Wrong for Me

29|six years

NAOMI COLE—SEPTEMBER

MY HANDS RESTED GENTLY on the chilly railing of the balcony I was currently standing on, my eyes surveying my immediate area and trying to soak in as much as possible. The rose colored hue of the morning sky illuminated the Eiffel Tower that was mere blocks away from the apartment that Dante had rented for the two of us, towering over each and everything other structure in the city. Below me was one of the bustling streets, filled with both tourists and Parisians who were fed up with the tourists.

The aromas from the café directly across from the apartment had me closing me eyes and inhaling the smell deeply, wanting to remember everything about this moment for the rest of my life. Sure, I could take a picture, yet I always felt like that made the moment less of something that I could hold onto for myself. It wasn't something I necessarily wanted to share with anyone else.

I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back into a growingly familiar toned chest. Angling my neck just slightly, I caught a glance at Dante who somehow looked like a model after just having woke up.

"How do you do it?"

His brows furrowed. "Do what?" He questioned in his low, slightly raspy morning voice, sending butterflies straight to my stomach.

"Look so perfect when you just woke up. Or know the right things to say all the time. Or take me on the best vacation I could ask for."

His lip twitched for a second as if he wanted to smile, just for it to disappear moments later. I held back a sigh at the realization that he was probably back to his non-smiling self.

"I could ask the same of you," he whispered in my ear, spinning me around so that my back was pressed against the balcony and his hands were placed firmly on either side of me as he gripped the railing.

He pressed a gentle kiss to my neck, just below my ear, trailing more and more down as his hands moved from the balcony to rest on my waist. I couldn't help but to sigh at not only the feeling of his lips leaving a hot trail down my neck, but also the place we were in—both figuratively and literally.

"The city's beautiful, isn't it?"

"So beautiful," I replied, gazing out at the vast majority of the city that we could see from our position. "It was so shocking to wake up this morning and actually see where I was."

We had landed in the city so early in the morning that everything was blanketed in the darkness. It wasn't until this morning that I was able to finally soak in my surroundings and become enthralled by the view. In a funny way, I felt like the suspense of having to wait for hours to see the beauty of Paris only added to the magical experience.

"What are we doing today, sweetheart? It's up to you," he muttered, moving to stand beside me as his mahogany eyes scanned the distance. "Within reason."

I rolled my eyes at him for thinking I may suggest something impossible—although I might have thought about it. "I want to visit that little café down there and sit outside on the street and have a conversation with you pretending I'm not a tourist and a true Parisian."

He chuckled and I pouted, unsure of what was so humorous about my ideal beginning to the day. "We might have to alter that last part. How are you going to act like a true Parisian if your French is horrendous?"

I scoffed and pretended to be offended by his words, placing a hand over my chest. He shrugged, letting me know he was only being honest with me.

"What next?"

"Then I want to walk down the street with you and look at all that this section of the city has to offer."

"And after that?"