The Parisian Novels & Stories

We go for a walk along the Seine, go rowing in Bois de Vincennes, climb the Sacré-Cœur and finish the day watching the sunset from the Arc De Triomphe. It was a wonderful day, not because of all the things we got to do, but because we did them together. That night when Paige and I have sex, it feels different. More intimate. We make love. Ever since we left New York, I’ve noticed that Paige has gotten a little more affectionate. I guess it’s the Paris effect. I can’t say I’m complaining. The next morning it’s Paige’s 30th birthday. She wakes up to me serving her breakfast in bed.

'Paris, here I come! *****

"Young man I don't understand, what does this mean?" "Are you attached to this city, Cyrus?" "Well no son, can't say as I am." "Well then, that card means that after I've taken my girl here to see her mom, we're going to swing back here and pick you up. We'll find you a home in Washington. That's as good a place as any, right?" "Well, I don't' is this one of those new fan dangled TV shows?" "No sir, you see those guys over there, we're bikers, and we have a shop where we build custom bikes back in Washington. I'm very serious."

Paris. Possibly slightly more than enough.

RED POV The city was a physical assault on the senses. After nearly two years of an island defined by the rhythmic shush of waves and the scent of salt and hibiscus, Paris was a symphony of chaos. The air was a thick, moving tapestry of exhaust fumes, roasting chestnuts, and the faint, sweet perfume of a woman who passed too close. The sound was a cacophony of car horns, distant sirens, and the murmur of a thousand conversations in a dozen languages. It was overwhelming, a deluge of sensory information that my cataloguing instinct could not immediately process.

The glass walls of Moreau International’s headquarters stretched high above the Paris skyline, reflecting the pale morning light that rolled across the city. From Bella Carter’s desk on the twentieth floor, she had the perfect view of the Seine weaving like a silver ribbon below, the Eiffel Tower glinting in the distance. She should have felt inspired. Instead, she felt the weight of the day pressing down on her like the stack of color-coded folders balanced precariously on her lap.

"Let's do it." Within hours, we're on a flight from Rimini to Paris, and just like that, I feel a sense of freedom wash over me. It's like shedding a heavy coat I've been wearing for far too long. When we land, Odette whisks me away to a chic penthouse right in the heart of Paris. The view from the terrace is breathtaking. The Eiffel Tower stands tall against the skyline, and the whole city seems to be shimmering with life.

Even in these fleeting snapshots, Paris had an undeniable romance to it. Our hotel—Le Grand Paris—was a magnificent historic building in what Scarlett informed me was "the absolute best part of the 8th arrondissement, darling, literally steps from everything important." The ornate façade was illuminated by tasteful lighting, highlighting the belle époque architecture and intricate stonework.

“He’s going to be our photographer. Do you guys have any where you wanted to go?” “I guess the company also saved up on getting a tour guide.” Clark says. “Where do you suggest we go?” “Most tourists would always visit the famous attractions in Paris first.” Cassie tells us. “The Eiffel Tower, of course. The Arc de Triomphe. We should also go to the Louvre Museum and the others. We can also visit the chapels and cathedrals around the area. Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris and the Sainte-Chapelle. There’s also an opera house nearby, the Palais Garnier.”

Some doing morning jogs, others just chatting and the rest just getting ready for the day. Walking halfway down the field I suddenly smelt a delicious scent hit my nose. It smelt of breakfast waffles, burning wood and sweet candy. It smelt good enough to eat and I know my wolf agreed with me but her reaction to the smell was more scared than wanting to eat. She both loved the smell with me and was scared of it. What's her problem?