Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
The attendant at the elevator looks at Henn and me and waves us forward. It’s finally our turn to board one of the big elevators! I nudge Henn’s shoulder, since he’s looking at his phone. “It’s our turn to ride, mon amour!”
We bound onto the large elevator and scoot to the far back to allow the people waiting behind us in line to cram into the space. But when the doors close, we’re the only people in the big box, other than the attendant.
“Why nobody else?” I ask. Countless times during our wait in line, I watched the attendant pack both elevators to the brim. So, what gives?
Henn shrugs, but the attendant points to the passes around our necks.
“Oh my gosh, Henny. Did you know these passes would get us a private elevator ride?”
“I had no idea.” When I furrow my brow, Henn smirks and says, “No superpowers were activated, if that’s what you’re wondering. A promise is a promise.” The day after my kidnapping, Henn and I talked for hours and hours in our hotel room. It was then that we set boundaries and expectations for our relationship going forward, including Henn’s promise that he’d never secretly use his superpowers to impress or “help” me in any way, ever again, without first telling me and getting my explicit buy-in. Since then, that’s translated to Henn using his superpowers only twice—both times to score tickets to a sold-out show I was dying to see.
As our elevator ascends, the views through its clear walls become more and more breathtaking. I begin chattering excitedly about everything I behold. The river. The bustling streets. The history I picked up from our guidebook. As I speak, Henn nods and makes all appropriate exclamations. And yet, I can’t help feeling like he’s not entirely present. A bit distracted, maybe. What’s going on? Am I imagining the anxiety and nerves wafting off him?
Henn’s phone pings, and when he looks down, he exhales and quickly shoves his phone into his pocket.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He smiles. “Yes. Sorry. You’ve got my full attention now.” He takes my hand and kisses the top of it, and then flexes his hand a la Mr. Darcy, making me giggle. “Happy birthday, my pretty Plátana.”
My heart skips a beat. “This is the best birthday, ever.”
“We haven’t even made it to the top.”
“It doesn’t matter. Thank you for a magical birthday.”
The elevator stops. The doors slide open. Henn takes my hand, and we bound out and head straight toward a far railing. As we walk toward our destination, I’m floored to discover there’s nobody else in the immediate vicinity, other than a handful of staffers smiling at me. Yes, there’s a packed crowd of tourists on the other side of the expansive viewing area, but that area has been kept separated from ours by a velvet rope. Holy crap, it feels like we’ve got our own private party up here.
I touch the pass around my neck. “I thought this gets us a selfie in a special little VIP corner and a glass of champagne. You didn’t say anything about us having a quarter of the viewing area, all to ourselves.”
Henn winks. “Happy birthday, baby.”
I look around in shock. “You really, truly didn’t use your superpowers to make this happen?”
“Not unless you consider having Josh Faraday as a best friend a superpower. His uncle’s business partner is a French billionaire who kindly called in a favor to make this happen for us.”
I gasp. “You mean this dish isn’t even on the regular menu?”
“Nope. It’s not even an option, normally.”
“I can’t believe this is my life.”
We reach the railing and gasp at the view. In short order, a waiter appears bearing two sparkling flutes of champagne. We take his offering and continue marveling at the gorgeous view, this time, while enjoying the finest champagne I’ve ever tasted. It’s even better than the amazing champagne we had earlier today at lunch!
“A toast,” Henn says, raising his glass. “Happy birthday, my love. You’re the great love of my life. The best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re totally and completely schmamazing, Hannah Milliken.”
I laugh. “So are you, Peter Hennessey.”
His cheeks are blooming. “You’re the only bee in my bonnet,” he adds, which I’m assuming is a reference to the lyrics of “Birdhouse in Your Soul.” In that song, the singer asks his listener to say those exact words. Henn and I have never discussed it, but I’m assuming Henn thinks of that song as ours, every bit as much as I do. So, of course, I return the favor by saying the line back to him.
Suddenly, I hear the dulcet sounds of a live violin behind me. I turn around and discover a woman dressed in black, lovingly playing her instrument. “How romantic,” I gasp out. But after a beat, when I recognize the song, I gasp even louder and blurt, “She’s playing ‘Birdhouse in Your Soul!’ Oh, Henny!”