new that wasn’t a hospital uniform. The rooftop restaurant took her breath away.
Glass walls provided a panoramic view of Paris in the morning light. The city spread out below like a living postcard. Damien was already seated at a corner table, reading something on a tablet.
He looked up as she approached, and for a second, Elena saw something flicker in his eyes. Appreciation, maybe, or surprise. You look rested, he said, standing to pull out her chair.
The clothes fit okay? Yes, thank you, but you really didn’t have to— I wanted to, he said simply, cutting off her protest. Consider it an apology for the mix-up that brought you here. A waiter appeared with coffee and freshly baked pastries that made Elena’s mouth water.
As they ate, Damien explained that he’d managed to get her a seat on a flight back to New York the following evening. Tomorrow? Elena asked, surprised. Not today.
All the direct flights were full, Damien said, not quite meeting her eyes. Unless you’d prefer a connecting flight through London or Frankfurt, Elena should have insisted on leaving immediately. That would have been the responsible thing to do.
But the thought of one day, just one day, in Paris was too tempting. Tomorrow. Is fine, she said, feeling a strange mixture of guilt and excitement.
I’ll call Tommy and let him know. Good, Damien said, looking genuinely pleased. Then I have a proposal for you.
Elena raised an eyebrow, suddenly wary. Nothing improper, he added quickly, noticing her expression. I thought perhaps I could show you Paris today, the real Paris, not just the tourist sites.
Why would you do that? Elena asked, genuinely puzzled. You must have better things to do than play tour guide for a stranger. Damien set down his coffee cup, considering her question seriously, because for the first time in a very long time, I’m actually curious about something, someone other than myself or my work.
His honesty caught her off guard. I don’t understand. You’re different, Elena Morris.
You didn’t recognize me when we met. You don’t seem impressed by the plane or the hotel or any of this. He gestured around them.
Do you know how rare that is in my world? I’m just a normal person, Elena said, shrugging. Exactly. Damien smiled and it transformed his face completely, making him look younger and less guarded.
So what do you say? One day in Paris with a not entirely normal person? Against her better judgment, Elena found herself smiling back. OK, one day they started at a small cafe tucked away on a side street where Damien ordered for them in fluent French. The owner greeted him like an old friend, kissing him on both cheeks and casting curious glances at Elena.
Do you come to Paris often? Elena asked as they sipped espresso at a tiny table on the sidewalk. I lived here for a while after college, Damien explained. Before I started the company with… He trailed off, a shadow crossing his face.
With your friend? Elena prompted gently. The one you mentioned on the plane? Damien nodded, his expression closing off. Mark.
His name was Mark Fitzgerald. The way he said the name, with a mixture of pain and reverence, told Elena that this was a subject to approach carefully. What was he like? She asked.
For a moment she thought Damien wouldn’t answer. Then quietly he said, Brilliant, fearless, the best person I’ve ever known. I’m sorry for your loss, Elena said, recognizing the grief in his voice.
Damien looked at her sharply. I didn’t say he died. You didn’t have to.
Working in the ICU had given Elena an intimate familiarity with loss. It’s in the way you talk about him. Damien was quiet for a long moment.
It was a year ago, a climbing accident in Colorado. We’d been friends since college, built the company together from nothing. He took a deep breath.
After he died, I couldn’t bear to be in the office anymore. Everything reminded me of him. So you started traveling, Elena guessed.
Running, more like it. Damien’s smile was bitter. Not very brave of me, is it? Grief isn’t about bravery, Elena said softly.
It’s about survival. Damien looked at her with new interest. You sound like you know something about it.
My parents died two years ago. Car accident. The words still hurt to say, but the sharp pain had dulled to a persistent ache.
That’s when I became responsible for Tommy. How old was he? Sixteen. Too young to lose both parents, but then again, who isn’t? They sat in silence for a moment, connected by the shared experience of loss in a way Elena hadn’t expected.
Come on, Damien said finally, standing and offering his hand. I want to show you something. He led her through winding streets to a small hidden garden behind an ancient church.
Spring flowers bloomed in wild profusion, and a stone bench sat beneath a flowering cherry tree. I used to come here to think when I lived in Paris, Damien explained. Very few tourists know about it.
They sat on the bench, watching as pink petals drifted down around them like snow. It’s peaceful, Elena said, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders. Mark and I once had a plan to retire in Paris, Damien said, looking up at the branches above them.
We were going to buy apartments in the same building, grow old complaining about young people in French. Elena smiled at the image. That sounds nice.
It was never going to happen, Damien admitted. We were both too obsessed with the company. Always one more project, one more deal.
He shook his head. Now, I’d give anything to have that time back. Elena understood that feeling all too.
Well, how many times had she picked up extra shifts, missing Tommy’s soccer games or school events, always thinking there would be more time later? We can’t change the past, she said gently. Believe me, I’ve tried. Damien looked at her with those intense eyes that seemed to see straight through her.
What would you change if you could? I’d have spent more time with my parents, Elena admitted, especially in those last few years. I was so busy with nursing school and then my career that I just assumed they’d always be there. That’s the trap, isn’t it? Damien said quietly.
We’re always looking forward, never at what’s right in front of us. For a moment, their eyes met, and Elena felt something shift between them. A connection deeper than polite conversation between strangers.
The moment was broken by a church bell ringing nearby. Hungry? Damien asked, standing and offering his hand again. This time Elena took it without hesitation.
They spent the afternoon wandering through parts of Paris that Elena suspected most tourists never saw. Local markets, hidden courtyards, tiny bookshops and art galleries tucked away in historic buildings. Damien was a different person here, away from the private jets and luxury hotels.
More relaxed, more open, occasionally even funny. He told her stories about his college days with Mark, about their first failed business attempt, a food delivery app that crashed on its first day, and about finally hitting it big with their… security software company, Danmark Technologies. In turn, Elena shared stories about growing up in a small New Jersey town, about her decision to become a nurse after her grandmother’s illness, and about Tommy’s dreams of becoming a doctor.
He’s smart enough, she said proudly as they walked along the Seine in the late afternoon light. He got accepted to several good pre-med programs. I’m just worried about the cost.
Scholarships? Damien asked. Some, but not enough. I’ve been taking extra shifts to help with tuition, but… She trailed off, not wanting to dampen the day with financial worries.
Damien frowned slightly, but didn’t press the issue. As the sun began to set, they found themselves at a small restaurant on a quiet street in Montmartre. The owner greeted Damien, warmly and led them to a corner table with a candle and a small vase of fresh flowers.
I hope you like authentic French cuisine, Damien said as they settled in. Marcel doesn’t believe in menus, he just cooks what’s fresh that day. The food was incredible, simple but perfectly prepared dishes that made Elena close her eyes in appreciation with every bite.