The Book The Paris Wife Novels & Stories

There was no part of her that wasn’t a curve, from the soft inward slope of her waist to her thick thighs to the way her dark hair lay in soft waves across one side of her chest. She lifted the cocktail to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the straw, not taking her eyes off the book, and the way she chased the straw around the glass with her tongue sent a zing straight to my dick. I paused for a moment, seeing if she would notice me, but she didn’t look up from the pages. I shrugged to myself and kept on swimming, enjoying the view when I came up for air, and let my mind linger on what I would do if she did happen to look in my direction. Maybe she would be at the gala that evening. She

He had the most charming smile, and perhaps it was the fact that he had been the one who saved me moments ago, but I felt myself falling for him right there and then. "He isn't your mate." My wolf whined, but I hushed it because right at that moment, I really did not care. I sighed at the memory of the first time I met Paris. It was one I had cherished and held on to even when our marriage was failing, and even now… even now, on a day when I longed so much for the end of our marriage, it was the only light I saw. KATE'S POV "Paris, would you like to go out? The weather is nice and we could have a picnic?" I watched him as he looked up from his desk where he'd been working on some papers, h

We go for a walk along the Seine, go rowing in Bois de Vincennes, climb the Sacré-Cœur and finish the day watching the sunset from the Arc De Triomphe. It was a wonderful day, not because of all the things we got to do, but because we did them together. That night when Paige and I have sex, it feels different. More intimate. We make love. Ever since we left New York, I’ve noticed that Paige has gotten a little more affectionate. I guess it’s the Paris effect. I can’t say I’m complaining. The next morning it’s Paige’s 30th birthday. She wakes up to me serving her breakfast in bed.

Their fate might be worse than that of the Parisis. ****************************************************************************

But I just couldn't seem to shake off the feeling of apathy that had settled over me. I looked down at the lunch box, feeling a twinge of regret. Brigette had made my favorite lunch, and I had barely even acknowledged it. I sighed, feeling like a terrible husband. But as I opened the lunch box and began to eat, I couldn't shake off the feeling that my heart was elsewhere. That it was with Sophia, the mysterious and alluring woman who had captured my attention. As I sat back down at my desk, I felt a sense of restlessness wash over me. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, that I was meant for something more.

That Paris trip was supposedly the end—not the middle. I called him. He answered immediately. “Jo! Thank God—” “I just met with Nicole.” Silence. Then, “Why?” “She showed me pictures, Justin. From Paris. From a week before you said you broke up. You said you left her. But it looks like you were still holding hands and playing happy couple.” He cursed under his breath. “Jo, please. I can explain.” “You’d better.” “Meet me. Anywhere. Just—let me explain in person.”

“You’d really go to war for this?” He looked down at her. “I’d go to war for you.” But in a hotel room across the city, Victoria Pierce poured herself a glass of champagne and watched a laptop screen flicker to life. The folder titled “Caldwell Marriage Contract.p*f” sat open on her desktop, front and center. Next to it: a photo of Lena and Zane—laughing, kissing, in a moment too perfect to be anything but real. Victoria smiled, slow and vicious.

She reached into her clutch and pulled out a small, leather-bound book—cream-colored, the title embossed in soft gold script—The Perfect Wife: Grace in the Eyes of Society. She extended it toward me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You should read it,” she said simply. “Memorize the key chapters, practice the rest. It’s a useful guide. All Kingston wives have studied it. Including me.” I didn’t move, just stared at the damn, thick book.

They slipped out, closing the French doors behind them. Ethan sank onto the couch. "The apartment. Yes, it's in my name. In Paris. I bought it five years ago—for investment. Victoria used it sometimes when she was in Europe for shoots. Modeling. Before we... ended things." "Before you proposed to me," Lila said flatly. "Yes." "And you never sold it? Never changed the locks?" "I forgot," he admitted. "It was an asset on the books. Low priority. I haven't been there in years."

Harris continued, "She used a hidden piece of broken ceramic to slash her wrists. By the time they found her, it was too late. She also left a suicide note addressed to you." I took the letter. There was no name on the envelope, only a single word: [Regret.] I did not open it and simply threw it into the fireplace. Death would cancel all debts. Toward Casie, I felt no more hatred, no more love, only complete indifference. If she chose to use death as her escape, that was her choice. My life would no longer be disturbed by her in any way. Harris watched what I did and nodded, as if he expected it. "Mr. Lambert, His Highness has one more matter and would like your opinion."