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Our skin burned from the summer sun, and our clothes clung to us mixed with an uncomfortable sweat while we fanned ourselves relentlessly for some sort of relief. Many people are flocking to the south to bathe in the ocean, fortunate enough to vacation and not be chained to the office like me.
/> I shouldn’t complain though, the air conditioning is my best friend during the sweltering heat outside.
Back in the States, the Americans will mock us English folk for our constant complaining of the tiresome heat and dragging summers. I’m no different. My pale skin doesn’t care to get sunburned, which happens way too quickly when I spend any moment unprotected under the harsh summer rays.
This is why fall is, by far, my favorite season. The air is more relaxed and bearable, yet the sun still shines through the day. At night, there’s a slight crisp in the air with a promise of winter on the horizon. It’s the perfect time to explore the outside nightlife without being stripped to barely any clothing or, in reverse, wearing a bulk load to protect yourself from the cold.
It’s been three years since I moved to Paris with absolutely no regrets. My job, stressful with its demands, has become my sole focus. I’ve pushed myself in ways I never imagined possible, purposely threw myself into learning mode as Lex did his best to mentor me, given our geographical distance.
I created this routine, thriving in my purposely-organized schedule. The mornings start at four o’clock. A run around the park followed by yoga in my living room while I listen to audiobooks by well-known entrepreneurs from around the world. I ditched the romance novels a year or so ago, my guilty pleasure since becoming a blooming teen. Frankly, I don’t need to read about the so-called happily-ever-after nonsense. Being single is the new black, and I refuse to be sucked into the emotional heartbreak authors often write about.
Without too much difficulty, I changed my eating habits. My diet consists of high-energizing food to give me stamina until the official workday ends. Coffee, being that I’m in Europe, is almost mandatory. My addiction is one I’ll proudly own, and let’s be honest, survival without it is practically impossible.
As France is surrounded by so many other beautiful countries, I have traveled more than I anticipated around Europe. Many nights in Rome and Venice, a quick flight to Berlin. Switzerland had been one of my favorites, such a beautiful country, and the lifestyle is so relaxed.
But Paris ultimately won my heart over and over again. I’ve heard it from many people, though never truly understood the meaning until I experienced it for myself. Paris has a charm and allure beyond most other cities, and I’ve visited quite a few through my adult years while working beside Lex.
Having left all my friends behind in the States, there’s never a dull moment when I have the time to explore museums and architecture, high-end fashion boutiques, cafés, and quaint restaurants, all of which align the beautifully paved streets.
I never grow tired of the scenery as each season showcases the city so differently. Each architectural masterpiece becomes mesmerizing amongst the sun, the autumn leaves, and the beautiful blanketed snow. Everything feels grand in its presence, making me stop and appreciate its beauty amongst the chaos of everything around it. The Parisians rarely give the Eiffel Tower a second thought, something I learned very early on. Yet every cab ride past the iconic treasure, I reflect on my life and the beauty of being alive. It inspires me to follow my dreams and ambitions, and raise the bar in my so-called life. Paris is nothing like Manhattan, and the truth be told, I have no desire to go back to the city that never sleeps.
Eric often questions my sanity, telling me I need to get laid pronto because I’m this close to joining a nunnery. However, he’s quick to say that even nuns get their happily ever after, remembering the conversation word by word.
“Captain Vontrapp has been my fantasy ever since my mother made me watch The Sound of Music at the age of seven.” Eric sighed.
“The dad?” I questioned, slightly disturbed by his admission.
“A powerful man falls in love with a nun. I mean, how romantic is that?”
“Yes, it’s romantic,” I agreed. “You fantasizing about him is not.”
“Maybe you’ll meet your captain in Paris. You can live happily ever after in his castle with his seven children while you sing songs of joy.”
“I couldn’t think of anything worse,” I mumbled under my breath.
Even from across the globe, Eric still weighs in on my personal life, but I ignore him for the most part. There’s no time to worry about relationships or men as my interests have shifted to museum visits and French culture. My fascination with France’s history only grows as I delve deep into the genetics of what makes this city and country a worldwide attraction. If only I had been so studious in school, surprising even myself on how educated I have become as an adult.
The only thing Eric welcomes is my change in wardrobe. My tastes have become sophisticated. Unlike Charlie and Eric, I was never into designer labels, but Paris awakens that part of me. People are pursuing the streets dressed like runway models to the events I attend with no end of couture in sight. Women in Paris aren’t afraid of fashion, especially the older generation. They stay in the decade, confident and fearless with their fashion choices. I’ve become bolder with some of my latest ensembles. With my rigorous exercise routine and healthy eating, I finally have the body I’ve always dreamed of without the plastic surgery society pressures women into. It gives me the confidence to wear things outside of my typical attire, and I never expected to be so in love with fashion in general.
But perhaps my greatest joy isn’t the fashion, nor my new body. It’s becoming a local and finally feeling like this could be home, immersing myself into life as a Parisian. I was forced to learn French, given it’s the native tongue of almost all of my employees. While I still prefer to speak English, I know enough to have a simple conversation.
My love affair with Paris runs deep, and one I can talk about for hours. Eric and Charlie are very vocal in expressing their jealousy on almost every phone call we have.
As I sit in a local café enjoying this lazy Sunday morning which is a rare occurrence of late, my phone begins to ring in my pocket. Pulling it out to answer, I mouth ‘thank you’ to the waiter who serves my coffee along with a pastry I’ve been eager to try. I call it Sunday’s guilty pleasure.
“Hello, Lex,” I greet, noting the time back in Los Angeles. “It’s late. Is everything okay?”
“I thought I’d try to catch you at a reasonable time,” Lex strains, his voice stiff and unwelcoming.
“I was just served a triple shot of coffee, so shoot.”
“We have a problem with Jefferson. I’ve had my suspicions, but we’re talking big concerns.”
I cross my legs, paying attention. “Please don’t tell me we’re talking insider trading?”
“I’m afraid so.”
I let out a long-winded breath, also suspecting something of late. A few weeks ago, when things surfaced, I’d done a little digging but didn’t have anything concrete to hold him accountable.
