The architecture is beyond belief. Even the cafés are darling and unique. The whole city buzzes with an energy that’s infectious. I never want to leave. We’ve only been here two days—barely a dent in our ten-day trip, but eight more days is hardly enough.
I stand on the balcony outside the flat we’re staying in. Ivy grows up the walls and clings to the iron railing. Instead of looking unkempt it’s like everything is a part of each other—meant to be there. There’s a small table with two chairs on the balcony, and Jace and I have sat out here eating breakfast both mornings. It overlooks another apartment building across the street with crumbling stone walls and stained-glass window detailing, and more ivy, of course.
Below me on the streets people pass by on bicycles, pedaling fast to get to their destination.
A man rings the bell on his bike and throws out his hand, angrily shouting something at a driver in French. The driver leans out his window, shouting something back.
The biker shakes his head and peddles away, while the driver slams on his gas leaving a trail of exhaust billowing through the air.
Hands grip my waist, turning me around.
I smile a moment before Jace’s lips meet mine.
They’re warm, melting against mine like ice cream on a warm summer’s day.
I wrap my arms around his neck while his fingers fist my shirt at my back. Cool air blows against the exposed part of my back and I shiver.
“Mmm,” he hums, pressing his forehead to mine. “You taste delicious.”
“Must be the fruit I ate. It was sweet.”
He shakes his head, his blond hair tickling my skin. “No, no,” he chants. “It’s you.”
I smile and he presses another quick kiss to the corner of my lips.
“What do you want to do today?” he asks, kicking out one of the chairs and flopping into it. His long legs bump the bottom of the table and he grimaces, readjusting his position.
I sit in the opposite chair and tap my fingers against the tile tabletop.
“Th
e catacombs,” I reply.
Most people would want to tour all the beautiful historic landmarks—and I want to do that too—but I’ve always said if I ever made it to Paris I couldn’t leave without seeing the catacombs.
The fact that the remains of six million people are underground one of the most stunning cities in the world fascinates me to no end.
What can I say? I’ve always been different.
Jace nods. “Sounds interesting.”
“There are dead people,” I tell him.
He grins. “When you said catacombs it was a tip there were dead people involved.”
“Right,” I agree. “So, you don’t mind going?”
He stares at me intently, his green eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you figured out by now I’d do anything for you?” Before I can respond, he adds, “The catacombs sound interesting to me.”
I stand, pressing my hands to the tabletop. “I’ll shower and get ready then.”
I start to head inside but I pause and bend down, pressing my lips to his stubbled cheek and then whispering in his ear, “I know you’d do anything for me, and the same is true of me with you.”
I disappear inside and shower.
I change into a pair of high-waisted, ripped, black skinny jeans, a gray t-shirt, and my jacket. I put on a pair of heeled boots and slick my hair back into a ponytail, a few pieces escaping from the confines of the elastic. I appraise my outfit in the floor-length mirror across from the bed and laugh to myself. Thea would be proud. Maybe I actually have a decent sense of style after all.
I glance around the flat we rented, taking in the open space. Like our apartment at home most of the space is open to each other, except for the bathroom.