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Still, Paul asked Laurence to drive around and show me as much of Paris as he could from the car before we reached his home.
The Eiffel Tower was hard to miss, but Laurence did well in showing me the long avenue of Champs-Élysées and the Arc de Triomphe monument. Next, he pointed out the Place de la Concorde before passing the Jardin des Tuileries’ beguiling garden. The cafés, shops, people with baguettes and poodles, streetwear, and high fashion were intermixed with the most stunning architecture I’d ever seen. Excitement and ideas flooded my mind with each passing street.
I caught Paul staring at me when I turned my head. “Did I do something?”
“You’re so self-conscious, Nadia. I’m looking at you because you’re beautiful, and I enjoy seeing Paris through your eyes.”
I leaned across the seat and pressed a kiss to his lips with a smack that made me giggle.
“You’re also adorable. I can eat you up.”
“You have,” I joked.
“I will.” He clasped my chin and kissed me. Then he took over, pointing out the window and showing me nearby places. “We are near the Champs de Mars. We will stay at the house there because I know you prefer contemporary living, like me.”
We pulled up and parked in front of a duplex apartment. A few people opened the door and greeted Paul enthusiastically. He immediately walked across the marble floor to the grand piano and sat down to play.
“Paul always starts a trip by playing the piano,” Laurence said in admiration. “He used to play Beethoven, but today it’s ‘With a Little Luck’ by Paul McCartney and Wings.”
Laurence worked for Paul, but I’d come to know they were also close friends.
“I love this song,” I raved and sang along, swaying my hips and spinning in a circle in front of the piano.
Paul’s rich laugh played above the sound of his skillful rendition of the piece.
Laurence pretended to cover his ears. “I’m joking. You’ve got a lovely voice.”
I laughed and sat next to Paul.
“She does, Laurence.”
I placed my head on his shoulder as he played a familiar classical song, but I didn’t know the name.
“You’re amazing,” I said when the song ended. “I think you’ve won me over.”
“I will, one song at a time.” He winked. “Now go explore the house.”
He wanted to practice, and I moved to get up, but he grabbed my waist and kissed me.
“I like Paris Paul,” I joked, and he swatted my butt.
“You like all Pauls.”
I do.
The sound of the Beatles’ “Let It Be” filled the air as I left the foyer to follow his instruction. The decoration was a mixture of rustic and contemporary furnishings, with crystal chandeliers hung throughout. I marveled at the use ornate marble on some of the walls and floors, the hand-painted murals on the ceilings, the elegant parquet floors, and the beautifully woven rugs.
I peeked inside the kitchen, where a chef was busy preparing meals. There was a gym, a movie theater, and a study full ofbooks. I climbed the grand staircase and went through the four guest rooms.
Our suitcases were delivered to a large bedroom with a modern bath and colossal tub, shower, bidet, and toilet. The four-poster bed was enormous, but that wasn’t the highlight. Off to the side, I could see a stone balcony. I walked through the sheer curtains and gasped in awe. The Eiffel Tower was in view. It was close to ten a.m. in the morning, Paris time, but it was four o’clock in the afternoon for us. One of his housekeepers brought me a platter with fruit, pastries, and espresso. I ate and took out my sketchpad to draw a few clothing ideas inspired by my first view of Paris.
After sending a few selfies to the group chat with Mom, Dad, and Xander, , I leaned against the balcony as the sun poured down on me and took a deep cleansing breath.I’m living in heaven.
Paul came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “It’s stunning,” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said. “I wish we’d come when I didn’t have to work.”
We walked back inside the bedroom. “What’s the plan?”
