Page 129 of The Daddy’s Girl

The Place du Tertre is bustling today. Amelia stays close to my side as we stroll through the crowd, glancing at the artists doing their portraits on rickety stands with fingers covered in charcoal and paint.

I want to hold her hand. If we were anywhere else in the world, I’d reach down and link my fingers with hers, but we can’t. This is too close to the club. Too close to where our friends often meander. Anyone could be around this corner, and we’ve already been caught by too many.

Eventually, we stop, watching a young woman sketch a portrait with a thick piece of charcoal. It’s incredible to witness her at work, seeing how deftly she adds detail to the eyelashes and freckles without making a single mistake.

This is what I love about Paris. The artistry here is like nowhere else in the world. As we stand to the side and watch, Amelia’s knuckles delicately brush mine. I press back against hers as if I’m sending a message.

The artist turns to see us watching and gives me a coy smile. “Monsieur?” she asks, gesturing toward the stool, offering me a portrait.

Amelia glances up at me in question.

“Pas aujourd’hui, merci,” I reply with a wave of my hands.

“Vous avez un très beau visage, très expressif,” the woman presses, complimenting me on my handsome face.

I chuckle to myself, and suddenly Amelia grips my hand.

“C’est gentil, mais non merci.” I refuse again, thanking her for her kindness.

“You should do it,” Amelia interrupts.

My brow furrows as I glance down at her. “What? No.”

“She likes you,” Amelia urges.

I wave my hand politely at the artist again before I gently tug Amelia away. We weave into the moving crowd meandering around the square as I glance at her skeptically.

“What was that all about?” I ask.

Amelia seems nervous. She’s practically chewing on her bottom lip. “She was flirting with you.”

“She was trying to sell me a portrait.”

“Yes, but she liked you,” she replies without looking in my eyes.

“So…why would you want me to get a portrait by her?”

Amelia stops near the intersection of two cobblestone streets. As I pull her away from the streets’ edge where cars are known to take corners blindly, I hold her in front of me and wait for her response.

“I can’t explain it,” she says. “It doesn’t bother me when people flirt with you. In fact, I kinda wanted to see her flirt more.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t make sense to me either, but I was thinking about what we talked about before…”

She’s approaching a topic delicately. I can tell by the way she glances around to be sure no one else can hear us.

“What did we talk about?” I ask, tugging her closer. Suddenly, I don’t care if people find us here. I’m too intrigued by what is on her mind.

“You know…me watching you.” Her innocent blue eyes lift to my face. “With someone else.”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

“Someday, you will. Someday, you might miss being with others at the club. But if you…let me watch.”

“Amelia,” I mutter, one hand pressed against her lower back to keep her face close to mine. “Are you saying this because you think it’s what I want or are you saying this is what you want?”

She chews on her lips some more. “If I had…some reassurance that you’re really mine, some…promise, then I think I’d like it very much.”