Part 35 (2/2)

”Prets!” I call. ”Partez!”

We release the boats and watch as the light breeze pushes them along the water. When we first raced walnut boats in this fountain, we designated ”over there” as the finish line, so we follow the boats around the water for a few minutes, each of us cheering our crew on. We mutually agree that Nicholas's boat wins this particular regatta before we take a few more boats from the box and set them racing.

After the races are finished-Nicholas: 8, Mom: 1-we visit the playground and stop for an ice cream. Our afternoon is one of the ways Nicholas and I have spent the past few months in Paris. We've visited many parks, often finding the best ones packed with French toddlers and their mothers or nannies, and had many snacks.

Dean and I have timed visits to museums to coincide with Nicholas's naps, and several times we've been able to stroll through the Louvre or the Orsay, pus.h.i.+ng our sleeping son in his stroller.

One of Dean's colleagues has a daughter, Marie-Laure, studying literature at the Sorbonne, and she has become our de facto nanny when I have French lessons or errands to run.

It's not perfect, of course. The number of cars and people make me nervous when Nicholas is walking, but it's c.u.mbersome to navigate his stroller. He's pitched fits in public-once loud enough to get us politely removed from a cafe-and I'm still too self-conscious to approach any of the women at the playgrounds to try and make friends.

Interestingly, through my French lessons, I've made friends with a German woman, a Canadian woman, and an American couple who invited Dean and me over for dinner one night. And Dean's colleagues at the World Heritage Center have been exceedingly helpful and solicitous as we navigate our new world.

Nicholas and I take the bus back to the Latin Quarter, where our apartment sits in a nineteenth-century building. We stop at the boulanger, where we buy our bread and croissants daily from Mme Ca.s.sin, and greet the grocer who is stocking the fruit bins in front of his shop.

We walk up four flights of stairs to our apartment, a two-bedroom place about the size of the b.u.t.terfly House's kitchen and sunroom. It's bright and airy, with a wrought-iron balcony that overlooks the narrow avenue. It reminds me of our little apartment on Avalon Street.

I settle Nicholas in his room with some books and stuffed animals, leaving the door partly open so I can hear him if he calls. No need for a baby monitor here.

While he naps, I get dinner prepped-in a blossoming haze of ambition I've taken to trying recipes from the cookbooks of Jacques Pepin, Julia Child, and Paul Bocuse, albeit with varying degrees of success.

In my most recent Skype call with Allie, she again suggested I take cla.s.ses at Le Cordon Bleu, and while I laughed the idea off initially, I contacted the school the next day asking about cla.s.ses. In other words, I haven't ruled it out, even mentioning the idea on my blog Liv in a Parisian Wonderland, which elicited dozens of excited and encouraging comments from my mom friends and fans.

Tonight's dinner menu is ham with remoulade sauce, cuc.u.mber salad, and for dessert, plum sherbet and cinnamon-lemon cake. Nicholas wakes just as I put the ham in the oven, and close to six, a key turns in the lock of the front door. Nicholas bolts upright from lounging on the sofa.

”Daddy!” He rushes toward the foyer.

I follow, happy as always at the sight of Dean, so handsome in his tailored suit and five o'clock shadow, his tie loose around his neck. A warm glow lights in his eyes as he picks Nicholas up for a hug. He listens with interest to Nicholas's excited babbling about the walnut-sh.e.l.l regatta before Nicholas squirms to get down.

Dean sets our son on the floor and approaches me, pulling me into the strong circle of his embrace. He spreads one hand across my rounded belly and bends to press his mouth against mine.

”Hey, beauty,” he says.

”Hi, professor.” I tighten my arms around his waist, feeling a delicious glow of happiness and contentment. ”Welcome home.”

EPILOGUE.

Dear North, Cobblestone streets, tree-lined boulevards, the Eiffel Tower parting the clouds like curtains. Bustling metro stations, colorful street markets, the endless flow of the Seine. Fresh baguettes. Paintings glowing like jewels, marble statues captured in time, the sandcastle facade of Notre Dame, the silky sweetness of vanilla mascarpone cream enrobed in white chocolate.

Expansive gardens, glittering shop windows, booksellers and street performers. Drinking coffee at a Latin Quarter cafe with my husband. Watching our son chase birds. Finding a new place.

A girl this time. Her name is Isabella. She has just enough hair to wear a little red ribbon.

Our adventure continues.

Love, Liv.

Without darkness, there can be no light.

Dean promised to slay monsters for Liv.

Then he encounters a monster he can't destroy. A monster he can't even face.

ALWAYS.

Book 5 of the Spiral of Bliss Series.

Coming Soon!.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Nina Lane writes hot, s.e.xy romances and spicy erotica. Originally from California, she holds a PhD in Art History and an MA in Library and Information Studies, which means she loves both research and organization. She also enjoys traveling and thinks St. Petersburg, Russia is a city everyone should visit at least once. Although Nina would go back to college for another degree because she's that much of a bookworm and a perpetual student, she now lives the happy life of a full-time writer.

Find out more about Nina and her other books at the following links!.

Official website:.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

”Fall seven times, get up eight,” Liv and Allie say. What they don't add is that sometimes you need a friend to help you get up-and to my everlasting grat.i.tude, Victoria Colotta of VMC Art & Design has proven the epitome of both friends.h.i.+p and professionalism by stepping up when the chips were down.

Thank you, Victoria, for your truly endless patience (especially in the face of ”Can we just try...”), amazing talent and knowledge, and for staying so unwaveringly in my corner. I couldn't have done it without you-and that's not a cliche.

Thank you, Karen Dale Harris, for your insights, perceptive critique, and your belief in Liv and Dean's story. I love how we can talk about the whole Mirror Lake gang like they're our circle of friends.

Jessa Slade, I'm in such awe of your ideas, problem-solving abilities, and knowledge of character arcs that I would happily give you my last chocolate religieuse and then run out to get you some more. Thank you so much.

Cathy Yardley, your continued guidance and profound understanding of story structure has improved my writing in more ways than I can count. I'd like to think I could write a book without you, but I'm very glad I don't have to.

Kelly Harms Wimmer, thank you for shaping and improving Liv and Dean's story from the beginning in ways I couldn't manage on my own.

Tara Gonzalez of InkSlinger PR-wow! Thank you so much for your indomitable efforts in getting the Spiral of Bliss series out into the world again. I'm so grateful for your time and help.

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