Feliz Navidad From Paris

The moment the private jet touched down in Paris, Melody felt it. She was freezing. It wasn’t subtle. It slipped through the seams of comfort and wrapped around her bones the second the aircraft door opened. 

She instinctively pulled her thick jacket tighter around herself, silently thanking herself for listening when she packed it. New York cold had nothing on this. This was sharp, clean, biting but not unpleasant. Like she had truly arrived somewhere else.

The runway was busy but calm, the kind of quiet efficiency that came with money and order. There was no rush, no crowd, no shouting. Just movement that made sense. Men in dark coats waited beside sleek black SUVs, doors already open, engines humming softly as if they’d been waiting the whole day for their arrival.

She turned around her slowly, taking it all in.

“Welcome to Paris mama,” Logan whispered softly into her ears as she smiled.

This was her life. Right now.

Logan stepped beside her, naturally placing a hand at her lower back as they walked toward the waiting vehicle. It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t showy. It was grounding. Like he knew she might float away if he didn’t anchor her to something solid.

“You good?” he asked.

She nodded, laughing softly under her breath. “I think I forgot how to blink.”

He smiled, clearly enjoying that.

They got into the SUV, the warmth immediately wrapping around her like a blanket. The door closed with a soft, solid thud, sealing her into comfort. As the car pulled away, Melody looked out the window, watching Paris pass by in fragments, lights, buildings, movement, everything unfamiliar and intoxicating.

The drive didn’t feel long enough. When the car finally slowed and turned into a wide entrance framed with towering lights and deliberate elegance, Melody’s breath caught.

The Paris Lè Meridian Hotel rose before her like something unreal. She didn’t even speak at first. Her mouth simply fell open.

The Christmas decorations weren’t just loud. They were intentional, they made a statement as if saying ‘welcome to luxury.’ Grand in a way that didn’t scream for attention but demanded it anyway. Warm golden lights draped the building, wreaths placed with precision, towering trees glowing from within the glass entrance. Everything shimmered without being excessive.

It felt like walking into a world that had been designed for people who never questioned if they belonged there.

Her hand tightened slightly around her coat.

“This place…” she whispered.

Logan glanced at her, amused. “Yeah.”

They pulled to a stop, and before Melody could even process the moment, doors were opening, voices greeting them softly, hands reaching for luggage. It all happened smoothly, like a dance everyone already knew the steps to.

As she stepped out of the car, her eyes lifted again, scanning the entrance, the people, the scale of it all.

“This can’t be real,” she said quietly.

Logan leaned closer. “It is.” Taking her hands in his, he said. “You know the President of the United States stayed here?”

“Are you serious?” 

Her laugh was breathless. “This is a place for the one percent of the one percent,” he said casually.

Melody turned to look at him, really look at him, as if seeing him through a new lens. In a million years, she never dreamt of a life like this, a life where she flies private and checks into outrageously expensive hotels for the high and mighty.

She's always dreamt of having a small family, with Brandon. Expanding her pastry shop, just being around her family and the people she loves most in the world, attend church every Sunday wearing matching outfits with her husband and maybe travel to new places whenever they can afford to.

That was it. 

She thought that life would give her contentment, but she was wrong. She wants more. She wants all of it.

What would it feel like to be Mrs. Russo? Yes, it's not like it's impossible.

He studied her face, the wonder written all over it. “A penny for your thoughts Melody.”

She turned to face him, embarrassed that she got lost in her thoughts. “Did you say something?”

“I said our suite will blow your mind.” He looked very excited to be the first person to show her the world in another lens. He liked her genuine amazement.

“I can't wait.” 

They walked inside, the lobby alone stole the breath from her lungs. High ceilings, marble floors that gleamed without a single scuff. Soft music humming somewhere unseen, Jim Reeves Blue Christmas. The scent in the air was warm and subtle, something expensive she couldn’t name. 

Everything felt intentional, curated for people who could afford to live life as they please.

Staff moved with ease, dressed impeccably, greeting Logan with recognition.

“Welcome back, Mr. Russo,” the receptionist said with a warm smile.

Melody froze. Welcome back? So he had been here before. Multiple times. How much does this guy really have? She should have googled his net worth and asked for more money.

“We’ve prepared your suite,” the woman continued. “Peter will escort you.”

Peter stepped forward immediately, already aware of their names, their needs, their presence. He nodded respectfully and gestured for them to follow.

Melody’s feet moved, but her mind lagged behind, trying to keep up with everything happening at once.

As they walked, Peter explained the details smoothly like he's said this all his life. Meals prepared, according to the taste of the residents here, personal attendants available at the ring of a bell, every comfort accounted for before it was even requested.

Melody nodded politely, though inside her thoughts were spiraling.

When they reached the suite, Peter opened the door, stepped aside, and waited.

Melody walked in, and stopped. It keeps getting better. Whatever Logan paid for this place, is completely worth every penny.

The front room alone was bigger than Tara’s entire apartment. She stood frozen, slowly turning in place, trying to absorb it. Plush seating. Tall windows revealing the Paris skyline dusted in winter glow. Soft lighting that made everything feel warm despite the cold outside. A private balcony.

She walked further.

The bedroom made her gasp. The bed looked like it belonged in a movie, massive, pristine, inviting, the staff made extra effort with the Christmas decorations in the room. There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the room. And in the center of the room sat a bubbling pool, steam rising gently as if mocking her disbelief.

She covered her mouth with her hand.

“There’s a pool,” she whispered.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her reaction with quiet satisfaction. Not the room, or the decor, he was already used to seeing these things, it was her. He could feel something in his chest, but quickly reminded himself that this was completely business and he shouldn't ruin it. 

The way her eyes widened. The way her laughter escaped in soft bursts. The way she touched things gently, like they might disappear if she moved too fast.

She looked at him, overwhelmed. “People actually live like this.”

“Some do,” he said. “I wish I was one of those few.”

She rolled her eyes at him, shook her head again, walking slowly around the room, fingers brushing the furniture, the walls, the glass. “I’ve only ever seen this in movies.”

“Well,” he said softly, “welcome to the set.”

Something shifted inside her. She turned back to him, suddenly emotional. “Thank you boyfriend.” 

He met her gaze. “For what?”

“For bringing me here,” she said honestly. “For letting me see this.”

He smiled, small and genuine. “You deserve it. This is just the beginning.”

They stood there for a moment, something unspoken hanging between them. Then he cleared his throat. “I have a meeting. I’ll be gone for a few hours. Get settled. I’ll pick you up for dinner.”

She nodded quickly. “Okay.”

He stepped closer, pausing. “Relax and enjoy yourself.” 

“I will,” she promised.

After he left, the door closing softly behind him, Melody finally let herself fall back onto the bed.She stared at the ceiling, heart racing, laughter bubbling out of her chest.

She reached for her phone, instinctively opening Tara’s contact then stopped. She would be working now and it wouldn't be nice to distract her.

She smiled instead, switching to video, recording everything. The room. The pool. The view. Her own stunned face reflected in the mirror. She sent the video to her mum, Tara and Cynthia.

With the caption ‘Feliz Navidad from Paris.’ She laughed quietly, resting her head back on the pillows.

For the first time in a long time, she looked forward to her beautiful future.