Chapter 31
Luca
She looks so pretty, I swear my heart forgets how to beat for a second.
I don’t think I have ever seen Tilly be so careless.
It’s almost like every bad thing just evaporated, and she had a bounce in her step that practically made her levitate.
Every time she smiles up at me, I feel my heart grow slightly bigger, and I feel so full of life that I can breathe normally without being scared the air will disappear.
Paris has already been a dream — the kind that doesn’t end when you wake up.
I’m walking back to our hotel, the evening air still carrying that warm Parisian buzz — people laughing outside cafés, the faint sound of an accordion somewhere in the distance, the sky fading into shades of peach and lavender.
My arms are full of snacks, which makes me look ridiculous, but it’s worth it.
Tilly has demanded a proper movie night, and that means snacks.
Every. Single. One.
Sweet and salty popcorn.
Salt and vinegar chips.
Sprite.
Gummy bears.
And a bunch of French treats.
The second I open the door, her voice rings out.
“Hey! Don’t come in yet! Close your eyes!”
I chuckle, already grinning. “Why? Did you do something bad again?”
“Luca, don’t test my patience,” she scolds in that mock-serious tone that only makes me smile more. “I’m not five. Just— close them, okay?”
“Fine, fine. Closed.”
She giggles — that soft, breathy sound that always hits me right in the chest — and I feel her take the bags from my hands.
“Oh my God, I love how much bad stuff you got. Our coach would literally murder us if he saw this.”
“Yeah, probably,” I laugh. “But I’d die a happy man.”
“Okay, now… open.”
It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the soft light.
Then I see it — and my heart does that stupid, warm flip again.
She’s dragged the mattresses off the beds and laid them side by side on the floor. The bedding is all piled up, fluffy and uneven, like a nest made for us.
The big hotel TV glows with the opening credits of a movie, and she turned off the harsh ceiling lights, leaving just a golden lamp glowing in the corner.
The whole room looks like it has exhaled.
“Tilly…” I breathe out, smiling. “This is the most Tilly-ish thing ever.”
She grins, her eyes bright. “I know. Come on, I need you to meet Lara Jean. She’s literally me — but Korean and way more dramatic.”
I laugh and follow her down to the mattress fort. I set the snacks between us and slide under the blanket she tosses over my legs.
She looks so happy — hair messy from rushing around, cheeks flushed with pride.
The movie starts playing, and she leans forward, eyes wide with anticipation like she's never seen it before.
Five minutes in, she turns to me, serious. “Focus on the movie, please.”
I smirk. “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”
She doesn’t even look at me. “Because you always just stare at me nonstop.”
I burst out laughing. “What can I say, the view is beautiful.”
“Luca!” she throws a piece of popcorn at me. “I’m serious!”
The problem is, I can’t.
She’s sitting cross-legged, completely absorbed in the screen, her eyes reflecting the flickering light.
Now and then, she whispers the lines before the characters say them, grinning when she gets it right.
Her hand brushes mine, and neither of us pulls away.
When the big kiss scene comes on, she buries her face in her hands. “No, I can’t— I hate this part.”
I grin. “What? Why?”
“Because it’s too cute,” she mutters through her fingers, peeking at the screen anyway. “It’s embarrassing. And now you’re here. That’s even worse.”
I laugh softly. “I think it’s cute.”
She glances at me, her eyes wide and her cheeks painted a soft pink. “You can’t say things like that!”
“Why, because it makes you happy?” I tease.
She kicks me. “You just can’t.”
I pull her closer to me and rest my head on hers. “But what if I like talking to you in a way that makes you blush? Am I not allowed to tease my girlfriend?”
She tries to push away, but I don’t let her.
She sighs, defeated, and presses play on the next movie. “Ok, this one is more of them in a relationship instead of faking it. I would tell you to take lessons from Peter, but you’re already pretty good at being a boyfriend, and I don’t need more perfection. ”
I laugh. “That’s not a word.”
“I just made it one, now shh.”
I watch it attentively because I plan to be her real-life replica of all her favorite book guys.
Someone has to take that role, and I volunteer without any resistance, because if it means I get to keep Tilly forever, smiling and joking around, then I have absolutely no complaint.
Halfway through, she starts getting drowsy — her head resting on my shoulder, her fingers curled around a handful of popcorn she never ate.
I don’t dare move. The world outside could disappear, and I would never notice.
The movie plays on, the lamp hums quietly, and her breathing slows against me.
She shifts in her sleep, mumbling something about Peter Kavinsky that makes me bite back a laugh.
I brush a strand of hair from her face and whisper, “Sorry, Lara Jean. You’ve got nothing on my girl.”
Then I lean back, pulling the blanket higher over us, and watch the soft glow of Paris flicker through the window.
I have never felt more at peace in my life.
***
I wake up to the faintest sound of the city buzzing below us.
And right next to me lies Tilly.
Her head is resting against my arm, her hair a mess of golden tangles spilling across the blanket.
Her face is turned toward me, lips parted slightly, still asleep.
I don’t move. Not once.
She’s curled up in the middle of the mattress fort as she belongs there.
I shifted slightly, my arm completely numb under her weight, but even that doesn’t make me want to move her.
I just watched.
She looks peaceful in a way I rarely see.
It’s just her in the simplest way possible, and I decide right here and now that this is my favorite version of Tilly.
Not that I don’t love every single version, this one is just so rare to see, and I will never take this view for granted.
