Chapter 30
Tilly
Yana really came through with the packing.
I swear half of what I brought is the result of her yelling.
So here I am—standing in front of the mirror, adjusting my cream-colored blouse tucked into a flowy, blush-pink skirt.
A thin gold chain rests at my collarbone, and my hair is let loose.
I even tied a small white ribbon into it because, well, Paris.
I don’t usually ever dress up because I wear book merch and sweats most of the time, unless it’s Luca’s hoodie.
I will always choose comfort over style, and that’s an opinion Yana will never agree with.
I step out of the bathroom, fiddling with my sleeve
Luca’s sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, one leg bent up. His hair is still damp from his shower.
He looks up and blinks.
For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Then his mouth curves into this slow, warm grin that makes my stomach do a whole gymnastics routine.
“You look beautiful,” he says simply, and his voice is low and certain.
I roll my eyes and tease. “You’re so sweet.”
“It would be illegal to walk next to a stunning girl with her not knowing it.”
“You and your third-person kink.”
“What can I say, I love referring to my girlfriend as just that.” He stands up and takes my hand in his. “Ready to visit Parii?” He says it with this absolutely tragic fake French accent.
“Please never do that again,” I laugh.
He pretends to be offended. “Excuse me, mademoiselle, I am very cultured.”
“Cultured in embarrassment, maybe.”
He laughs and kisses my forehead.
***
The café we find looks like something straight out of a postcard.
Little round tables scattered along the sidewalk, chairs woven in green and white, the air smelling like roasted coffee and warm pastries.
A soft breeze carries the sound of French chatter and clinking cups, and the sun shines in the perfect way that doesn’t blind you, but covers you in a warm blanket that makes you want to wear a sundress.
We sit outside, under a little awning with ivy creeping up the sides.
A waiter comes by with a charming smile, setting down two cappuccinos topped with perfect foam hearts, a basket of croissants, and a plate of pain au chocolat that looks like art.
I try to play it cool, but it’s impossible when I feel like all the girls in movies, because for some reason, they always go to Paris at the end of their story.
“We have to take a picture,” I take my phone out of my bag.
Luca grins. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Okay, smile!”
He leans in close, and right as I click the photo, he presses a soft kiss on my temple.
I smile when I see how perfect it looks.
“I’ve decided my official mission on this trip is to make you blush as much as possible. And smile. And scrunch your nose when you laugh.”
I bite my lip, trying to hide another smile. “Then my mission is to make you laugh more often. You don’t laugh enough.”
“You don’t have to do an awful lot of trying for that T, because your presence alone makes me the luckiest man alive.”
I roll my eyes, but a warmth spreads in my whole stomach.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask after finishing a bite of croissant.
He leans back, sipping his coffee. “Well,” he says, “after breakfast, I thought we could go to the Musée d’Orsay. Then maybe grab lunch by the Seine. And tonight’s the event. Formality, dancing, blah blah.”
“Wait, dancing?” I gasp.
All I know is that it’s a Victorian times style party and I am so excited for it. I have a whole crew to get me ready, and the dress is absolutely stunning.
He grin. “Yeah. I was hoping you’d save me one.”
“Only one?” I tease.
“Maybe two,” he says, eyes glinting. “If you’re nice to me.”
He reaches across the table, brushing his thumb over my hand, and I sigh contentedly.
The view out the big window is stunning, especially since it’s late spring, and everything is blooming.
I’ve never been to Europe, and going with Luca for the first time is everything.
“Tell me what’s going through your beautiful mind.” He strokes my hand, and I snap out of my daydream.
“Jealousy, because what do you mean you could just jump in a car and drive here when you were younger?”
He smiles, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “You know, I have to take you to Italy.”
I swear my heart skips a beat. “You’d take me to Italy?”
It feels very intimate, going to the very country Luca grew up in. Even though he literally lives in my country, it feels special.
“Of course, in fact, I will take you, because there’s no way I’m keeping it from you. You would love Italy, and it would be the best view, you in my country.”
“I would love to go with you.”
He smiles and leans closer. “I love you, Tilly Harper.”
“I love you , Luca Rossi.”
***
After breakfast, we wander out into the crisp Parisian morning, Luca slipping his hand into mine as it has always belonged there.
The streets smell faintly of rain-slicked cobblestones, the city waking up around us.
“Promise me something,” Luca says, tugging me closer as we cross the street.
“What?” I ask, laughing because his dramatic tone is ridiculous.
“That we won’t rush anything today. I don’t want to regret anything.”
“I promise.”
We spin down a narrow alley that leads to the Musée d’Orsay.
The building itself takes my breath away—ornate, golden, enormous, with huge arched windows glowing in the morning sun.
We pause outside, just staring at it.
The world feels like it’s revolving around us, and I feel like I’m in one of those pictures where everything is moving around one person.
