AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And I can’tnotlisten to him. While everyone on the street passes by without a second look, I ease my way up to the lonely piano and have a seat on the bench. It’s covered in dents and scratches, but as I set my fingers on the keys, the sound is surprisingly beautiful.
Even with all that it’s been through on the streets of Paris, this instrument makes a perfect sound. So with my eyes on Ronan, standing just on the other side, I play a song. This one is upbeat, fast and melodic, and without thinking about the people passing by or anyone hearing the little notes I mess up, I keep my focus on him. Even when I look down at the keys, I imagine that he’s the only one listening.
But before long, he’s not the only one. In my periphery, I see the crowd starting to collect in a circle around me, but I keep my cool. Just like in his apartment, I let the music take me somewhere else.
And I can’t stop. I feel like an old version of myself, and I’m practically weightless as the song continues. When I glance up and see someone drop a bill on the top of the piano, my eyes widen. I glance at Ronan, who’s beaming with pride.
As the song ends, everyone standing around me erupts in cheers and applause. I’m swimming in the celebration as I rise from the seat and take the coins and bills dropped on the top of the piano and rush into Ronan’s arms.
“That was amazing,” he says, squeezing me tight.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his neck. When I pull away, I gaze into his eyes. “For everything.”
RULE #18: PARIS IS THE CITY OF LIGHTS (AND ORGASMS)
Daisy
“It’s not sparkling,” I say as Ronan lays the large plaid blanket on the grass.
“As soon as it gets dark, it will.” The sun has set over the city, but its light still warms the sky, and I’m getting anxious to see the infamous twinkle of the tower. Even though we could see it from the apartment, he still insisted that we enjoy it from here.
“Oh,” I reply, taking a seat next to him, trying to maneuver my legs to the side in this knee-length dress, so I don’t flash the other people sitting around us. It’s not too crowded, but there are a lot of people here with the same idea as us. As he unscrews the bottle of wine he brought, I pull the extra blanket over my legs. Then he reclines one arm behind my back, so we’re nestled close to each other.
After he passes me a glass of chilled white wine, we tap our glasses together in a silent toast, then fall into a delicate silence, the sound of people chattering around us like a soothing white noise. The tower looms in the darkening sky, and I suddenly feel a wave of unexpected emotion rolling over me.
My mother would have loved this.
The thought hits me like an assault, mostly because it comes with a sense of grief that I’d rather not be feeling in this otherwise romantic moment. Emotion gathers heavily in my throat, and my eyes start to sting with tears.
Not now, I internally beg myself.
Turning my face away from Ronan, I quickly try to blink the tears away. I’m in Paris for goodness’ sake. I should be elated, but I can’t seem to understand why all the happy things that happen to me suddenly feel like sad ones.
Ronan’s hands lightly slide up my arms. I expect him to ask if I’m okay or hassle me into telling him what’s wrong with me. Instead, he pulls my face toward him.
“You’re thinking about your mother, aren’t you?” he asks, and I feel momentarily gutted by the mention of her. How he just knew the thoughts in my head without even trying.
I nod my head.
His mouth tenses, those full lips of his pressing into a straight line, as if he suddenly understands. “Traveling really brings out the grief. It’s normal. It took me three years to take a trip after my family died. For so long, the guilt I felt for being happy kept me from ever being truly happy. But you don’t need to feel guilty, Daisy. You’re allowed to be happy.”
“I know,” I whisper, another wave of tears trailing across my face. He pulls me between his open legs, so I’m using his body as my own personal blanket, and he squeezes his arms around me.
“But being sad is okay too, baby girl.”
I draw in a lungful of air, and it feels like the first deep breath I’ve taken in a very long time. With my back against his chest, I stare up at the tower and try to be in the moment. With him, like this, I feel safe—physically and emotionally.
How long can this last, though? Is it stupid of me to wish for something longer? We haven’t even defined what we are, but I know it’s something. To me, it feels like everything.
But what am I to him? A fleeting moment? A momentary companion? A week-long fling?
It feels like more. It has to be more.
Suddenly, I notice a woman staring at us from her own blanket about ten feet away. Her eyes dance back and forth from Ronan’s face to mine, and seeing as how she’s closer in age to me than him, I’m guessing the harsh expression on her pretty face is judgment.
But she can judge me all she wants. I’ve stopped seeing his age. I don’t see his years, his wrinkles, his gray hair, none of it. I just see him. The number of years a person has lived seems like such a trivial detail when you find someone who lights a spark in your soul and makes life worth living again.
He has one arm slung over the top of the blanket I’m holding up to my chest, but I casually shift my arm, putting his under the blanket and snugly holding it against my stomach. Instead of pulling it out, he squeezes me tighter.
