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Falynn

PLAYLIST: ? HOME WITH YOU - FKA TWIGS ?

Present…

The cityof love is known to work miracles. It’s famous for its rich art and history and charming boulevards and buildings. Romance is said to bloom in the air as lovers make special memories all over the city they’ll never forget. It should be the case for Giovanni and me.

As we drive through the world-renowned city, I sit in the backseat and look out the window at the masterpiece that’s the Eiffel Tower. A couple stands on its lawn, dressed to the nines in a fancy tux and long white dress worthy of a princess, taking their wedding photos. I try to focus on how happy I am for them, but it doesn’t come. Not really. Instead, I’m just more acutely aware of how I can’t remember what it feels like—the love shines on their faces as they stare into each other’s eyes and the photographer snaps away with his camera.

Giovanni squeezes my hand to draw my attention back to him. I grant him a small smile, hoping it touches my eyes too. I’m not so sure I ever get there, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He orders our driver to circle around the Parc du Champ-de-Mars again, citing he wants me to see the flowers blooming.

“We don’t have to,” I say when we drive to our next destination. “There are too many crowds.”

He raises a brow. “When have we waited in crowds, Honey? The museum will be shut down while we receive our private tour.”

“Youshut downthe Louvre?!”

My shock lingers in the air as our driver pulls up outside the world-famous museum. We’re entering through the VIP entrance reserved for prestigious guests. Giovanni holds me close as we approach our beaming tour guide.

“Bonjour,” she says, shaking our hands. “Je m’appelle Eloise. Et vous?”

We play along, attempting to introduce ourselves in broken French. Eloise chuckles, the corner of her eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Pretty good,” she says brightly. “Better than most. I am so pleased to be your guide this afternoon. I have heard so much about you, Monsieur Sorrentino. You are quite a well-known businessman worldwide.”

Giovanni’s business dealings have increased tenfold in the past few years, though I don’t know the details. Just that he’s made many partnerships and other deals on an international level. Judging by Eloise’s familiarity with him and his reputation, he seems to have done past business in France. Nothing would surprise me.

We fall into step beside Eloise as she guides us into the museum and explains they were eager to host us the moment they learned we would be visiting.

Giovanni wasn’t kidding when he said the Louvre had been shut down for us. Its cavernous halls stretch out all around us, filled with some of the world’s most expensive and famous pieces of art. Not a soul around but us, Eloise, and other staff. The emptiness is hauntingly beautiful in a strange kind of way.

We stroll by various art exhibits at our leisure. For each one, Eloise launches into a passionate explanation of the piece’s origin and history. I present as if I’m interested in every word she speaks. I walk in hand with Giovanni, my heels clacking against the museum’s porcelain flooring. Every time she glances at us, I encourage her to go on with an attentive nod of my head.

But inside, I’m scrambling to hold myself together. It requires every ounce of energy I have to keep it up, present as the friendly and curious wife worthy to be on Giovanni’s arm. The second I slip, the second there’s a crack in the facade.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My heart should be full right now. I should be overflowing with happiness. My husband has taken me on a luxury trip to the most romantic city in the world. He’s done exactly what I’ve been begging for for years—he’s taken time off from his throne as King of the Sorrentino empire, and he’s here with me, one-on-one.

Just the two of us.

Yet it’s as if I’m sinking in quicksand. I can’t reach the surface no matter how hard I push myself. There’s a disconnect where reality doesn’t meet expectation, and I don’t know where to begin fixing the problem.

“Are you okay?” Giovanni stops and asks.

I give him the same nod as the tour guide. “This is great. Thank you so much for taking me.”

And I mean it. I really, really do. I’m grateful for this. I’m grateful my husband cares enough to do these things, like bring me across the world to Paris and take me on a private tour of the Louvre many would only dream of.

That’s what makes it so upsetting, so frustrating. That I want to be enjoying this more than I am. Ishouldbe, but it’s difficult to do anything right these days. Something’s off.

Eloise wishes us a wonderful stay in Paris after our tour ends. We’re taken up in another secret elevator reserved for the museum’s most prestigious guests. The doors roll apart to reveal a large private dining room dripping with elegance—baroque décor fills the space along with exclusive artwork worth hundreds of thousands and a glass ceiling that reveals the evening sky. A server waits for us next to the primly set table where we’ll be dining.

“It shouldn’t have taken us so many years to come here,” Giovanni says when we’ve been poured our drinks (a fruity red wine substitute that tastes just as delicious). His large hand stretches across the table to take hold of mine, his thumb running over the small bumps of my knuckles.

His touch is gentle and warm. It’spleasant.

But a barrier remains, some kind of blockage. He’s not really touching me. He’s touching me through my mask. The veneer I’ve put up.

I shift my hand so I can slip my fingers between his, hoping to feel more. A deep shiver at his touch, or an exciting flutter inside. They used to come so easily, so powerfully, they’d make me breathless for more.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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