Barefoot, he slipped out the door and into the morning sun. I kept the door cracked and watched as he walked to the railing. I could hear the rising screams and shouts from the crowd below. It sounded like the squawks from ten thousand excited birds trying to take flight. Ryan leaned over and waved, and then started taking pictures of the crowd, of the landscape, and of me standing by the door.

“Tar, come out here.”

I stepped out and joined him. It was weird waving at screaming girls like I was someone important.

Yeah, hi, we’re people up here looking out at you people standing down there. I certainly wasn’t the

reason why they were gathered outside of our hotel and screaming at the tops of their lungs. Fortunately, there were eight floors separating us.

Ryan looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. “Wanna give them a show?”

“No! Oh my God, they’ll hate me for sure.”

“Hey, I’m just offering a bona fide public kiss here. Candid shots with lots of tongue action. Worth millions by the way.”

I choked at the absurdity of that notion. “Like someone would pay a million dollars for a picture of us kissing.”

“Don’t laugh. Wait until the wedding photo offers come in.”

“What wedding photos?”

Ryan took a few more pictures, stopping to look at them on the viewer. “Ours. When we get married.

You’re going to be shocked when you see the dollar figures tossed at us. Stand over there so I can get the Eiffel Tower behind you.”

I leaned back on the railing, feeling in shock at the mere idea already. “Are you serious?”

He peered over the camera. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

The thought of so many zeros for wedding photos seemed preposterous. “Like millions?”

“Probably like several million. We’ll see—that’s if we decide to sell. Come on, smile!”

He then stood next to me, trying to take our picture together.

“Would you want to do that? Sell our photos?”

He adjusted the camera settings and shrugged. “Honestly? No. That’s private. But then again, it’s also money barely earned for the front cover and an article spread inside. We could always donate it to charity.”

Very noble idea. That made the idea more palatable. “You’d consider it? Giving the money to charity?”

“Absolutely. There are plenty of them out there. Charities for needy kids. Sick kids.” He turned the camera around on us again and clicked. “You know, we don’t have to wait for our wedding if you want to do something humanitarian. Talk to Trish.”

I thought about the shoe box of photos I had back in my apartment. “It’s hard to imagine personal pictures having anything more than sentimental value. But if we can, I’d like to do something to help children.”

“We did a few charity-type things when we filmed the two Seasides. Anyway, we can think about selling our wedding photos later.” He pulled me to his chest. “I’m rather enjoying the engagement phase right now. A lot.”

His grin was priceless.

“Are you going to kiss me in public?”

Ryan smiled devilishly. “You bet your sweet ass I am. I’m capturing the moment, too.”

His lips were on mine so fast I barely had time to breathe. Amazing how every thought melted away into a blur of nothingness when he kissed me.

He backed me up until my body made contact with the glass door, taking pictures of us with my camera held out, giddy with our playfulness.

“How long until those paparazzi pictures of us hit the Internet?” I joked, stumbling back into our suite.

“Ahh, who cares. You need to quit worrying about things like that.”

Easy for him to say. That kiss probably hung a new tabloid target around my neck.

Ryan’s press interviews started promptly at 9 A.M., held at a different hotel in Paris.

We were whisked away in yet another chauffeured town car, allowing me to gaze in wonder at the sights. That’s when it hit me—another moment of awe at how lucky I was.

I slipped my hand into Ryan’s, wondering how I could ever thank him for such a gift.

David, Trish, and Ryan’s agent, Aaron, were in the car in front of us. Mike stretched his arms out to shield us as we exited. The press, foreign paparazzi, and a small cluster of fans shouted for our attention, snapping photos of our arrival.

“How long are we going to be?” I asked Trish, secretly hoping to visit the opulent gift shop and maybe the boutique several doors down that had a really cool leather jacket displayed on a mannequin.

She looked at her watch. “About three hours.”

I clutched Ryan’s arm right before he got too involved in the commotion. I knew I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near these rooms once the interviews commenced. The suite was prepped for the cast’s one-on-one interviews. The movie poster for Reparation was standing behind a high-backed chair.

“I’m going to do a little shopping, okay?”

Ryan instantly tensed. “No.”

Suddenly I felt caged, recalling the hours of boredom I sat through when we did this back in London.

Made me regret not staying back in our hotel suite. In my mind I was going with or without his blessing.

“I just want to get a few souvenirs, and maybe find something more stately to wear to dinner tonight. I really want to make a good first impression.”

Ryan’s hard glare softened. “They will love you no matter what you wear. We have the gift thing with Burberry after this, so don’t bother. You’ll have a rack of free clothes to pick from.”

I didn’t want to leave it to chance that elegant cocktail dresses would be among the freebies. It’s amazing how companies just give you stuff when you’re famous. Besides, I promised I’d get a cheesy gift for Marie in every city. I motioned to the door with my eyes, ready to see who’d win.

Ryan groaned. “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

It was obvious that the last thing he wanted to do right now was get into a battle of wills with me. He relented. “I guess I can’t expect you to sit around doing nothing. See if you can find someone to go with you, okay? I think some of Jenna’s friends are floating around here. Just don’t go by yourself.”

I brushed my fingers on his stomach, not wanting to impose on his co-star or her family. “You’ve got to quit worrying so much.”

My comment sparked a glare and an unspoken “no fucking way.”

His lips pressed into a hard line as he noted the time on his watch. “Don’t get lost. Two hours and then you get your butt right back here.”

I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. With a quick kiss, I made my way to the elevator, excited about the possibilities.

Forty feet to freedom and perhaps a cab ride to the Louvre? An opportunity to actually touch the Eiffel Tower? Tomorrow morning, 10 A.M., we’ll be on a plane to Barcelona and there is no time this evening to sightsee.

I was just putting on my sunglasses when I saw the paparazzi and a sizable crowd of women standing outside near the entryway. I stopped twenty feet from freedom.

Shoot. Will they recognize me? Will they even know who I am if I’m not trailing behind Ryan?

Screw it. Only one way to find out. I followed a few patrons who were leaving, and tried to escape unnoticed.

The rule of “try not to make eye contact with them” had been instructed numerous times. Although no cameras were raised, I saw one man elbow his comrade as he pushed away from the hotel wall.

I headed in the direction where I thought we had come from, hoping to find the window with the white mannequin and the waist-length leather jacket. One quick glance behind me confirmed that Creep One and Creep Two were following me. I glanced again as my pulse tripped into double time. Shit. I thought they were paparazzi, but oddly neither one of them had a visible camera. Not good. Fortunately the sidewalks were busy enough and it was broad daylight.

Store, store, store . . . where the heck are you, store? I had walked three blocks already. Distance is deceiving when you’re being chauffeured.