I’m slightly scared because once you go too high, there’s a point where you have to fall.
But not as much as usually, because I have someone to fall to, and I know it will ease the pain of the inevitable
Inside, the museum smells of old wood and polished floors, quiet except for the soft padding of our footsteps.
Luca wanders a little ahead, peeking at a sculpture, then turns and holds out his hand like a gentleman. “After you, mademoiselle.”
I take it, feeling a warmth I can’t quite explain, and we stroll through the halls together.
He keeps his promise, making me giggle every second, and I keep mine when I feel the tension slowly disappear in his arm.
Every time I look at him, my chest flutters, this mix of happiness and disbelief that he’s mine.
After the museum, we find a small bridge over the Seine, and go on it hand in hand.
I lean against the railing and feel Luca wrap his arm around me so he’s pressed against my back.
I’m of average size for a woman, neither tall nor short, but he’s significantly taller than me. When we stand next to each other, I barely reach his chin.
“Look at this,” he says.
“It’s perfect. Like something out of a movie.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “But the best part is that it’s real. Not a movie or a book, Tilly. Your author must love you.”
He’s not wrong.
A little old man selling postcards waves at us, and Luca buys one when I ask him if we can have a look.
He hands it to me, and I smile. “You didn’t have to buy it.”
“Yeah, I did. Plus, I wanted to. You have another memory to put in your memory box.”
By the time we wander into a tiny boutique chocolate shop, we are both a little tired and very happy. Luca insists I try a chocolate shaped like the Eiffel Tower, and I put a piece into his mouth before tasting it myself.
“You’re supposed to feed me nicely,” he complains, laughing.
“I am being nice,” I say between bites. “You just can’t handle my generosity.”
He laughs, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I can handle anything, as long as it’s you.”
By the time we leave, we have little bags for Matt, Zara, and Yana.
The sun is starting to dip low, painting the sky pink and gold. I lean into him, feeling like I could melt into his side forever.
“You know,” he whispers, “I could get used to this. Traveling with you and doing simple, mundane things with you.”
I tilt my head to look at him. “Me too.”
He smiles, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”
As if I would ever want that.
We ducked into a tiny gelato shop, its walls pastel and slightly worn, with glass cases displaying tubs of every shade imaginable.
The smell of waffle cones and chocolate makes my stomach twist in the best way, and Luca’s grin immediately makes my chest flutter.
“Decisions, decisions,” he says dramatically, surveying the colorful flavors as if it were some grand contest. “Which shall it be today?”
I roll my eyes at his theatrics. “I think, chocolate hazelnut. Or strawberry?” I gesture at the soft pink scoop, feeling indecisive for once.
“No need to pick,” he says, “Two scoops, then, for my very favorite girl.”
I laugh at the way he says it, that teasing lilt in his voice making my heart skip.
Outside, the bench we find is tucked under a striped awning, just enough shade to keep the sun from blinding us.
Luca hands me a spoon with a flourish. “Ladies first,” he says, leaning closer, the teasing sparkle in his eyes making me melt.
I take a bite, savoring the rich, creamy chocolate.
Luca digs his spoon in, and before I realize what’s happening, he flicks it on my nose.
“Luca!” I squeal, but the sound dissolves into laughter when he leans in and brushes a kiss over it. “You’re impossible,” I manage between giggles.
He smiles, and I love how it softens his features.
His forehead smooths out, and his right cheek shows a small dimple.
I lean against his shoulder, the city bustling around us, people passing, the faint echo of street musicians playing in the square.
But it all feels distant, like we created a little bubble around ourselves.
I can feel his heartbeat through his chest, steady and strong, and I just want to stay here forever.
“You know,” I say softly, “this might be the perfect afternoon.”
He turns his head, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “Because of the gelato?” he asks, feigning innocence.
“Exactly.” I tease.
“No other reasons?”
“Not really.” I pretend to think.
“Well, for me personally, I think sitting here next to you, my girlfriend, is the best part.”
I feel my cheeks heat and my heart twist in the sweetest ache.
“Ok, fine, my boyfriend makes it ten times better.”
He presses a kiss to my temple.
We sat like that for a while, talking about nothing in particular.
I catch him stealing little glances at me, quick ones that make my stomach flutter, and I know he’s thinking about me the same way I’m about him.
“Promise me you’ll never forget those moments,” I say quietly, watching the sunlight catch the edges of his hair. “Even when we’re back home, running around with everything else taking up all our days.”
He smiles, his hand brushing mine in a gentle squeeze. “Tilly, I could never forget this. It’s like my memory has built a spot just for this, and no matter how much I have on my mind, this will always linger there.”
H e leans closer until our foreheads touch.
The city fades around us. It’s just him, and I'm wrapped up in this small, perfect afternoon, and I could never ask for anything better.