Fifth Avenue Devil

Chapter 29

Twenty-Nine

Nate

A s I stand outside the Louvre, its grandiose glass pyramid glistening beneath the Parisian sun, I feel a sense of awe. Not just of this city, but of Annalise as well. Paris is a creature unto itself. It teems with people from all walks of life, going in every possible direction. The city is stunning, from the first rays of sun at dawn to the dying evening glow.

And while the city's beauty is undeniable, I only halfway notice because Annalise is by my side. Laughing, firing off quips, shooting me glances that make my heart stutter in my chest. Right now, her golden curls shine like a halo around her angelic face. She has a look of intense concentration as she gazes up at the iconic museum.

"Isn't it breathtaking?" she murmurs.

"Absolutely," I agree. But I don’t really mean the museum.

Annalise is just fucking beautiful . She has this uncanny ability to make even the most stunning sights pale compared to her presence.

She turns to me, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, smiling a bit sadly. “I don’t want to leave the Louvre. I could explore the exhibits for days. But we only have today and tomorrow in Paris. So… I guess I’m ready to move on.”

Nodding, I pull out my phone and text the driver I’ve hired. “Where to? Notre-Dame?”

She nods, then wrinkles her nose. “I hate that we can’t just walk everywhere. Stupid ankle.”

Reaching out, I put my arm around her shoulders and pull her in for a kiss. “Next time.”

Annalise looks surprised by my words. When I think them over, I realize that I have introduced the concept of time to our otherwise magical day together. We’ve been floating in a bubble, unbound by the limits of time and space. I didn’t mean to compromise our happy ignorance like that.

I cough into my hand and pull her toward the SUV that’s coasting to a stop. No need for either of us to get bogged down by reality today.

We continue our exploration of Paris, venturing from the Louvre towards Notre-Dame Cathedral. Annalise catches my hand when we enter, her awe evident on her face as she stares up. The impossibly high arched ceilings and dramatic stained-glass windows are truly something to behold.

"Can you imagine all the history that's unfolded here?" Annalise asks. Her head is on a swivel, eyes tripping over one sight before catching on the next.

"No. I can’t. It is beautiful in a way that nothing in New York is, though," I reply.

Annalise looks up at me, her eyes shining. “There is something different about our time here in Paris. Don’t you think?”

I can only nod. I agree with her. That much feels obvious to me. But I don’t want to screw anything up by saying it aloud. Labeling the heady mix of chemistry and intimacy I’ve found with Annalise seems dangerous.

It’s better to stay silent.

As we stroll around the Pantheon, I find that I want to let her see the man behind the cocky exterior. Can she handle that?

There’s only one way to be sure.

“You know, I am the oldest son by twenty-seven minutes,” I remark. I try to pretend it like it’s not a big deal. “When we were talking yesterday about feeling that our parents’ expectations are high, I thought about talking about that. I feel enormous pressure from my parents to live my life by their strict standards. My brothers obviously don’t feel the same kind of pressure.”

Annalise nods slowly. “I doubt Cash feels that kind of pressure about anything. He seems to be entirely without conscience.” She hesitates. “What was your household like when you were growing up?”

"Quiet. My father was a billionaire, always preoccupied with making more money. And my mother... well, she was cold and distant. She rarely had anything to do with her sons. A very strict group of nannies raised us."

"Is that why you're so guarded?" Annalise questions gently.

"That’s a part of it. I've just – I’ve always felt driven. Make more money. Crush my competitors. But with that comes a certain…” I search for the right word. “Loneliness."

"Loneliness? Really? Even surrounded by your brothers?"

"My brothers and I are close, but there's always been this wall between us. We're all afraid to show vulnerability. Letting someone else in seems foreign."

"Is that what you want? To let someone in?" Annalise’s touch is warm and reassuring as she takes my hand in hers.

I screw up my face. "It's not easy for me. I've spent my entire life building walls."

"Maybe it's time to do things differently.” She clings to my arm, curling in. I put my arm around her and take a deep breath.

The next words I speak are past my lips before I can shove them back down my throat.

"Do you want kids, Annalise?" I blurt out.

She furrows her brow, momentarily caught off guard by my question.

"I... I've never really thought about it," she admits, her voice soft and uncertain. "I’m really young. I have plenty of time to decide on the big questions after I get the company straightened out."

"Maybe it's time to consider what you truly want," I suggest. "Life is about more than just success and power. It's about legacy. And, I guess… love."

"Are children a deal breaker for you?" she asks. Her eyes search mine intently.

