"Such derision," Beckett laughed outright. Her assumption would be what most men would do. They thought that Paris was romantic, and while it was, it was far more fun than anything else. Beckett knew that those who lacked imagination would go that route, maybe dip off to some other nearby continental country, Belgium or Austria, but Beckett had other ideas for his future wife.

He leaned in, smirking, because her comment about screaming had given him all too vivid of a picture, as he whispered, "Not quite, the Mediterranean, Italy, Greece, Barcelona if we must," he figured it wouldn't hurt. "And while I have you all to myself on a sailboat, that is where nobody will be able to hear you scream." He was teasing, but the current beneath their imaginary nuptials had changed a little, more electric and harder to pretend it was just well, pretend.

"I will keep the ring choice in mind," it would suit her, an emerald set in gold, but he obviously didn't know what her mother's ring looked like, so it could have been perfect.