The sunlight has started slipping through the half-drawn curtains, painting her cheek gold. It makes her look unreal.
I reached out and brushed a bit of popcorn from her hair.
There is so much popcorn in her hair.
How does she even manage that?
“Morning, baby,” I whisper, even though I know she’s barely awake.
She stirs a little, scrunching her nose. “Mm… what time is it?” Her voice is raspy and sleepy, and I swear I fall for her again right there.
“Early.”
She groans. “I can’t believe I fell asleep mid-movie. Again.”
“You didn’t just fall asleep,” I tease her. “You snored. Full on cartoon snoring.”
Her eyes fly open, scandalized. “I did not!”
I grin. “You did. Adorable, though. Ten out of ten, would listen again.”
She smacks my shoulder, suddenly very awake. “You’re such a liar.”
I laugh and lean back on one elbow. “I’m serious, you were out cold.”
“Oh my God,” she groans, burying her face in her hands. “I’m never watching a movie with you again.”
“Sure you are,” I say, tugging lightly at her wrist so she’ll look at me. “Because you love me.”
She peeks out from behind her fingers, cheeks flushed pink. “You can’t just say stuff like that at seven in the morning, Luca.”
“Why not?” I tease. “It’s true.”
Her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile. “You’re unfair.”
“Yeah, but you like it.”
She rolls her eyes but leans closer anyway.
“I like this,” she whispers after a moment.
“Me too,” I say quietly.
She turns her head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “You know, if every morning could start like this, I wouldn’t even mind waking up early.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure every morning looks like this.” I kiss her head.
“Yeah, but will you cook for me every morning?” she teases.
“What kind of question is that? I permit you to embarrass me as much as you want if I don’t.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “I was kidding.”
“I’m not. Sometimes you forget how special you are, Tilly, and that’s ok, because it gives me the perfect opportunity to remind you. You’re like a diamond, how could I ever have one and not polish it every day of my life?”
“Come on, let’s not exaggerate.” She leans her head on my chest, but I pull away and look at her seriously.
“I’m not,” I repeat. “In fact, I’m understating, because you are a billion times more important to me than any rock could ever be. You’re a million times more unique, and a thousand times more beautiful.”
***
Paris has already woken up by the time we step outside.
The air smells like sugar and coffee, the kind of smell that makes you forget you only slept four hours.
Tilly is absolutely blessing the street with her beauty.
Her hair is let down naturally, her curls bouncing with every step, and she’s wearing a beautiful pink sundress that complements her skin beautifully.
“Okay,” she says, holding up her phone with determination. “First order of business — find the world’s best croissant.”
“Pretty sure that’s impossible. You’ll just keep saying every single one is the best.”
“Maybe that’s because I believe in equality,” she says, grinning. “All croissants are created delicious.”
I snort. “That’s not how that works.”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder. “You’re just jealous I’m smarter and hungrier.”
“Both those statements are debatable,” I tease, bumping her shoulder lightly.
Her laugh echoes down the narrow street — and something about it makes everything else go quiet.
We find a café tucked between two flower shops, with tiny tables spilling onto the sidewalk.
The waiter speaks in rapid French, and Tilly tries to order in French too, but it turns into complete chaos.
“Deux... uh... café au lait? Et... croissant... de... chocolate?” she tries, squinting at the menu like it personally betrayed her.
I bite my lip to stop from laughing, but fail miserably.
“Stop!” she hisses, smacking my arm. “At least I’m trying!”
The waiter smiles kindly, clearly used to tourists, and corrects her pronunciation before disappearing inside.
When the coffee and pastries arrive, she immediately takes a huge bite and groans. “This is pure delicacy.”
I reach over and wipe a piece off her cheek. “You have something here, Picasso.”
“You could have just told me!”
I grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”
She rolls her eyes.
We sit there for a while, sipping our coffee, people-watching.
“You ever get scared moments like these won’t last?” she turns to me after the silence.
“Sometimes, but it’s not completely true. Sure, the moments end, but they always stay here,” I tap my chest.
She smiles at that.
“You’re such a poet, Luca. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“I lose control over my tongue when you’re around, so I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I’m not complaining.” She grins from across the table.
Her hand brushes mine on the table, and I stroke patterns on her palm.
I watch her watching everything and try looking through her eyes.
Tilly loves small details and notices them almost immediately.
A bike passes us, and I notice she smiles when she sees it’s pink with a butter-yellow bell.
A little girl runs up to her, and I smile when she starts talking with her.
“Hello, beautiful.” Tilly smiles at the girl, and I can't help but admire the scene.
Tilly continues talking with the girl, complimenting her dress and her hair.
I see the mom tuning up to us, apologizing.
“No worries, your daughter is extremely smart.” She smiles, and the mom walks away.
When she catches me staring, she grins.
“What?” she asks softly.
I shake my head, smiling a little. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“You’re gonna call me out in public?” I tease.
“Absolutely. You have that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that means you’re about to say something cheesy,” she laughs.
I chuckle under my breath, leaning back in my chair. “You’d know.”
She rests her chin in her hands, smiling at me across the table. “Okay, then say it. Whatever you were not gonna say.”
I look at her for a moment — the light flickering in her eyes, the warmth of her hand still resting in mine, that little curve in her lips that always makes me forget words exist.
“I love you.”
She blushes. And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, she smiles — soft, genuine, glowing.
“I love you too.”