"No. I think it’s quite the opposite," I reply. "I have always imagined having a large family like the one I grew up in. Except, you know, I’d actually spend time with my wife and children."

“Oh!” Annalise bites her lip. “I see.”

As we continue our walk, I can see the wheels turning in her mind. Working over the new information I’ve presented, trying to create an idea of what being with me would be like.

I’m trying to do the same thing.

After we finish the tour, we pause outside a charming café, drawn in by the mouthwatering aromas wafting from within. We sit just inside, next to large windows opened wide to capture the last of the sun’s rays. I order espresso and moules frites . Annalise orders a croque monsieur and an Orangina. We eat, with her stealing half my fries. I can’t complain.

We’re in Paris. The temperature drops, making Annalise move closer, ducking under my arm to steal some of my body heat. She’s telling me a story, her eyes shining. The world is perfect right now.

"Tell me something you've never told anyone else," Annalise challenges me once she’s finished telling me about a prank her class played on their French teacher. A playful glint flashes in her eyes.

“Hmm.” I give her request some thought. "When I was younger, I secretly wanted to be an artist."

"Really?" she exclaims, clearly surprised by my revelation. "That's so unlike the Nate I know. You’re a ruthless businessman. You’re always laser-focused on power and money."

"There's more to me than a high-powered suit," I say. I narrow my eyes playfully at Annalise. "What about you? What's your secret?"

“You mean besides who really put the dead mouse in Mademoiselle Duchamps’ bag?” she laughs. For a moment, she hesitates. Finally, she sighs, her gaze meeting mine with a newfound vulnerability. "Sometimes... sometimes I worry that I'll never find love. I fear that my desire for success will overshadow everything else."

"Annalise," I say softly, my heart aching for her. "You deserve love, happiness, and everything life has to offer. Don't let fear hold you back."

"Thank you," she whispers. She grasps my hand when I offer it, kissing the back of it and then lacing her fingers with mine.

This feels so right . I just have to make sure that Annalise is on board before I make a radical move. "Do you ever think about what our lives would look like if?—"

My words are cut off by the shrill ring of her phone, shattering the idyllic moment. She pulls away from me, her eyes widening as she glances at the screen. “Sorry. I have my phone set to only ring for my parents.”

I shake my head. “Of course. Answer.”

She picks up the phone. "Mom?" I watch as her face falls. I swear I can see the light visibly draining from her eyes. "Dad? He's awake?"

She stands right up, as if she’s going to run straight home from thousands of miles away. Her strained tone sends a jolt of concern through me. I knew their relationship was far from perfect, but it's rare to see Annalise so visibly affected.

Gently, I stand and place a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer support without intruding on her private conversation. She grips my fingers and looks worried. “But I’m in Paris,” she blurts out. I can’t make out her mom’s words, but I can hear her shouting. “Mom– mom, slow down.”

She listens for a few more minutes, her eyes sliding to me. "Uh huh. Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can, Mom."

Hanging up, she turns to face me. I thought she might tear up, but she just looks shocked. "Nate, my father just woke up from his coma. I need to go home."

"Of course," I reply without hesitation. I toss a wad of cash down on the table. My mind races, making the arrangements for our swift departure. "We'll leave Paris immediately. I'm here for you, Annalise. Whatever you need."

"Thank you," she murmurs. She looks up at me, taking a huge breath. "I don't know what I would do without you."

“Of course.”

As we rush back to our hotel to pack our belongings, I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of responsibility for her. I've always been fiercely protective, but this is different. Deeper, somehow.

I am cool and collected as I arrange for the jet to be ready. I’ve always been good in an emergency. "Have you got everything?" I ask, scanning the room for any forgotten items.

Annalise nods. Her eyes are already on the door. "I think so. Let's just get going."

As I zip up my suitcase, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at the screen, expecting a message from the flight crew or perhaps one of my brothers.

Instead, I see an unexpected name: Maybe Archer Gellar . It’s a text and it says simply: Wednesday. 12pm. My Hamptons estate. Don’t tell my daughter. Come alone.

That’s ominous as fuck.

My fingers tighten around the phone. What could Annalise's father want with me? And why the secrecy?

"Is everything okay?" Annalise asks. “Is the plane ready?”

"Yeah," I bullshit. I’m sure to tuck the phone back into my pocket so she doesn't catch a glimpse of the message. "That’s it. Just some last-minute details for our flight. Nothing you really need to worry about."

"Okay," she says. She screws up her face. “Thanks, Nate. I won’t forget this.”

Somehow, I doubt I will, either.