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newfound happiness and financial security with her husband and son seemed to be more than enough for her.
    Sebastian couldn’t recall being wrong many times in his life, but he definitely had been about wanting to stop his brother from eloping with Chloe. Just like he and his own beautiful bride, they made a perfect couple.
    As Sebastian had predicted earlier, Jake was sitting between his mother and new father, happily munching away on his favorite discovery of his French odyssey so far – the soft, fried-dough pastries Paris was so well-known for. His lips and cheeks and fingertips were dusted with confectioners’ sugar, and he was making low mmm-mmm-mmm sounds in his throat, his feet kicking merrily beneath the table in time with his voracious chewing. On his head was a small black beret tipped at a charming angle, adding to the boy’s cuteness factor by about a thousand percent.
    “ We ordered for you,” Chloe said, moving her chair to make room for them and signaling to a nearby server that the rest of their party had arrived.
    “ Sorry we’re late,” Chuck apologized, taking the seat Sebastian held for her, right beside her sister.
    “ Don’t worry about it,” Chloe said. “It’s not exactly a hardship to sit here sipping coffee and eating pastries in Paris-freaking-France. Can you believe it?” she asked, squeezing her sister’s arm tight enough to leech the color from the skin. “We’re actually in Paris!”
    A muscle twitched in Sebastian’s cheek as he tried to keep his amusement from showing. He and Aidan had been just about everywhere in their time on this earth. And though their “condition” meant they had to be careful in their travels, flying in a private jet and being rich enough to buy certain amenities made it much easier.
    But Chloe and Chunk had never been out of Nevada. They’d barely been farther than the Las Vegas or Henderson city limits. Something Sebastian was quite looking forward to rectifying, for his own wife, at least. England, Italy, China, Ireland . . . he intended to see that she experienced them all.
    Stuffing the last bite of beignet into his mouth, Jake hopped down from his chair and rounded the table. Still chewing to beat the band, cheeks puffy with half-masticated dough, he put his sticky, powdered sugar-covered hands on the knee of Sebastian’s thousand-dollar slacks.
    There was a time Sebastian would have backed away from a sticky child – or any child, for that matter – like he was sunshine in a bottle. But now, he simply reached down, caught the boy under the arms, and hoisted his nephew onto his lap.
    “ Uncle Bastian,” he mumbled around the mouthful of food, “Mama says you’re taking us to the loo.”
    Sebastian grinned. “If we were in England and you had to go to the bathroom, I’d take you to the loo. But since we’re in France, I’m going to take you to the Louvre.”
    “ The Looooooov ,” Jake repeated, dragging the name into three different syllables in an effort to pronounce it exactly as Sebastian had.
    “ It’s a world-famous museum, and you’re going to get to see it at night, when no one else is around.”
    Just another perk of being filthy rich, as Chuck would be quick to point out. Sightseeing as a vampire did pose its own special set of difficulties, but it had taken no more than a couple of phone calls to arrange a private midnight tour.
    Jake’s eyes went as round as the UFOs Chuck used to be so fond of writing about. “You mean we’re going to spend a night at the museum? Like the movies? ”
    The films he was talking about were ones Sebastian never would have been familiar with before, except in passing. But since becoming part of the somewhat whacky Lamoreaux/Monroe brood, Jake had been spending a lot of time at the Inferno and his private penthouse – which meant that his personal DVD collection was no longer a tasteful mix of documentaries and classic films, but now looked like the children’s section of the local