Effortless.
Claimed.
“What brought you here?” I asked.
“Photography,” she nodded. “A residency. It was supposed to be temporary.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to Connor.
“Now I’m here. Permanently,” she added softly.
Something passed between them.
History.
Choice.
I felt my pulse steady.
This wasn’t just Kane’s world.
It was theirs.
And I wasn’t the first American woman to step into it and feel disoriented.
Mila’s gaze drifted to my sweater, lingering for half a second longer than polite.
“Paris hasn’t been what you expected, has it?” she asked softly.
The question landed carefully, without intrusion.
“No,” I admitted.
She nodded once, like she understood more than I’d said. “It rarely is.”
There was no pity in her expression. No curiosity digging for details. Just quiet recognition.
“You don’t have to have everything figured out while you’re here,” she added.
It felt true.
Kane’s hand never left my back.
Connor’s gaze flicked to him once more. “You told her?”
“Enough,” Kane replied.
I glanced between them.
“Enough of what?”
Connor smiled faintly.
“Enough that you’re not walking blind.”
That should have scared me.
It didn’t.
