Elena
Paris was everything the books promised — and more.
Cobbled streets glowing under golden lamplight. Cafés humming with quiet music. The scent of espresso and fresh croissants dancing through the air. But the most beautiful thing in Paris wasn't the Eiffel Tower or the Seine.
It was the man walking beside me.
Zayden held my hand like he couldn't bear to let go. Every now and then, he'd stop just to kiss my forehead, like he needed to remind himself I was really there. Alive. His.
We stayed in a penthouse overlooking the river, with a private terrace and tall glass doors that opened to the Parisian skyline. And the bed…
Well, I barely made it to the bed.
Zayden
She was wearing my white shirt.
Just that. Legs bare, hair loose, cheeks flushed from the wind.
I set the champagne aside and walked toward her slowly.
"Elena Wolfe," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, "Paris looks good on you."
She smiled, slow and teasing. "So does your last name."
I kissed her then — soft, then deeper — until she was pressed against the terrace railing, the Eiffel Tower lighting up behind us. She wrapped her arms around my neck as my hands slipped under the shirt she stole from me.
The night turned into something achingly intimate. Not rushed. Not wild.
But slow. Loving. Intentional.
Every touch said, "I'm here."
Every breath said, "Don't leave yet."
Every kiss said, "You are mine."
We made love in front of the fireplace, candles flickering across her bare skin as she whispered my name like a vow.
Later, tangled in the sheets, she lay against my chest, fingers tracing my heartbeat.
"Zayden?"
"Mm?"
"Will you do something with me tomorrow?"
"Anything."
She looked up at me, her eyes soft and heavy with something deeper than just happiness.
> "Let's cross the first thing off my bucket list."
I stilled. But nodded, brushing a kiss against her forehead.
"What is it?"
She smiled faintly. "Dance with me under the Eiffel Tower at midnight."
---
The Next Night
There weren't any crowds — Zayden had somehow cleared the area. A violinist played a hauntingly beautiful melody, and fairy lights strung above the trees cast a soft glow.
I stepped into his arms. He didn't say a word.
He just held me.
We danced slowly, my bare feet on his shoes, my hands clutching his coat. And when the clock struck midnight and the tower burst into glittering light, he cupped my cheeks and whispered:
> "This moment... it's all yours."
Then he kissed me under the stars like it was the last kiss we'd ever share.
And maybe one day it would be.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I was alive.
Loved.
His.