proud.”
She cranes her head back in order to look me in the eye, our faces just a hairsbreadth away from each other.
“I am proud of you, Carter. You don’t have to go to a warzone to get that from me,” she susurrates, her watery golden eyes branded on my somber soul.
I grab her face with both hands, and she instantly leans into them, cherishing my touch.
“I want to go, baby. I want the world to have my thumbprint on it. To make some sort of difference. This is the only way I know how. A picture makes people think. React. Change. It’s honest and in your face, and no one can repute its truth.”
“I'm not going to be able to change your mind, am I?”
“Not on this and not on eating lunch in the cafeteria,” I reply, trying to lighten the heavy mood surrounding us.
She gives me a frail smile, making my heart clench within my rib cage. My breathing hitches when she closes her lids and leans into me, pressing her lips on mine. At first, the tender kiss takes me by surprise, but as I savor her taste on my tongue, all my senses wake up. I trail my fingers from her cheek to cup the base of her neck, cradling it to keep her lips pressed to mine for as long as she will allow it. In it, I taste her fear for me, her reluctance in letting me go.
But most importantly, I taste her love. It’s the only truth I don’t need to capture with my camera. It will be forever engraved in my heart, and no picture I could take would ever do it justice. How could I ever be afraid of going to such war bound countries, when I have the love of this girl to keep me whole? War doesn’t scare me. Carnage and bloodshed doesn’t frighten me in the least. The only unspoken fear I have is not having Valentina in my life, and I’d do just about anything to keep that from happening.
But the dark part in me, the one that screams out that true happiness can never last, whispers its warning in my ear. I try to push it back into the confinement of my mind, but I feel it polluting my soul as her sweet lips continue to promise me that what we have is untouchable, unbreakable, and everlasting. If I keep kissing her like this, just like this, maybe one day I’ll believe the sweet lie that nothing can tear us apart.
Chapter 13
Now
________________________________________
Valentina
We've just finished an amazing dinner, and we're trying to decide what to do next. I know what I want to do, but I'm not sure that the other three are going to be up for it. Again, I still know so little about who they are now.
I take a deep breath, deciding to be brave. Less than three months and all that.
"I want to go to a club," I blurt out.
All three of them look at me with raised brows and identical confused faces. It's actually kind of cute.
"You hate crowds," Carter responds matter-of-factly, his eyebrows maybe higher than the others.
"I used to hate crowds," I correct quietly. His face shutters at my comment.
"Well then, what the fuck are we waiting for? Let's go clubbing!" says Quaid exuberantly.
I look at Carter, expecting for him to push back, but surprisingly, he looks unperturbed.
"You good?" I ask him, my own eyebrows raised now with his acquiescence.
He gives me a smoldering look that makes my panties uncomfortably damp.
"Guess we will see," he says mysteriously. "I know just the place."
A short car ride later, and we're in front of a large industrial-looking building. I can hear the music pulsing from inside, and there's more people waiting to get in than there was for the Louvre.
"Um guys, I'm not sure that I'm prepared to wait until tomorrow night to get in here. I really want to see Versailles," I joke.
"I told you I have connections in this city," Carter comments dryly, giving me another uncharacteristic wink, that again, has quite the effect on me.
All three of these men seem to have taken How to Be Sexy 101 during our time apart. I'm not complaining about the results.
Carter takes my hand, sending tingles spiraling up my arm as he marches to the front, where four very imposing bouncers stand guard in front of a purple rope. Quaid walks to the side of us and Logan walks slightly behind me, his hand