Ch 63 ~ All That Sparkles

Jon would give his left nut to see Rachel’s face lit up like this every day. 

His ego wanted to attribute it to his phenomenal sexual prowess in mid-air, but the truth was his girl had been glowing like – well, the Eiffel Tower at night – ever since she’d spotted the landmark Parisian torch from the plane window.  It was a testament to her “auto-pilot” skills that her clothes weren’t on wrong-side out, considering that she never tore her eyes away from it as she dressed herself.  She barely even spoke beyond musing that if there were two million rivets in the thing, how many light bulbs could there be?

There might come a point in this trip that Jon would take a lighter to that fucking tour book.

But it wouldn’t be tonight.

Even during the ride from the airport to the hotel, her face resembled that of a little girl at Christmas with the lights of the darkened city reflected in her delighted smile at every turn.

“Look, Jon!  It’s the Louvre!”

He spotted the familiar glass pyramid and smiled.  “Mm-hmm.  Wanna take a tour?”

“Well, duh,” she drawled, removing her eyes from the scenery long enough to roll them in his direction.  “You can’t go to Paris and not visit the Louvre.  That’s... sacrilege.”

“Of course it is,” he acquiesced with a soft chuckle, totally bemused and besotted with the sometimes hard ass woman who was exhibiting all the attributes of a kid given free-reign in a toy or candy store.  “I dunno what the fuck I was thinkin’.”

“Arc de Triomphe!” she exclaimed, completely losing interest in his stupidity and pointing at another highly-recognizable feature of the night skyline.  “So pretty...”

Jon’s eyes flicked briefly in that direction, but – even with his standing as a self-proclaimed anti-romance kind of guy – he didn’t find it to hold a candle to the woman gazing out the hired car’s window with excited anticipation.  Yes, her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail in deference to travel and the late hour, but the lights and motion of the car made it shimmer like a golden waterfall.  The rosy flush in her cheeks captivated him, because it was something he usually only saw during their bouts of more robust sex, and the sight of it now caused a severe twitch in a part of him that should still be satisfied. 

A ‘bombshell’, as Rachel called it, bouncing her barely contained tits in the front row of any show in the last ten years couldn’t affect him like this.  Rachel was normally so put together and ‘grown up’ that her complete abandonment and untethered glee intoxicated him.  There was a vulnerability in her exposing such raw joy that he found himself feeling very caveman-ish. 

I did this. She’s this damn happy because of something I did and I want to claim it.  And her. 

But he didn’t.  He was so spellbound that he didn’t want to risk chasing it away like the rare triple rainbow that he’d only seen once in his life – ironically – in Ireland.  Even without the leprechaun and the pot of gold, he’d known he was watching something that was a fleeting moment meant to be savored before he had to let it go.

You don’t have to let this go. 

“Jon?”

So lost was he in her and his own reverie, that he’d missed whatever she just said. 

“Sorry.  What?”

Her eyebrows twisted quizzically.  “I asked if you knew at which hotel we’re staying.  Where was your mind?”

“No place,” he lied.  “I’m in post-show zombie mode, but we’re staying at the Shangri-La.”

“Wow.  You actually knew.  I’m impressed.  You don’t usually pay attention to those kinds of details.”

He rarely ever did, but this time he’d specifically selected the hotel – much to the chagrin of his assistant.  Her carefully laid plans had him and the band at another hotel until Jon had called her yesterday and requested that she change them. 

Because this one had the best view of the Eiffel Tower in the city.

“Freak accident.”

Rachel slumped back in her seat with a happy sigh, her eyes still transfixed on nighttime Paris.  “In case I forget to tell you later, I had a wonderful time in Paris.”

“Yeah?  Already?”

“Mhm.  It’s a dream come true.”  She reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers and squeezing.  “Being with you in the most romantic city in the world is nothing short of perfect.”

His heart lurched unexpectedly.  Considering that she was nearly as unromantic as he was, that was something akin to a love sonnet in Jon and Rachel World. 

He wondered if – somewhere in the damnable tour book – that the Frenchies owned up to emitting pheromones into the Paris air.  Maybe that’s why it enjoyed such a romantic reputation, because something had certainly done a number on two non-romantics in a very short space of time. 

And we haven’t even gotten inside Shangri-La yet.

But the vehicle was pulling up in front of the famed hotel now, so it wouldn’t be long. 

“Did you know that Shangri-La was built as a residence by Napoleon’s nephew?”

