Andreas tips my chin up so that our eyes catch. An instant smile pulls at the corners of my mouth.
He brushes his lips against mine. A hum of approval passes my lips.
“Do you have to leave tomorrow?” My voice comes out breathy.
“You can come with me to Canada.”
He’s going to Canada for a commercial shoot and to start filming another movie. While he’s not the lead in this film, it still demands several weeks of his time.
“The filming for the pilot of the studio’s new show starts this week.” My team is working through designs for the ensemble cast.
“And I want to go through the script a few more times before our final design meeting at the end of the week.”
“So that’s a no?” Andreas asks, my chin in his hand.
“That’s a ‘I’m going to miss you.’”
“Only for five days,” he says.
“Huh?”
His broad smile makes my belly flip flop. The mischievousness in his expression gives away that he has something up his sleeve.
“What did you do?”
“You and Ms. Shelby have a first-class ticket to Canada, Friday night. Spencer will pick you up from work to take you to the airport.”
I groan. “You’re spoiling me.”
He kisses my forehead, and my heart melts.
“You deserve it.” Andreas holds out his arm for me to take. “Ready to go?”
“Guess I am since it’s the only way I’ll find out where we’re going tonight.” Andreas has been tight-lipped about where he’s taking me for dinner. All he said was to not worry and to dress up.
He’s cautious with me about not doing anything too public because he knows I’m still not ready for that. Back in Williamsport it was easy walking the streets with him, going into cafés, museums, and libraries.
Though he got stares and looks, people were respectful and kept their distance.
Yes, there was always security with us, but Williamsport isn’t a city built around entertainment. Though Andreas did his best to keep a low profile, there also wasn’t constant paparazzi everywhere trying to take sneak photos.
Now that we’re back in L.A., that freedom has been restricted. Not to mention both of our work schedules.
Twenty-five minutes later, we pull into the back of a new French restaurant I heard about weeks ago. Mya told me about it after coming for a work lunch.
“Reines? I thought this place was booked out for weeks.” I glance over at Andreas.
He just brings my hand to his mouth. “It is.”
He gets out to hold the back door of the chauffeured car open for me.
“Mr. Knight,” the hostess greets. “Right this way.”
“Wow,” I gush as I take in the crystal and gold chandeliers, the gold-framed paintings that line the walls and ceiling. It’s almost as if I’m thrown into the French eighteenth century.
“Those are replicas of France’s most famous paintings from the French Revolution era,” I tell Andreas as he holds out a large white and gold chair. I’m so enthralled with the artwork around us that I fail to recognize we’re the only two people in here. Save for the staff.
“Are you a fan of French art?” he asks.
