“Another detective show, just a guest spot. But here’s the kicker—they’re filming in Paris! You’d fly out the day after tomorrow.”
“France? In two days? For how long?” Gemma mentally checked her schedule, but she knew she didn’t have plans.
“Just a quick three-day trip. I think it’d be an excellent opportunity for you to expand your European audience.”
Gemma trusted Eve. “Okay, if you think I should do it, then I’ll go.”
“Have I ever led you astray?” Gemma could hear Eve’s smile through the phone.
“No, you have not,” she admitted.
“Great! So, pack up, and I’ll send you the details as I get them,” Eve chirped before hanging up the phone.
Gemma devoted the entire next day to packing—or at least attempting to. Procrastination got the best of her, and she busied herself with every chore imaginable while her suitcase sat untouched.
When evening fell, she poured herself a glass of red wine, called her best friend over, and together they turned the conversation toward Paris and which outfits she should pack.
TWO DAYS AND AN EIGHT-HOURflight later,Gemma landed in Paris, France. When she stepped out of the airport, Gemma let the warm sun soak her face, smiling. Summers in Europe could be suffocating, but the mid-morning air was the perfect temperature. She welcomed the chance to lose herself for a few days in the cultural hub of Paris, letting the decadent landscapes and aromas of the city fill the empty spaces within her.
Gemma checked into her hotel, then wandered next door for a croissant and an espresso from the café. She planned to use the afternoon for a long nap and a shower to help shake her jet lag. She didn’t have to be on set until eight thirty that night, and she had already memorized her lines on the flight over.
As night fell, Gemma dressed with the window open, a cool breeze flowing through the room. The show had only requested that she dress in “formal attire,” so Hayley had helped her pull an outfit together—her favorite suit—practical, flattering, and entirely Gemma.
Once ready, she stepped outside into the warm evening air and walked to the address Eve had provided.
After only a few blocks, Gemma turned a corner and stopped in her tracks, speechless, as the iron lattice of the Eiffel Tower rose into view. Up close, the structure felt both colossaland intimate, the faces around her all focused upward in hushed awe. Silent anticipation filled the air as they waited for the twenty-first hour to strike, illuminating the tower in a brilliant, golden wash.
She lingered in the paved plaza, searching the area for anyone who looked like they might be on the production crew, when Gemma was approached by a handsome Frenchman in a vest.
“Gemma,” he said with a thick French accent. “Bonsoir. Come, come.” He beckoned for her to follow.
Gemma trailed behind the man under the enormous iconic tower, craning her neck back to take it all in. It was exactly what she’d dreamt it would be, ever since she was a little girl on the couch, eyes wide asPassport to Parisplayed on her TV.
“Where’s the rest of the cast?” She asked the man as they stepped onto an elevator and jolted upward.
“At ze top, mademoiselle,” he replied as the doors opened to the second floor.
Gemma followed him to another elevator that would take them the rest of the way to the top of the tower.
At the highest point, the Frenchman shooed Gemma out of the elevator, only instructing her to follow the curve of the viewing platform before the glass doors closed between them.
Something didn’t feel right.
Gemma edged toward the outer railing, peering down. Paris spread beneath her like a quilt stitched with light. Distant church bells mingled with the hum of the city, and tiny camera flashes winked from the plaza below. The wind tugged at her long ponytail as she hesitantly made her way around the platform.
Her brows knitted in confusion as she struggled to spot signs of a television crew, wondering what the hell was going on.
Then she froze, night air rushing into her lungs as shegasped.
Caitlin.
There she was, standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower with that damned smile on her face, the one that made the apples of her cheeks crinkle against her eyes. She wore a blue, jewel-toned strapless dress with a mermaid finish, her copper hair swept behind her shoulders in light waves. Up here, the wind gently blowing strands of hair away from her face, Caitlin looked impossibly elegant, as if the city itself had dressed her.
The dark sky seemed to shimmer around them, and for a breathless moment, Gemma simply stared—this woman, the most captivating she’d ever seen, stood framed by Paris and the stars, real andhere.
TWENTY-EIGHT
SINCE RETURNING TO LOS ANGELES,Caitlinhad spent countless sleepless nights reading and rereading the note Gemma had left in her hotel suite. Even after she had the words memorized, she kept staring at the paper, just needing to see them in Gemma’s printed scribble.