“Grand-nephew,” Jon corrected, for once feeling superior to the travel book.  He’d done his own research before selecting this particular hotel.  “I actually did know that.  Did you know that you don’t even have to go through the check-in process like in a regular hotel?”

“Big deal,” she laughed.  “You never check in, anyway.  Someone magically appears to escort you to your room, no matter where we go.”

He shrugged.  “You complaining?”

“Not likely!  Talk about being spoiled.  I don’t know how I’ll ever fly Southwest and wait in line for a room key at Hilton again.  But…”  She checked the area outside the vehicle that had rolled to a smooth stop at the hotel’s front entrance.  “I like this place especially well, because there isn’t a horde of fans waiting to welcome you.”

“It’s location in Paris is merely a plus?” he teased, exiting the car.

She reached for the hand he offered, her head swiveling to take in her surroundings.  “Yes, and if it has a view of the Eiffel Tower, that’s good for at least five more plusses.”

Oh, baby, wait until you see the view.

From the front, Shangri-La was a nice place.  The small courtyard that they walked through to access the front entrance was flagstone tile, the columns flanking the door were typical of the post-Napoleonic architecture in France, and the marble floor inside were all to be expected. 

What you couldn’t see was the view from the backside of the hotel, where it felt like the Eiffel Tower was just beyond your fingertips when you stood on the balcony.

Or at least that’s the way the pictures looked.  He’d never actually stayed here. 

“View?”  He couldn’t resist yanking Rachel’s chain with an annoyed shake of his head.  “You wanted a view?  Damn, I wish I’d known that.”  

The brightness in her eyes dimmed only a little as they stepped foot in the elevator.  “I’m sure I’ll see plenty of the Eiffel Tower while we’re here.  No big deal.”

“I’ll do my best to make it up to you, baby,” he murmured in her ear as their escort led the way toward the seventh floor suite that he happened to know had a hellacious terrace with an unequivocal view of the current object of her obsession. 

“The room is lovely,” she admired as the luggage was brought in and Jon tipped and thanked the valet.  “Elegant and classically French without being overdone and gaud-“

He turned to find Rachel standing in front of the French doors to the terrace, her jaw practically on the ground.  In the space of a heartbeat, she had the doors flung wide and was across the threshold.

“JON!  DO YOU SEE THIS??” she squealed, completely unconcerned that it was nearly two in the morning and she was screaming to half the city.  “It looks just like Lauren’s night light!”

She stood there and stared, bathed in the light of one of the world’s most famous pieces of architecture, awe evident in every single feature of her face. 

There are no words for how absolutely, positively exquisite it is,” she breathed.  “Have you ever seen anything sparkle like that in your life?”

Jon was nearly as awestruck as Rachel – only with an entirely different subject matter.  In the airplane, he’d thought she was happy.  In the car, he’d thought she was delighted beyond words.  But now…  He had never her seen her so animated, excited…  alive.  The glow that started deep inside her and radiated outward stole his breath and had him re-evaluating his plans. 

Jon reached for his jacket, rummaging in the pocket. 

No, this wasn’t going to come off exactly as he’d planned, but he couldn’t have planned anything better than this moment.  Nobody could. 

He slipped up behind her, sliding his left arm around her waist and dipping his chin into the crook of her neck.  “I dunno,” he mused softly, his lips barely grazing the delicate shell of her ear as his thumb flipped open the blue velvet box and brought it into her line of vision.  “This sparkles pretty nice, too, don’t ya think?”

She gasped when the lights of the Eiffel Tower reflected off of the sizable center stone, and danced their way down each enhancing diamond until it glimmered only against the platinum underside of the band.

Jon took that as a good sign and loosened his arm to glide from her back to her front and lifted her hand to rest the box in her open palm. 

“No phony Las Vegas Eiffel Tower.  No phony ring.  This is as real as it gets, baby.”

Her eyes shuffled back and forth between the ring and Jon’s face, frozen and speechless. 

“Well,” he chuckled.  “I guess you’re gonna make me say it, huh?” 

He retrieved the box once again, sliding the ring from its velvet nest and tucking the empty box into his pocket.  With a quiet sigh and a suddenly overwhelming need to do this the ‘right’ way, he dropped to one knee and captured her left hand, sliding the ring on the third finger with a half-cocked grin.  It was the perfect time and the perfect place.  There was no way in hell she would be able to refuse him this time.

“Rachel Braden, you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.  Will you marry me?”