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Three months later…

Paris was everything I dreamed it would be.

We were free here. Just two strangers holding hands among the lively fashionable rush, strolling down the cobbled streets lined with chic boutiques and cute cafes, green shutters flung open to the sun or walls draped with ivy. All my senses were pulled left and right; the earthy smell of coffee and sweet, warm pastries, the sharp music of market sellers calling out their wares, flowerboxes spilling with pink and purple geraniums.

I sat close to Roman on the sidewalk of a café in Montmartre, a tree-lined part of the city built on a hill with winding cobblestone streets. Our cozy rented apartment was above the cafe, in the attic. We came down here every morning for a cafe au lait and a croissant and watched the people stroll by or glide past on bicycles.

Roman held a small tablet out in front of him.

“How the hell does this thing work?” Nonna said with a growl from the depths of a black screen.

I giggled behind my hand. Nonna still hadn’t gotten used to internet video calls.

“It’s on, Nonna,” Nora’s voice came through. “See? You just have to turn the video on.” Both their faces came on the laptop screen. The four of us let out a cheer.

The last day that Roman and I spent in Verona, my father, Nora and Nonna came to our hotel room to say goodbye. They met each other properly for the first time then. Since then, Nora and Nonna had been inseparable. They often ambushed my father at his place to make sure he was eating properly and that the house hadn’t turned to mold around him. It made me happy that they were looking after him and each other.

Nonna’s face broke out into a huge smile. “How is Paris?”

My eyes met Roman’s. It was a dream. Waking up every day next to him, getting to walk without fear or shame down the streets, holding his hand, and kissing him, oh, the public kisses. I think we’ve even made a sport of public kissing.

We filled Nonna and Nora in on Paris and the apartment we’d rented here.

“We miss you,” Nonna said. “Our lives are so dull without you two.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Nora.

Nonna snorted. “Did you hear that this floozy here has a new boyfriend?”

“When does she ever not have a new boyfriend,” I said.

“I’m not dead, so I don’t have to act like it,” Nora said in a haughty tone.

Sounded like everything back home was as we left it. Roman squeezed my hand under the table.

We spoke for another few minutes before we signed off with promises to call again next month.

I leaned back in my chair, sipping the remainder of my coffee. “I love that Nonna and Nora are friends.”

“I love you.” Roman stared at me, a small smile on his face.

“I love that we’re here in Paris.”

“I love you.”

“You know, you’re getting very good at saying that.” I remembered when he couldn’t bring himself to say those words to me.

“I’m not afraid to say it. Anymore.”

“Well, I love…” I said slowly, tapping my lip with my finger, “…the Eiffel Tower.”

“You love that I’m as big as the Eiffel Tower.”

I snorted.

Roman grinned. “You want to climb the Eiffel tower?”

We stumbled up the skinny staircase and poured into our apartment, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. He barely got the door shut behind us before I was slammed up against it. Fuck, I loved doors. Doors were amazing. It was my favorite thing to be crushed between them and him. I had only to look at a door now to get wet.

He kissed me like he was drinking me in. He peeled off my clothes, taking a moment as each article was thrown aside to brush his gaze across my skin and made a small, pained growl of approval. He made me feel so beautiful with the way his eyes devoured me.

Then we were naked, skin on skin, our limbs twisted around each other, the air sweet with our heavy breaths. When he slid inside me, we lost ourselves in each other, then we found ourselves. Right where we were meant to be.