Best  Books Set In Paris Novels & Stories

The apartment sat above a bookshop on a narrow street in the 11th, nothing grand about it, nothing designed for tourists, which was exactly right for both of them. "There are twenty-two stairs," Isla announced, halfway up on the first evening, one hand braced against the wall. "I counted." "You could have told me that before I let the movers unload the crib on the fourth floor." "It was a discovery in progress." Paris in February wasn't performing for anyone — grey sky, cold air, the city just being itself in winter light, and Isla loved it immediately, standing at the kitchen window that first morning looking down at the street below.

he said. "Thank you, this is our haven from the hands of the enemy," I replied. "You're right. So, I'll let you know if there's a message from Claire," he said and left me. When Heath was gone, I opened my suitcase and took the only book I brought with me. The Name of a Rose, written by the Italian author Umberto Eco. I haven't even finished from the prime. I couldn't face reading it because of too many works in Paris. I turned to the page where I placed the bookmark.

The vibe towards magic with every minute walked within the city shook me, and I fell in love with Paris. We walked into a small bookshop, the walls of which were completely clad with old books and prints from other centuries. Luc took me to meet the friend who owned it. She was a sweet old lady, with the name of Colette. She spoke no other language than French, so Luc had to do an interpreter's job in our conversation. Must be here, there, around the shelves of the lit. section for almost an hour, doing little but changing pleasantries back and forth ad nauseam.

The day after the day after, the atmosphere had settled into a new kind of quiet, a working quiet that was more unsettling than the tension that had preceded it. I was in the library, a room of dark wood and leather-bound books that smelled of dust and time. I was dusting the shelves, my movements efficient and precise, but my mind was not on the task. It was on a map, a map of a city I had never seen but was suddenly, irrevocably bound to. Paris. The word itself was a collection of images from books and films, a romanticized idea of a city I never thought I would see. And now I was going, not as a tourist, not as a free woman, but as a possession in a gilded cage. That changed everything.

[ Ella ] When we landed in Paris, it was already evening, the sun was setting, giving the sky a beautiful fire red colour mixed with dark purple. The air itself felt romantic. He booked a private suite for us but we had separate rooms on opposite sides so I won’t feel uncomfortable. I asked him to take me for a nightlife experience in Paris. The city looked more beautiful than what I saw in T.V. and magazines. Common men and women walking on the streets looked like models out of a fashion magazine.

He need not have worried grandfather's were either strict as their fathers, or their daughters cunning. The apartment was located in the fashionable 5th arrondissement, close to the place de la Madeline in an affluent area of the city where women wearing furs and carrying miniature dogs strolled the place Vendóme and Champs Elysées. The women amused Jason for he could tell that being seen was just as important to them, if not more important, than what they purchased. What would it be like, he wondered, to sit and watch their coming and going. And what would his father make of them? But he and Lola never stayed long enough to observe and, expect for a visit to the Opera and an evening of coff

The crunch, the explosion of flavours and herbs, the freshness is sublime. Afterwards, we grab a coffee to go and keep exploring the rest of Le Marais. He takes me to Place des Vosges, a lovely preserved square. There's so much life, energy, and history entrenched here. I cannot get enough of window shopping all the boutiques and small specialty shops selling just about everything I can think of. I love Paris and if I'm to be honest, I'm glad to be exploring it with Tristan. Even though he's been keeping a respectable distance from me, he always walks slightly behind with a hand close behind my back, and I feel safe in his presence. Okay, I'll admit it. I want to be with him. I like being wi

I didn’t know if I was making the right decision, but at the very least, this burden that had hung about my shoulders would be lifted. I wandered through her bedroom, noting that she’d left a stack of books behind, along with lip balms, bobby pins, hair ties, and other knickknacks. I flipped through one of the books, realizing that it was one of the romance novels she’d bought at a used bookstore in Paris. I wanted to return to Paris with her and show it to her as my wife. I wanted to see her smile and moan as she ate an eclair again.

A fleeting glance, a quick smile, an accidental brush of the hand that left both startled… As night fell over Paris, golden lights reflected off the shimmering Seine, mirroring the mysterious night sky. Camille stood on her apartment balcony, inhaling the cool night breeze deeply.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” “No, it’s not that.” He says quickly. “I was just admiring.” “Oh.” My cheeks redden. “So what exactly are we doing in Paris?” “I figured we could see the Eiffel Tower, anything you want to do.” He tells me. “Alright.” I smile, as I eagerly wait to arrive in Paris. I pluck out a book from my backpack, it’s a cheesy romance novel that Emily sneaked in while I wasn’t looking, though she did promise I was going to love it even though I am not a fan of romance.