Emma
Paris unfolded beyond our hotel window—the Eiffel Tower punctuating a skyline that seemed to pulse with history and possibility. Under different circumstances, I might have stood here breathless with joy, overwhelmed by the realization that my designs would soon be featured in the fashion capital of the world.
Instead, I cataloged escape routes and security positions, my eyes automatically tracking the plainclothes officers stationed casually around the perimeter of our luxury hotel.
"Mommy! The bathtub has golden handles!" Lottie's delighted shriek echoed from the bathroom of our suite, momentarily cutting through my vigilance. "And the soap smells like fancy flowers!"
"They're actually gold-plated brass with a Louis XV design motif," Noah corrected, appearing in the doorway with
