Filthy Rich Vampire (Filthy Rich Vampires Book 1)
Filthy Rich Vampire: Chapter 34

Paris was alive. The city teemed with life. I stared out the car window, watching the crowds of tourists on the sidewalk. I’d fallen asleep on the flight, lulled into an easy slumber by the insanely comfortable seats on Julian’s private jet. I was still tired, but excitement and sheer force of will kept my eyes plastered open. A car zipped dangerously close to ours, and I shrank back out of instinct. Next to me, Julian laughed, not bothering to look up from his phone.

“That car almost hit us,” I told him, pointing out the tinted window.

“I forget this is your first time in Paris,” he said, still absorbed in his phone. “Don’t worry, Phillipe has everything under control, pet.”

I glanced at the uniformed driver that had retrieved us at the private airfield outside Versailles.

“I will keep you safe, mademoiselle,” he said with a heavy accent. He smiled at me in the rearview mirror.

A low growl vibrated from Julian, and I shot him a look. “Behave yourself.”

My boyfriend had gone from perfectly friendly to ice-cold toward Phillipe after the driver took my hand to help me into the back of the Bentley. I made a mental note to grill Celia about Julian’s beastlier tendencies the next time we were alone. Were all vampires so possessive? Or had I just lucked into a particularly dominating one?

“I will try,” Julian promised, taking my hand and lifting it to his lips. He paused with it a breath away from his mouth. His nostrils flared before he finally kissed it softly. He lifted his eyes, searching mine for a response.

“Okay.” I did my best to sound like a hard-ass but failed miserably. It was impossible to hold him accountable with his electric-blue eyes piercing me. I managed to tear myself away, sucking in a deep, steadying breath. I had a year of this ahead of me, and I was going to enjoy every moment of it. But for now, we were in mixed company. I peered over at his phone screen. “What are you doing with that thing? Are you addicted to Wordle like everyone else?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said dryly. “But I have recently discovered I can read all my newspapers on this infernal thing.

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. That made him sound every bit as old as his nine hundred years. I kept the thought to myself. Of course, he wouldn’t be doing anything as silly as games. I’d seen the stack of newspapers his assistant brought to his room the morning after our first night together. “It’s a bit more convenient.”

“Indeed.” He dropped the phone into a cup holder and turned toward me. “We have a day or two until the first event. There seems to be some question about the official schedule.”

“Oh.” I blinked as I processed this. “I thought we had to be here by tomorrow.”

“Time operates differently in Paris. Anyway, this will give you a moment to acclimate to the jet lag,” he said, “and perhaps shop.”

“Shop?” I raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined shopping in Paris. Mostly because just going to Paris had seemed so out of reach. “I’d rather be with you.”

Julian leaned closer, angling his head to plant a kiss on my neck. “It’s too tempting when you wear your hair up,” he warned me. Then he sighed. “We have all night, and I suspect you will need to add some items to your closet before the events begin.”

“Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

“No, you are perfect.” Another dizzying kiss. “But you will need more than one dress.”

“Oh.” That made sense. “Sorry, I’m not used to anyone noticing me. I’m usually stuck in a corner with my cello.”

“I suspect you’ve been blind to the attention you receive,” he said.

“I doubt that.” It was laughable. I’d never had anyone so much as offer to buy me a drink at an event.

“I do not.” His eyes raked over me, slowly erasing any doubt he meant what he said.

But I was preoccupied with something else he’d said. “Oh no.”

“Is something wrong?” He went rigid, already on guard to deal with whatever troubled me.

“I should have brought the cello!” Why hadn’t I thought of it? I’d been too preoccupied with my underwear and toiletries. It was just more proof that I was an amateur traveler. “We’re here for two weeks. How will I practice?”

“I’m sure we can replace one in Paris.” Julian dismissed it like the oversight meant nothing. “I’ll have Celia see to it.”

“Promise me it won’t cost half a million dollars,” I said firmly. I didn’t care how much money Julian had, even if by all indications he had a lot. I didn’t need to run around collecting priceless instruments.

“If you wish.”

I narrowed my eyes. That was too easy. “Or more than half a million.”

This earned me a low chuckle. The sound buried itself in my stomach and grew warm tendrils inside me. “Ahhh.” Julian tipped my chin up with his index finger and kissed me. “Now you’re learning, pet.”

Before I could make further stipulations regarding his generosity, the Bentley pulled to the curb in front of a limestone building that rose four stories up. In a city like San Francisco, it might look short, but in Paris, it stood proudly amongst its neighbors. The street itself was quiet, compared to the city we’d driven through so far, and comprised of a dozen similar buildings. Each with its own beautiful doors and wrought iron balconies.

“Allow me to get the door,” Julian murmured before vanishing with superhuman speed out his side of the car. I waited dutifully, eager to avoid any more growling if I could. Philippe seemed nice, and I didn’t want him to lose his head by upsetting the overprotective vampire. My door opened, and Julian extended his hand. I took it, noticing as I rose from the car that Philippe had stayed far away from my side of the car. Apparently, he didn’t want to lose his head either.

