Lumiere Plumette Novels & Stories

As I slid into the seat, his hand brushed against my lower back, a touch so light it could have been accidental if not for the heat in his eyes. Once he was in the driver's seat, he turned to me before starting the engine. "Hungry?" "Starving, actually," I admitted. "Shopping is apparently exhausting." "I know just the place." He drove us through the city with the casual confidence of someone who owned every street we passed. We pulled up to a sleek building with no obvious signage, just a discreet gold plaque reading "Lumière." "What is this place?" I asked as the valet opened my door.

I demand. She silently turns the screen to me and boldly written on her screen is the most ridiculous headline ever. Insiders Claim Lumiere Deal Was Sealed by Romance, Not Talent.

I bring him to the passenger seat and open the door for him. Under the witness of his butler and the orange lights, we set off for the date tonight. ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ That night, after we had our dinner at a French restaurant named Clair de Lune Bleu, I brought Jamie to an outdoor light art exhibition helding along the Michigan River. Tons of stunning light installations are everywhere, some are above the ground, some hang beneath the trees, some are even floating beyond the water.

Lune blushed, smiling at his thoughtfulness, and quickly realized how carefully he had planned everything. Once their bags were ready, they were escorted to Arlo’s private jet. The sleek, luxurious jet waited for them on the runway, its glistening exterior hinting at the elegance that awaited them on board. Lune's eyes widened as she took it all in, feeling a blend of wonder and excitement. She’d never imagined her life would bring her to moments like this, flying to Italy with the love of her life on a private jet.

He immediately turned and headed for the kitchen. Sitting on the couch, sipping the hot coffee the butler had brought, I asked with curiosity, "Why did Mr. Lloyd go to the kitchen himself?" The butler, smiling warmly, answered, "Ms. Canfield, you're in for a treat. I've heard he's a great cook, but I've never seen him in action." As we chatted, Thomas came over with a bowl of piping hot special mushroom soup and a few small dishes for me.

Lean and lithe in his dinner jacket, Christophe strolled forward, a faint flush highlighting his hard cheekbones as he scanned her with hooded eyes. “Let your hair down. I don’t like it up.” “Really? Well, tough luck. It stays like this.” Lara tilted her chin. It was a mistake. Christophe caught her to him with one hard hand and ruthlessly released her hair from the sleek plait she had confined it in. A mass of gold cascaded untidily to her shoulders, framing her outraged face and glittering eyes. “You look messy now... as if you just got out of my bed,” Christophe delineated in a scorching purr of satisfaction. "I think that’s more the look we’re aiming for... And this…"

On the 88th floor of Thorne Enterprise, Mavric sat at his wide desk, staring at the wall of screens displaying global market charts. He wore no suit jacket; his black shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing his toned forearms and a luxury watch that vibrated continuously, receiving reports from brokers. "Sir, we have acquired 22% of Lumiere's floating shares," reported Leo Vance as he rushed in. "Julian Lumiere is trying to secure a bailout from a consortium of banks in Paris, but we have already blocked their access." "Buy everything," Mavric said without shifting his gaze. His voice was cold and merciless.

Celeste's Pov The scent of truffle risotto and aged wine filled the air, mingling with the soft clinking of silverware and murmured conversations. "Lumière" was the kind of restaurant where the rich indulged in overpriced delicacies while pretending to care about calorie counts. It was also where I spent my nights weaving between tables, balancing trays heavier than my will to live.