Chapter: The City of Love
Paris was every postcard come alive—sunlight spilling across cobblestone streets, the Seine shimmering like liquid silver, lovers tangled in laughter at every corner café. But for Jay, it wasn't the view that stole her breath. It was the way Keifer's hand never left hers, tugging her close, fingers possessive against her waist like he was reminding the world: mine.
"Wife," he whispered against her ear as they strolled under the Eiffel Tower. He said it like a secret, like a vow, like something he would never get tired of repeating.
"Keifer…" she hissed, cheeks flushing when tourists glanced their way. "Stop calling me that in public."
"But you are my wife," he said, grinning. "Why would I hide it? Besides, the whole world should know I married the Mutya."
Jay rolled her eyes, but her lips curved. He leaned down and kissed her, not soft, not discreet—Parisian, bold, and claiming. She shoved his chest after, muttering, "We're not supposed to be that kind of couple."
"You mean the kind where the husband can't keep his hands off his gorgeous wife?" he teased, eyes glinting. "Too late for that, Jay."
And it was true.
Everywhere they went, he found excuses to touch her. At the Louvre, his fingers traced the small of her back while she pretended to be fascinated by the Mona Lisa. At a quiet café in Montmartre, he leaned across the table and kissed the foam off her cappuccino before her lips could. On a boat ride along the Seine, he pulled her against his chest under the blanket, whispering things that made her blush harder than the Paris sunset.
"Keifer," she warned, though her heart was racing.
"Yes, wife?"
"You can't just…" She faltered when his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "…kiss me everywhere."
He smirked. "Funny. Because I plan to. Paris is the city of love, Jay. And I won't waste a second of it."
They nearly got scolded at the Louvre when Keifer backed her against a pillar, stealing kisses until Jay shoved him away, whispering, "There are guards!" He only grinned and murmured, "Worth it."
In Versailles, he bent down in the Hall of Mirrors, kissing her reflection before her real lips, making her laugh and gasp all at once.
On the carousel near the Eiffel Tower, he climbed onto the wooden horse behind her, arms locking around her waist, chin on her shoulder. "I can't believe I'm actually married to you," he said, voice soft beneath the playfulness.
Jay's chest tightened. For a moment, it wasn't just Keifer teasing. It was her husband—completely in love.
She turned her head and kissed him—this time, not because he stole it, but because she wanted to. Paris disappeared around them.
By nightfall, their hotel room felt like the true heart of the city. The balcony doors stood open, letting in a soft breeze, the Eiffel Tower glittering in the distance. Jay stood at the railing, hair dancing with the wind, while Keifer leaned against the doorframe, watching her.
"You know," he said slowly, "I could take you out for another midnight walk… or we could just…" His eyes darkened as he pushed off the frame, closing the distance. "…stay here. Alone. Like I've been waiting for all day."
Her breath caught when his arms slid around her waist. "You're insatiable."
He chuckled, lips brushing her temple. "No, Jay. I'm just in love. And I can't run from it. Can't run from you."
And in the city of love, with Paris lights painting their skin gold, Keifer Watson kissed his wife like he meant it forever.