“It’s beautiful,” I said softly. The building’s arched door boasted a swirling Art Deco design that looked so Parisian I could scream. Above it, a pair of balconies distinguished each individual floor. Bright-pink flowers grew in planter boxes hanging from each railing. In the twilight, the whole thing took on a rosy glow that made me feel strangely content. I’d been here all of an hour, and I already felt at home.

“Shall we?” Julian guided me toward the entrance.

Before we reached it, an older gentleman opened the door and stepped to the side gracefully. “Welcome home, sir.” He paused, tipping his head to greet me. “It is a pleasure to have you with us, Mademoiselle Melbourne.”

“Thank you,” I said brightly, reaching to shake his hand.

He blinked rapidly as he took it, and I realized I’d made my first American mistake.

“Am I supposed to kiss his cheeks?” I whispered to Julian.

His laughter bellowed through the massive, two-story entry and bounced off the marble floors back at us.

“I’m sure that Hughes would prefer you did not.”

“The master is correct,” Hughes added, shifting uncomfortably. “I am just a butler.”

I managed a smile, wondering if I could look up proper French greetings online.

“Would you like the tour?” Hughes said.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Julian beat me to it. “Please.”

The butler led us farther into the foyer, where a grand piano sat untouched next to a pair of double doors. Heavy drapes hung around it, pulled to the side with thick braided cords. But it was what I glimpsed just beyond the glass that stunned me.

“Is that…”

“The reason I bought the place,” Julian said, taking my hand and leading me over to the doors. He opened them to a stone terrace. Unlike the iron ones facing the street, this one looked out over a long green space, and just past it, the Eiffel Tower rose in the evening sky. Julian urged me onto the balcony so I could get a better look.

I had expected to replace the tourist landmark cheesy. How could it not be? But just as we stood there, it flashed into a thousand points of light, the beginning of a spectacular light display.

“I’m told the locals hate it,” Julian whispered as he moved behind me. His strong arms wrapped around me and drew me close to him. “It’s for the tourists.”

“I can see why,” I admitted, feeling breathless. Paris definitely lived up to the hype.

“It turned out well,” he continued, nuzzling my neck. I had a feeling that it wasn’t a coincidence that it was becoming his favorite spot.

“What? The tower?” I asked. I was still mesmerized by the light show.

“The apartment. It wasn’t finished when I purchased it in the eighties.”

If it hadn’t been finished, then…I twisted in his arms. “Are you saying you’ve never been here?”

“Not in its current state. I asked a friend to oversee the completion of the project. Let’s see how she did.”

She? I hoped he meant Celia.

Before I could ask, he tugged me back inside, and we continued our tour. Hughes showed us the kitchen, which looked like something out of a postcard with its black enamel oven and gold hardware. Then to a sitting room off the main entrance, which had been decorated with extravagant paper murals of exotic plants and animals. Green velvet couches sat opposite each other by a large, unlit fireplace. Across from it, another sitting room decorated with gilded plasterwork was a slightly softer room in terms of design, but I could only imagine how much the furniture cost.

“Perhaps, we should explore the upper floors ourselves,” Julian suggested in a low voice so that only I could hear.

I licked my lower lip and nodded. So far, Paris had lived up to every romantic notion I had. All that was left was to be seduced.

“I will see to the luggage.” Hughes tipped his head with an understanding smile.

“Take your time,” Julian said. He knitted his fingers through mine and led me up the grand staircase off the foyer. We paused on the second floor. “To be honest, I don’t remember what I had done to these rooms.”

“I hope they aren’t hiding your coffin behind one of these doors,” I said seriously.

“Yes, let’s.” He rolled his eyes. He reached for the closest knob and opened it to reveal a room of mirrors. “Ah, the studio.”

“It looks like a ballet studio,” I said, crinkling my nose. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

“It was original to the property. I decided to keep it.” There was more to this story. I could sense it, but Julian didn’t seem to want to share it.

“Next,” I said, not wanting to ruin the mood. Behind another door, we found a library with shelves that reached to the top of its ten-foot ceilings. A brass rail ran along the center shelving, allowing for the use of a rolling ladder. A number of oversized chairs upholstered in thick linen filled the space, each with a different antique table beside it. A quick perusal of the shelves resulted in spotting books in dozens of languages, most of which I couldn’t identify.

“One more,” he said, “and then we can continue to the upper floors.”

Something about the way he said upper floors made my skin tingle. We opened the final door to reveal a large screening room. For the final room on the floor, it was a disappointment after the others.

“These are all guest rooms and a few rooms for the staff,” he explained, continuing past the third floor. “This is the room I wanted to show you.”

He led me to the fourth floor, where only one door waited. I held my breath as he opened it to reveal the main bedroom. It was drenched with luxurious silk draperies, gorgeous antiques, and a large terrace that extended out over the green space below and offered a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. But I barely processed any of it because waiting on Julian’s bed was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

And she was completely naked.