The Parisian Novels & Stories

Walking down the corridor, I hear Tristan sigh loudly and it takes a few moments for him to close the door and catch up to me. We exit the hotel and head north. It's a beautiful day: a story-book perfect day in Paris. The warm air swirls with the chatter of people in the streets, skinny girls walking in their trendy jeans and vintage bags, lanky boys with their scruffy hair and cigarettes, old couples with their droopy dogs.

Alexander replied, his French flawless. Of course, he spoke French. The drive into the city center was everything I'd imagined. Elegant buildings with wrought iron balconies lined wide boulevards. Cafés spilled onto sidewalks where Parisians sipped espresso and smoked cigarettes. The Arc de Triomphe loomed ahead, traffic circling it in controlled chaos. "It's beautiful," I murmured, watching Paris unfold outside my window. Alexander's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "It is." Le Bristol Hotel sat on the prestigious Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, its pale stone facade exuding understated elegance. A doorman in a crisp uniform opened my car door before we'd fully stopped.

She had followed what happened between Beauty and Mason and she was scared. Ryan sat at a small café on the Rue de Rivoli, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the world go by. He had always loved Paris, with its charming streets, historic landmarks, and vibrant artistic scene. As a successful business partner, his brother owning most of the company, Ryan had the means to travel wherever he pleased but Paris was just it.

“Language sweetheart and the date will be in Paris”. My mouth gaped open while a couple of butterflies swarmed in my stomach with his gruff voice nicknaming me ‘sweetheart’. Paris. He wanted to take me to Paris: the city of love, the city of romance and the city of everlasting sex. If he wanted to do anything like that with me, it would have to be after I’m dead and in the afterlife because no way in hell would I let him touch me. Not even with 10 foot pole.

Beatrice gripes as they walk along the sidewalk in the Faubourg Saint-Honoré district, checking out the beating fashionable heart of Paris. If Fifth Avenue is the heart of NYC fashion and Rodeo Drive the heart of Los Angeles, they were here in Paris’s heart, seeing the best the city has to offer. They were supposed to be here to get inspiration for their next show which is

I shake my head with a smile. "No, I wouldn't." "She has a mind of her own." Adrian replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Turning back to them, he continues their discussion. I don't want to be engaged in their conversation, I just want to stay on my own for now. The beautiful city is all I need to keep myself busy, the aesthetic trees, infrastructures and fashion houses along the road are indeed splendid. One thing I've been hearing of Paris is their love for fashion and their great taste. We've passed about eight fashion houses so far.

OLIVIA'S POV "Isn't Paris just the most beautiful city you have ever laid eyes on?" Monique thrilled as we walked the cobblestone streets of Montmartre. The district literally throbbed with life from artists drawing portraits, street musicians playing rhythmic music, and wafting smells of freshly baked bread and coffee.

Caleb had always wanted to visit Paris. The City of Love and Lights. The idea of strolling down the Champs-Élysées with a fresh croissant in hand, admiring the Eiffel Tower, and exploring the Louvre museum had been a dream of his for years. So when the opportunity presented itself, he didn't hesitate to book his flight and pack his bags.

Everything seemed to be going well; that's what mattered at the end of the summer vacation. Windows closed, curtains were drawn, Judith stood there like a hermit and did not see the outside world around her. Stuck in her comfort zone, she preferred to ignore the hustle and bustle of Paris. She remained cloistered in this large house, overwhelmed with rage. Passing from room to room, the ticking of the great clock punctuating each of her hesitant steps. It was what happened each time a man gave her a final kiss. An imposed ritual, in a way. Eric was the fourteenth man. He left her without the slightest explanation and not even looking back on their past together. He had suddenly deleted himse

He grabbed her hand and started walking, making her confused. "Where are you taking-----" "To buy you a dress." He turned around and answered her with a wink, making her blush like a fool. ___________ The ride arrived at Rue des Rosiers, in the Le Marais District. It was a narrow street lying in one of Paris’s oldest and most vibrant districts. The street was full of tiny bakeries, falafel stands, vintage shops, and hidden courtyards. There was so much street food; people were lined up for falafel, laughter bouncing off the stone walls.