That one lands square in the center of my chest.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I do too.”
The secondwe walk out of Charles de Gaulle, Brianna is jumping about as if she just ate a boatload of sugar. By the time we’re in the car and heading into the city, she’s pressed to the window.
“Dad, look—look! That building has, like, gold on it.”
“That’s Les Invalides.”
“It’s shiny.”
“It is.”
We drive across the Seine and she practically climbs into my lap. “Dad, is that the tower? Is that it?”
“Yep,” I say, grinning; her excitement is contagious. “That’s the Eiffel Tower.”
Bri straight-upscreams.The driver laughs. I shake my head.
“It’s so big. Can we go? Today? Now?”
“We’ll see, we just got off a long flight.”
My phone rings. It’s Adrian.
I answer. “We’re in the car.”
“Great. I’m at the hotel. Your room is ready. Bring me my niece.”
“Be there in ten minutes.”
“See you soon,” he says, and hangs up.
I glance at Bri. “Guess who’s waiting?”
“Uncle A?” She lights up even more somehow.
“Yep.”
We pull up to the hotel, one of those old Haussmann buildings with black iron balconies and too many mirrors in the lobby. Adrian is right there, in a tailored coat, leaning on the marble check-in desk with his cane.
“UNCLE A!” Brianna yells, bolting out before I can even thank the driver.
He opens his arms and she hugs him, carefully. He lifts her up just a tad off the floor. “Ah, mon petit loup. You’ve grown.”
I clap his shoulder. “Nice to see you again, brother.”
In the room, Bri runs straight to the balcony and gasps at the view.
Adrian watches her, before glancing at me. “I booked a private tour of the Louvre for me and my niece. Friend of a friend. We go now before the crowds.”
I look at my kid, bouncing, jet-lag forgotten. “You want to go with Uncle A?”
“YES.”
“Take her,” I say. “Don’t let her steal anything.”
“I make no promises.” He winks at Bri. “Come, we will look at naked statues.”