The Book The Paris Wife Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Yeah…” “Baby, you sure you want this? Paris is usually very hot this time of the year.” Came a woman’s voice. I didn’t want to believe what I heard, Ian told me he was going on a work trip but turns out he was going to Paris with a woman. Could she be the woman Agatha mentioned. Before I could ask any questions, Ian hung up. Paris. Not work. A trip. With her. Another woman. I fell on couch thinking to myself, I already knew how this was going to end but why was I so hurt and refusing to let go.

my eyes widened as she spoke, and I covered my mouth because of my nonsense. Paris laughed because she could tell I was embarrassed by what I was saying. “It’s okay. Many people have suspicions about us, but I swear we’re not married; I like someone else, and he likes someone else,” she said as she entered my room. I try not to look at her because I’m shy, she'll think I’m gossiping. Oh my goodness, Ana! What are you doing? Paris coughed to draw my attention, so I turned to face her. “Don’t you remember Martin?” she asked. Her question stunned me.

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.

She queried angrily before slamming the magazine in her hand on the table. I rose from my seat and steadily walked to the middle of the room to get a glance of the book she had just dramatically slammed onto the table. It was on the front page, Alexander's marriage announcement. He had definitely gone all out with the news, but for what purpose? What exactly was he trying to accomplish here? I questioned myself. However, now was not the time for that. Cynthia was clearly confused and angry, and while she had failed to read my expressions correctly, I also felt the same way she did.

I'm used to be neglected in this house though I'm his wife. I'm Tyra Louise Skyler-Grey, the wife of the known billionaire in town named Karl Matthew Grey. Our marriage wasn't like in the romantic movies where the girl and boy love each other and they decided to be with each other until the rest of their lives. My life isn't romantic at all. I often describe it as a tragedy. Matthew and I didn't know each other. I just know him when my father introduce me to him as his bride to be. Even I was to shock to know that I was getting married that time. I literally have no idea what's going on.

And definitely not a romance. Wedging the book back between its friends, she stood. Stopped. Rose on tiptoe and reached, bringing down a larger book. This one bound in creased red leather. Beneath the dust the title was French. The words—and, with zero illustrations, it was nothing but words—all French. Her French sucked. She skimmed the story about a woman in a city—Paris?—trusting a man, a kind stranger. Following him? Elle le suivit. She—elle—followed—suivit—him—le.

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.

Marianne asked, extending her hand to Lexus. Am I invisible here? I should’ve gone to Bangui Windmills first! “Not interested. I’m with my wife,” he replied coldly. My heart did a happy dance. Ericka laughed on the side while Marianne looked around, disoriented. “Where? I don’t see her—” Marianne froze when she turned to me. Lexus pulled me closer and embraced me. “She’s my wife,” he said, holding up our wedding rings. Marianne’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Tsk.