CHAPTER 17
On the third day of their month-long honeymoon in the City of Lights, Vidal and Rosalind visited the Champs Elysées. The trees that lined the wide boulevard down toward a chunky, sculpted arch had lost their leaves to wintery chill, but the light and warmth spilling from the shops into the street provided comfort from the biting wind.
Vidal glanced at his lovely bride, who clung shyly to his arm, her eyes cast demurely downward, but a pink and well-loved glow on her cheeks. The night before, she had lain n***d and moaning while her husband pleasured her. Now she looked like a virgin. He grinned. Her virginity didn’t survive long once I took notice of her.
“Querida, how is it that you know French so well?” he asked her idly. “Watching you greet all these waiters and shopkeeper
