The CEO's Contractual Wife (Olivia and Alexander) novel Chapter 206

Olivia

The room service arrived with a chocolate cake that was so rich it probably violated some kind of health code, along with two glasses of port. We settled onto the enormous sofa, Alexander's arm draped casually over my shoulders.

The movie was gloriously awful. The special effects looked like they'd been done on someone's laptop, and the acting was so wooden I suspected the performers might actually be trees in disguise.

"Oh my god," I gasped as the lead actress ran from CGI bees in four-inch heels. "Who runs from killer insects in stilettos?"

"Someone with commitment to fashion over survival," Alexander replied, feeding me a bite of cake.

"She just tripped over nothing. Literally nothing. There was flat pavement, and she fell."

"Perhaps she's allergic to competent blocking."

I laughed so hard I nearly choked on the cake. Alexander patted my back, grinning.

"You okay there?"

"Your fault," I managed between coughs. "Making jokes during my dessert consumption."

"I'll try to be less amusing."

"Please don't. This is the most fun I've had watching a movie in years."

On screen, the bees had somehow learned to open doors. The characters reacted with appropriate horror while we dissolved into giggles.

"How do bees open doors?" I demanded. "They don't have hands!"

"Maybe they're very intelligent bees."

"That explains everything."

Alexander pulled me closer, his fingers playing with my hair. "This is nice."

"Watching a terrible movie about homicidal insects?"

"Being here with you. No pressure, no expectations. Just us being ridiculous together."

My heart did that annoying flutter thing again. "Yeah. It is nice."

We fell into comfortable silence, watching the movie's increasingly absurd plot developments. The main character had decided the best defense against killer bees was a flamethrower, which seemed excessive.

"I bet you five pounds he sets himself on fire within the next ten minutes," Alexander said.

"That's not even a bet. That's a certainty."

Sure enough, eight minutes later, the character managed to catch his own jacket ablaze while attempting to incinerate a swarm.

"Called it," Alexander said smugly.

"Where's my five pounds?"

"I didn't take the bet. You agreed it was a certainty."

"Technicalities." I poked his ribs. "You owe me anyway."

"I'll add it to your tab."

"My tab?"

"All the things I owe you. Five pounds for the self-immolating character, proper sightseeing in Paris, that bookshop recommendation you wanted..."

"You're keeping a list?"

"Mental list. Very organized. Color coded, even."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course it is. Probably cross-referenced and alphabetized too."

"Don't mock my organizational skills. They're what keep this relationship functioning."

"Pretty sure my charming personality is what keeps this relationship functioning."

"That too," he admitted, pressing a kiss to my lip.

The movie reached its climax, which involved the bees forming a tornado. Because apparently killer bees weren't scary enough without weather manipulation abilities.

"This is the dumbest thing I've ever seen," I declared.

"And yet you can't look away."

"It's like a car crash. Horrible but fascinating."

The credits finally rolled, and I realized I'd eaten most of the chocolate cake without noticing. Alexander had barely touched his portion, too busy watching me react to the movie.

"What?" I asked, catching him staring.

"Nothing. You just get really animated when you're enjoying something. Even if that something is objectively terrible cinema."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Never. I find it endearing."

"Endearing. That's what you call someone's three-year-old niece, not their wife."

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" I asked as we crossed the Seine.

"And ruin the surprise? Never."

We pulled up to a pier I didn't recognize. The Seine stretched before us, dark and glittering with reflected lights. And there, moored at the dock, was a yacht, its white hull gleaming under the dock lights.

"You hired a yacht?" I breathed. "At midnight?"

"Private cruise company. They do midnight tours for couples who prefer privacy." He climbed out and offered his hand. "Coming?"

"This is insane," I said, but took his hand anyway.

The captain greeted us warmly, his English heavily accented. "Monsieur Carter, Madame Carter, welcome. Everything is prepared as you requested."

As we boarded, I noticed champagne chilling in a silver bucket on the deck and a platter of fruit and cheese. Soft music played from hidden speakers, jazz that fit the Parisian night perfectly.

"You planned this," I accused as the yacht pulled away from the dock.

"I may have made a few calls while you were napping earlier." Alexander popped the champagne cork with practiced ease, pouring two glasses. "To midnight adventures."

"To insane ideas that somehow work," I countered, accepting the glass.

The yacht glided smoothly along the Seine, and I moved to the rail to watch the city slide past. Paris at night was magical, all lit bridges and glowing buildings reflected in the water. The Eiffel Tower appeared ahead, its lights dancing against the darkness.

"Oh my god," I whispered as we approached. "Alex, look at it."

He came to stand behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist. "Beautiful."

"The tower or me?"

"Both. But mostly you."

I leaned back against his chest, watching the tower grow closer. At this hour, with no crowds, no noise, just the gentle movement of the yacht and the sound of water against the hull, it felt like we had all of Paris to ourselves.

"This is perfect," I admitted softly. "Completely insane, but perfect."

"Sometimes the best things are a little insane."

We sailed under the Pont d'Iéna, the bridge's arches framing the tower perfectly. The yacht slowed, allowing us to simply float there, taking in the view.

"I've seen this in movies a hundred times," I said. "But nothing prepares you for actually being here."

Alexander's lips brushed my temple. "Worth staying up past your bedtime?"

"Definitely worth it."