WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 2 | DON'T SCREAM

[LOVEY]

⚘

I WOULDN'T MIND DYING IN PARIS.

Of all the places I've been to in the world, none of them make me feel as euphoric as the 'City of Love'. It's almost as if the atmosphere is clouded with pure charm, meant to leave me dizzy with admiration. It may be the tourist in my heart saying that, but I'd never tire of being here.

My journey off the train was a little less than satisfactory, however, because my own clumsiness got in the way.

The stranger—who didn't seem keen on conversing with me—was still nose-deep in his book when the train stopped. When I began to collect my things, I noticed his eyes flicker up to watch me throttle my luggage into the aisle, silently judging me in my mind. I had a feeling he watched me leave the train as well (although I was confused upon his lack of urgency to exit. We'd reach the end of the line—the train couldn't take him further).

Not only that, but I ended up tripping over my toes when exiting the station. A nasty heave in the concrete had unfortunately gone unnoticed. I gathered myself, promptly continuing towards my destination.

Percy arranged for my stay at the Coeur De Paris, a favoured hotel by both him and his royal family members. I hated the thought of the expense—something told me it was worth more than a month's salary at my past job. I used to work in Fashion Retail, but when I started dating Perce, I was instructed to stay away from any public-interacting jobs.

One bad review was one bad article. He didn't like the idea of the press knowing where I worked, either.

I wasn't a house-wife, however, nor was I a house-girlfriend, because I didn't attend to his estate when he was off on business. He had people for that. I simply lived in my own space, and went wherever he instructed me too.

That's why I'm in Paris. He asked me to come.

And perhaps he was also to propose.

I liked the idea of it, but the more I thought about it, I felt tense. I hardly ever saw him, due to his busy schedules and responsibilities, but something told me it would be worse when married. I wasn't sure if I even wanted kids, or wanted a pet—we never took it upon ourselves to discuss the future when we did see each other.

"Welcome, Miss Lovey," the manager said, "Profitez de votre séjour ici."

I had only just checked in to the Coeur De Paris, when I realized how out of place I already felt. I came from a reasonable background, but still, such wealth was extraordinary to my eyes.

The hotel was glimmering against the sunlit windows, reflecting beams off the sleek gold columns. From the very top of the ceiling hung a crystal chandelier, with more rings than I could count. I tried not to trip over my feet when ascending the large staircase towards the upper floors, because I knew how clumsy I was, and snapping my neck was not one of my wishes.

I was led towards my room (Suite 6, Floor 12) and told my luggage would be sent up in a matter of moments. I was eager to see what my room looked like, so as soon as the Bell-Hop that had accompanied me was out of sight, I unlocked my door and slipped inside.

Beauty, truly, that's what I saw.

Everything had been perfectly positioned around the room—the mahogany desk right next to the view of the Paris skyline, a bed with white, satin sheets by the corner, a large wardrobe with a complimentary robe hung up inside—my heart jumped in excitement.