Page 78 of Sin of Love
39
Paris, France
“I can’t.”
“You can,” I cajole. “Just try it.”
“I’m not eating a snail.”
“It’s a delicacy.”
“Any name you give it, it’s still a snail.”
“What if you like it?”
“What if I throw it at you?”
“I dare you, in this restaurant full of people, to throw that snail at me.”
To my everlasting glee, she throws the snail. It bounces off my forehand and plops into my glass of sparkling water. I’m still sitting in stunned silence when she throws a second one, which narrowly misses my cheek and causes a chorus of horrified gasps behind me.
“I love you,” I tell her fervently.
Trying not to smile, she shakes her head. “You’re nuts.”
A stern-faced, tuxedoed waiter manifests beside our table. “Excusez-moi, monsieur…”
We’re asked to leave.
* * *
“It’s too cold for this.”
I tug on her harness, double-checking that it’s snug—and possibly enjoying the way her breasts fill out her sweater, the glow of health in her cheeks, and her bright, glistening eyes.
“Come on, live a little.”
Her lips twitch. “This isn’t living, this is risking death.”
“If you weren’t afraid to jump off an insanely high bridge in the middle of the night, I’d be worried. But I promise on Louis’s life it’s perfectly safe.”
Louis, an enterprising employee of the company that operates bungee jumps off this bridge—during daylight hours—offers an emphatic nod before launching into another safety spiel for Deirdre’s benefit.
She finally turns toward the small, fortified plank jutting from a section of railing that’s been removed. Two purposeful steps and she’s at the edge.
Peering into the inky black, she mutters, “‘We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness.’”
“Really? Joseph Conrad at a time like this?”
She smirks over her shoulder. “You’re the one who keeps giving me depressing books to read.”
A small lantern on the nearby railing is the only light, and it barely touches her heart-shaped face. I can’t tell if she’s afraid, but I am. My heart won’t stop jackknifing at the sight of her with nothing to hold on to, her feet so close to… blackness.
But this isn’t about me.
“Quit stalling, mon bijou.”
She leaps.
