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Chapter Twenty-Four
Remy woke to a blur of sunlit whites and the scent of vanilla and lemongrass. There was no pause, no moment where he didn’t remember where he was—he knew exactly, just as well as he knew who the warm person pressed against his back was. He opened his eyes, careful not to let the movement trickle down to any other part of his body. If he moved, she might wake up, and thenshe’dmove, and then the beauty that was this particular moment would be over. You only got to wake up after the first time once.
He blinked, waiting for the room to come into focus. It was the penthouse, and through the still-open curtains, he could see the Eiffel Tower on the opposite end of Paris, rising high above the low-rise buildings that made up the classic part of the city. The room was decorated in creams and lavenders and wasn’t nearly as large as he’d have expected for a penthouse in Paris—unlike the one in Cologne, there weren’t a myriad of different rooms but rather one large, high-ceilinged one with a sitting area and no kitchen, just a fancy espresso machine. The space had a warm, homey feel, between the oversoft bed and the worn brass doorknobs.
He felt Vivi shift behind him, the smooth skin of her bare shoulder moving up and down his spine. Remy froze.Don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up.
“Are you awake?” Vivi whispered.
“I am.”
She turned over, making certain the blankets were still pulled up around her chest. He looked over to see that while her eyes were still sleepy and her hair tangled, she had a pen in her hand, and her Moleskine notebook splayed out on the sheets.
“If you’re writing a song about sleeping with me, I think you ought to let me see it,” Remy joked. Or mostly joked. The truth was, seeing the Moleskine out the night after they slept together made him wonder what sort of song she was writing.
Vivi laughed. “No way. But I’ll tell you this much: Of everyone I’ve written a song about in this notebook, you’d be the one most deserving to take a look.”
“Does that mean youhavewritten one about me?” Remy asked, now genuinely curious. The notebook had continued to be a point of mystery, to him—she never played anything for him from it, save “Maybe It’s Me,” but she had to have written at least a dozen other songs or verses or at least lyrics in there in the time they’d spent together alone.
“I’ll never tell,” she said and stuck her tongue out at him before flipping the Moleskine closed. He growled then reached to pull her to him. Vivi moved fluidly, rolling into his arms and resting her head at the spot where his shoulder met his torso, and it made him go still and forgiving and blissful.
“I can hear your heart,” she said quietly, her ear pressed to his bare chest.
“What’s it sound like?” he asked.
She was silent for a moment, apparently listening, then tilted her head toward him. “I’m trying to think of something poetic to say, but it more or less just sounds like a heart.”
He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Let me listen to yours.”
“You’re just trying to get to second base,” she said.
“Please. I would never. This is purely scientific,” Remy said and sat up a little. He leaned over her, pressing his ear to the spot just below her clavicle. Her heart beat beneath him; she wound her fingers in his hair gently as he listened. He slid his hands up her skin, smiling when he felt her heart jump beneath his ear.
“Anything special?” she asked after a moment, as her heart slowed back down.
“No,” he said but didn’t move away. He marveled over how her heart was every bit as unremarkable as his, and yet he didn’t want to stop listening to it. She didn’t seem eager to move him away; she settled her arms around his shoulders and head, breathing slowly. He finally lifted his head, looking down at Vivi’s face. She’d washed her makeup off last night—she’d insisted on the importance of doing so, actually, despite the fact he felt too exhausted to even stand after two hours of tangled sheets and limbs and bodies.
“What?” she asked, raising a hand to her face, smoothing the hair around it.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“He told his boss,” she joked but flushed a little all the same.
“Well, I’m trying to get a raise. Maybe dental benefits,” he answered.
Vivi laughed then smacked him with a pillow, and he fell backward dramatically. She shoved her way on top of him, he fought back, they tossed and moved and fell over each other until they were both breathless and laughing and stupid. Vivi was wearing underwear with navy stripes and gave up on covering her chest after she realized it made it too easy for Remy to tackle her. They wrestled back and forth until Vivi gave in and collapsed backward, while Remy rained kisses across her shoulder blades, wandered his lips up her neck, and relished the way it made her shiver and sigh.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Remy murmured against her skin. “You said you had another tattoo. But I feel like I’ve more or less seen you from every angle at this point but still haven’t seen anything other than that music note.”
“I lied to you,” Vivi confessed, biting her lips.
“Really? Why?” Remy asked. He pulled away from her neck, knitted his brows together.
“It was back in Spain, when I thought…when I wanted to…do this. All of this. When I thought we might. So it was a last check. I told you I had a second one then watched the gossip sites, to see if anything about ‘Vivi Swan’s secret second tattoo’ came up.”
“You baited me?” Remy said, unsure if he was amused or hurt. Vivi had to know him better than that, right? Surely.
“Well! I just wanted to know before…” Vivi argued, though she was clearly embarrassed.
