Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

34. 7:37 AM Show

Leaving one dream for another, I wake at 7:30 AM to rush into the bathroom and freshen up for my 7:37 AM show. Throwing myself into the same spot I occupied at last night's big reveal, I wait for the next.

Beyond the horizon-rising sun and dark blue skies sits the iconic Eiffel Tower. I feel like a kid waiting to open their birthday presents. Resting my head on my knees, I rock back and forth as my anticipation magnifies. What could be better than this?

Dropping my legs to dangle over the high bed, I jump off, wanting to share this Parisian routine with the one who brought me here. As I stumble my way to the closed door, a single-finger knock falls upon it. His timing is unmatched.

Carefully swing the door open, I can't cease the smile that's crept across after finding Marcel grinning, holding up a tray of coffee and croissants. I step aside, open-armed, allowing him into my room. 

"I was just coming to get you." 

As he passes, the warm aroma of fresh bread and coffee set me at further ease. "You're watching the show?" He sets the pre-breakfast tray on a smooth section of my mess of a bed. 

I've already crawled across and reclaimed my former post. "Yes." I declare, folding my legs into a pretzel as Marcel comfortably crawls his way to the middle of my bed.

"You like that spot, huh?"

"Some amazing things have happened here." I jab my pointer finger into the exact mark on the plush comforter.

"One." He smugly corrects. "We haven't even been here for 10 hours."

The excitement deflates out of my shoulders as my head slothfully rolls. Marcel clears his throat, dissolving the gathering chuckles. 

"Why are you always making fun of me?"

Taken aback, a silent gasp drops from Marcel's mouth as his fingertips land on his shirted chest. He collects himself behind an extended blink. 

"I always want to see you enjoying yourself. With that being said, I'd never do that – make fun of you." His shock fades into a guilty, yet unremorseful smirk.

"I'm trying to enjoy myself, but you're making fun of me." 

I peer out the window to bask at the stunning dawning. We all see the same sun and moon respectfully rise and fall each day and night, but to watch as they abrade on such beauty gives a fresh, enchanting experience.

The day begins to gradually creep into the room, bringing its orange tint with it. 

"It doesn't feel real. This must be a dream."

Snatching away from the pinch on my arm, I grab the delicate skin as an embarrassing yelp leaves my throat.

Marcel brings his fingers to my face, supporting my chin on his index and tapping just below my lip as he searches my eyes for sleep. "No, you're awake." He confirms with a validating bow, knocking a lone curl on to his forehead. You better not touch it. Something tells me it's meant to be there.

"Thank you for that!"

Content with the dismay he's caused, Marcel slides the tray between us, encouraging me to grab mine. He's considerate enough to have two options at my disposal. 

"Do you like jam or jelly?"

"Jelly." I take my small plate, then pick up one of the four, flaky croissants. "Thank you." I pull the small bowl of butter towards me.

"You're welcome," Marcel says, already biting into his roll.

"You say you're here for a project." 

I scoop a piece of my crescent into the butter, then my jelly before bringing it to my open mouth. Marcel watches my dip and dab, then licks a flake from his top lip. Urging it, I hold up the tiny bowl for him to give it a try.

"A campaign for a brand. Shooting begins on Monday and I won't be back in London until Tuesday evening. I have your ticket home for Sunday." He assembles the combination, then tosses the bread into his mouth, letting me capture his initial reaction. "I like that." He sucks a bit of the messy jelly off his thumb.

There's a tightening in my stomach that I know doesn't belong. What also doesn't belong is the extensive, provoking, soul-awakening, turquoise gaze he's projecting. The tightening in my stomach has now tied into knots.

With Marcel not backing down, I'm first to break the trance and take a sip of my piping coffee. Ew! What is this? My face sourly pulls together as my eyes drop to find dark, lifeless coffee. Look at me messing up. I hadn't even added my cream and sugar.

As I begin customizing my morning brew, I ask for the true reasoning behind our last-minute trip. "Tell me more about the campaign."

"Just a small boutique getting ready for their fall collection. They found my work online."

"Or maybe they saw your Gucci campaign, which was stunning by the way."

"You've seen it?" His face lights up, unaware that I've been checking daily on their website.

"Yes. The shots were stunning. I really liked the one where the models were in that field of flowers. It looked like it was shot shortly after dawn." I figure. Taking a second, my brows crinkle as I look out the window. Then, with a theory, I turn back to the photographer. "Was that a 50mm 1.2 lens or 1.4?"

"1.2." A puff of air passes his lips as a nod drops his smiling face.

"Oh!" I jump, lifting a finger as I remember a portrait.

Marcel perks up, interested in my interest. "Hm?" He hums, pulling his lips into his mouth, patiently waiting for me to continue relishing in his work.

"The one in the water." I sigh, admiringly lessening my posture. "One of the girls was coming up with the flowers surrounding her." I twirl my finger around, creating a circle resembling the floating flower formation.

"Oh, you like those, huh?"

"Obviously." I roll my eyes. "You should be really proud of yourself. I'm proud of you, Marcel." I pinch his cheek, hoping to bring out the boyish grin.

He glances at his plate, hiding his face as the purest smile threatens to make an appearance. Pinching his telling, bottom lip, Marcel directs his regard towards the window. Losing the battle, his eyes slender out, crinkling at the corners as his treasured dimple dips his cheek. Marcel may smile all of the time, but this one is most definitely my favorite. 

As he rubs the flattery from his face, he gathers himself enough to say, "Thank you."

"You have a special eye for beauty."

"Yes, I know." He pauses, allowing my plausible thoughts to fill the space. "There's a lot of beauty here." He says while his eyes zigzag their way up to my prepared gaze. Still, with that much time for assembling, the butterflies vacating my stomach overwhelm me. I pick up my coffee cup to block half of my heated face.

"You're such a flirt."

"I apologize." 

He simpers, taking his attention out of the window as mine remains on him – outlining his pronounced jaw with my eyes, then his pointed nose and the length of his flourishing eyelashes.

Taking another sip of coffee, my eyes finally drift out the window and away from one charmer to the next. I sigh at how the sunlight has crept into the room. As if it came to grace our skin, warming us, begging for our attention to showcase the painting-like art.

"I want to see everything. We have a long day ahead."

"Can we conquer Paris in a day?" Marcel wrongfully taunts our abilities.

I leap off the bed, stuffing the rest of my second croissant into my mouth. "Don't underestimate us. We have a way of making things special in a short amount of time." I peek over my shoulder to see Marcel watching me over his. "It's what we do."