Completely refreshed, I felt revived when I woke to an empty bed. After looking around, I saw Luke at the little table in front of the balcony sipping coffee with a sketchpad and pencil. He was so involved in his work that I didn't want to interrupt him. Instead, I stumbled to the bathroom with a toothbrush in one hand and clothes in the other. My mouth tasted like I had eaten a cup of nastiness in my sleep. I blamed the cheese.
I pulled my frizzy mess of hair back into a tight bun that would have made any ballerina jealous. I stalked to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, wished for creamer, and sat at the table in front of Luke.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning."
He laughed. "It's three o'clock in the afternoon. I thought you’d never get up but couldn't find it in my heart to wake you. Seriously, you snore like a princess."
"I do not snore."
"Oh, you do. It's cute, though. Not like a chainsaw."
"Oh, shut it."
I sipped my coffee and hunger set in.
"I got you some croissants. I mean, they aren't bacon donuts, but I thought you would appreciate them."
I reminisced about Texas and that time Luke and I shared. It really was magical in its own way. I learned more about Luketon during that trip than during our time together in Vegas.
He slid a plate of chocolate dipped croissants my way, and my mouth instantly watered.
"I have an appointment at five with my client, then I'm free. Anything you'd like to do?"
"Show me the city the way you wanted me to see it before. That's what I want."
We sipped our coffee in synchronicity as he spoke over the rim of his cup.
"I'm not sure you can handle it, Miss Downs."
"That's not the first time I've been told that."
And truth be known, it wasn't.
Seventeen
The air smelled different, but the way the city spoke to me wasn't the same as the French Quarter. I couldn't quite place it. France streamed a constant hum of old electricity under the streets.
"Have you ever been to New Orleans?" I asked Luke, as I tucked my hands into my pockets and caught up to him.
"No. I haven't. But let me guess… it looks just like this?"
"Uh, yeah. Like, exactly. I can't get over it."
"That's what everyone says. Maybe we can visit one day? I'd love to eat the Cajun food."
"God, yes. Gumbo, etouffee, pistolettes." My mouth watered just thinking about it.
We continued down the street and passed a small bakery. Inside, a man kneaded dough then threw it in the air. A few more blocks and we entered an ancient looking office building. There were large paintings covering the walls, photographs, and sculptures made from steal pipes. It was like the building had dropped from outer art space.
I stood beside Luke. A petite woman with dark hair greeted us, and he responded to her. I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped when I realized that Luke was speaking French, the language of love. Holy shit.
The woman urged us to follow her, and Luke bent down and whispered in my ear, "She wants to take us on a tour."
"You never told me you spoke French," I whispered back.
"There are lots of things I don't say," he said, and grabbed my hand to lead me up the stairs.
Paintings of Paris filled the upper floor. Tons of them, of different sizes and shapes, all renditions of the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame Cathedral, and many other amazing attractions that people traveled from all over the world to see. I was really in Paris, and I listened to Luke speak the language of love so elegantly. The French words rolled off his tongue. He could have whispered anything in my ear, and I would have melted into his palm. Not only was I a sucker for accents; I was a lover of language.
"Jenn, Madam Louise says she loves your shoes," he said.
"Oh, thank you." I blushed.
"Merci, merci," Luke said.
The woman smiled at me, revealing perfectly white teeth, and tipped her head in my direction. Everyone knew what that meant; it was the universal "you're welcome" nod.
After walking through the museum, Madam Louise led us to a small office in the back where Luke signed his contract, and then we were on our way out the door. I couldn't hold back the smile on my face.
"I didn't know you spoke French, seriously, what other secrets do you have?"
"Dad is French and spoke the language, so really, I had no choice," he said.
"So, Finnley can speak French as well?"
Luke raised an eyebrow and nodded his head. I swear, the next time I talked to Finn it would be fifty fucking questions with him. Regardless of how pissed off I was, there were too many things that I needed to know. Or maybe I could ask Luke. Would he tell me?
We walked back to the flat and Luke grabbed a set of keys from the counter. Once outside he clicked the alarm button to find the car.
"Now that business is taken care of, I will show you the city how I know it," he said and cranked the car. The streets were so narrow that at times I closed my eyes, because I didn't think we would fit.
I tried not to focus on his driving but rather at the structures, the columns, and people walking. I wish I had a camera. I laughed and could barely contain my excitement.
In the distance, I caught a glimpse of the steel beams of the tower that had captivated me as a child. I didn't know why I was so addicted to that silly structure; maybe the history, or maybe it was the way it stood strong for over a century. The engineering that went into creating something that was used as an entrance to celebrate the French Revolution fascinated me. Okay, yeah, maybe I was a bit of a nerd when it came to history.
We parked the car in a back alley, and Luke ran around the front to open my door. I got out, looked into his blue eyes and time stood still, if only for a second.
"Shall we?" he said.
I swallowed, trying to pull myself from his trance. Maybe Paris really was the city of love, the city to learn, and the city where I would find new beginnings. Maybe I would start a new life without sex corporations and lose the constant nag that followed me around whenever I was away from Finnley. The sooner I got over him, the sooner we could both move on with our lives. But the truth was I didn't want to.
I pushed the thoughts aside and followed Luke down the sidewalk toward the crowd. I couldn't stop staring as the clouds drifted over the top of the Eiffel Tower. The pavement stretched on and so did the groups of people. When we made it to the base of the structure, a man greeted us with a camera.
"Mademoiselle, Monsieur, image," he said with a Polaroid camera in tow. Luke looked at me, and I looked at him. He placed his arm around my shoulder, and we smiled for the man with the thick French accent.
"No, no, no," the man said, and smooched his lips together making kissing sounds.
"No, no, that's not necessary," Luke said.
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The camera flashed, and I knew he had captured the moment in action. A moment I would treasure forever. As Luke paid the man, I took the picture and fanned it until the shock on Luke's face at my kissing his cheek appeared. I tucked the picture in my pocket as we pushed our way through the crowd of tourists. We stood on the edge of the sidewalk.
"We can go up to the second floor if you want," Luke said.
"Why are there so many people here?"
"It's Paris." He gave me a look. "There are always this many people here. So you've seen the Eiffel. Are you ready to see the city I know?"
"I guess," I said.
Luke grabbed my hand, and we walked down the busy streets of Paris, dodging the cyclists. Flags mounted along the side of the buildings blew in the breeze. The sun was setting, and the streetlights flickered on.