Page 27 of From Paris to Seoul (K-Drama Love Story #2)

The mood lifted after brunch as we headed to the Rodin Museum. We cracked jokes about the statues’ poses, laughing at our own silliness, but even through the humor, I had to admit—they really were stunning.

Later, we took a break at yet another charming open-terrace café. Despite the cold, Parisians sat outside, unfazed, sipping their coffee and people-watching like it was a full-time job.

On our way to the Moulin Rouge , we passed through Pigalle—a district that felt… different. Sex shops lined the streets, their neon signs flashing shamelessly. Even though prostitution was technically illegal in Paris, the area definitely had a red-light district kind of vibe.

As we passed a five-story building crammed with every kind of adult novelty imaginable, I glanced at Seo-yeon. She looked… intrigued. She tried to play it cool, slipping into her usual princess mode, but the faint flush on her cheeks gave her away.

Being the gentleman I am, I took her hand lightly. “Let’s check it out.”

Her face went up in flames. “What? No way!” She instinctively tugged her hand in the opposite direction.

But by now, I was starting to understand her. So, without a word, I strolled straight into the building. Sure enough, she followed—half-grumbling, half-amused, her face still bright red.

So cute.

Leaning in close, I whispered into her ear, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Hey, Seo-yeon… how about we buy each other a gift here? Something we could use tonight.”

Risky? Definitely. This could backfire spectacularly.

But after everything that happened last night, something had shifted. Whatever this is—whatever we are—it’s not going back to how it was before.

Her mouth fell open, one arm already raised, ready to launch one of those adorable little attacks I’d grown familiar with. Deciding I deserved it, I let the hit land on my arm with a grin before casually wandering deeper into the store.

She called my name in a low voice, but there was an unmistakable hint of panic in it.

I took my time browsing, ignoring the fact that she was probably burning holes into my back with her stare. After about ten minutes, I finally picked something I was pretty sure she’d enjoy using tonight and headed to check out.

She was already waiting near the exit, arms crossed, all frowns. But her eyes—those gave her away. Beneath the pretense of disapproval, I knew she was actually enjoying this.

“Did you find something interesting for me?” I grinned, but she just huffed and didn’t respond.

I took her hand again as we crossed the street toward Moulin Rouge , grinning like an idiot, letting the neon lights and buzzing energy of Paris sweep us away.

At Moulin Rouge , the cabaret show was spectacular, all flashing lights, extravagant costumes, and hypnotic performances. A flute of champagne in my hand, I let myself sink into the moment, almost— almost —forgetting whatever number was left in my bank account.

I realize that in the past few days, I haven’t been checking my balance as obsessively as I usually do. Maybe I don’t want the reminder. Maybe, just for a little while, I want to pretend I don’t have the weight of an entire household on my shoulders.

And then, Seo-yeon’s words from brunch resurfaced in my mind. But… do you really have to carry that alone?

It was such a simple thing to say. Obvious, even. And yet, I couldn’t remember the last time I had let myself consider that possibility. Because that’s not how it works— not in my family .

Not in most Asian families, really. Money wasn’t something you talked about—it was just understood. The eldest son steps up. The one who can provide, does. No questions, no complaints.

Except… maybe I do have complaints.

I had sacrificed my own education so my sister could go to university. I had taken job after job, poured everything into keeping things afloat—while my mom just let me take on the role of the provider.

And my dad? That bastard didn’t even have to think about us. He got to leave. To disappear.

While I was the one left behind to carry the weight he abandoned.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus on the stage, on the glittering performance in front of me. I didn’t want to go down this road tonight. Not now.

So I took another sip of champagne, and let the music wash over me—allowing myself to believe that none of it mattered.

I glanced at Seo-yeon, but instead of watching the scene, I caught her staring at me—intently, as if asking, What’s wrong?

I shook my head with a small smile. No words were needed.

We turned back to the stage, but my mind was already elsewhere. And as the show came to an end, so did the moment we had both anticipated—and maybe even dreaded.

What now? Going back to my place together seemed logical. Or maybe her hotel?

But… wouldn’t that feel a little too couple-y?

Then again, hadn’t we already agreed to enjoy whatever time we had left in Paris?

Suddenly, an idea struck me—the perfect, ladylike excuse, tailor-made for Princess Seo-yeon. So demure. So poised.

I leaned in with a grin, my lips brushing against her ear as I murmured, “Want to get some instant noodles at my place?”

Even in the dim light, I caught the flush creeping up her ears. But it worked. After a brief pause, she fidgeted with her hands before mumbling, “Fine. I’m hungry anyway.”

I chuckled. We both knew what this was, but neither of us was willing to say it out loud.

On our way back to my place, we made a detour, stopping at a small artisanal sandwich shop to grab something more substantial. The instant noodle excuse was already long forgotten.

Back at my tiny unit, we ate in front of the TV, watching a local channel on its small screen.

“I have no idea what they’re saying,” Seo-yeon furrowed her brows mid-bite. “I took French lessons for a couple of months, but I think I was a terrible student because none of the words stuck.”

She isn’t wrong—French is tough if you’re not used to it. Even after reading French books and spending hours on YouTube to train my ear, I can still only catch a phrase or two from the broadcast.

I rummaged through my suitcase and pulled out a well-worn copy of Le Petit Prince .

“This is one of my favorite books,” I said, flipping through the pages. “I wrote Korean translations under each word.”

I smiled, remembering the hours I had spent going through every line, scribbling notes in the margins, working through the language on my own for that audition. Unlike top stars, I didn’t have the luxury of a native tutor correcting my pronunciatio n —I had to figure it out myself.

Seo-yeon glanced at the pages, then back at me. “You really put in the effort,” she murmured.

I hesitated for half a second—then, before I could think twice, I placed the book back in her hands. “You can have it.”

Maybe it was just a book, but at least when we went back to being almost strangers, she’d have something to remember our time in Paris.

Her fingers traced the worn cover, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Are you sure? It seems important to you. I can’t just take it.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “I can always buy another one—and redoing the translations will be good practice for me anyway.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Why French, though?”

I shrugged. “At first, it was for the audition. But I also like the idea of understanding more of the world. Isn’t it crazy that by learning a new language, you can suddenly connect with millions of people you’d never have been able to talk to otherwise?”

Her lips curled into a small smile as she nodded. “Yeah. I’ve always dreamed of leaving Korea one day. Not just because of everything going on lately, but… you know, for a fresh start. A new beginning.”

The words lingered between us, unspoken thoughts filling the quiet. Then Seo-yeon cleared her throat with a soft cough, breaking the moment.

“Um… I know I already stole your spare toothbrush, but do you happen to have a towel too? I’d love to take a shower and freshen up.”

“I do, actually.” I dug through my suitcase again, like it was some kind of magic bag filled with everything we needed. After a moment, I pulled out a fresh towel—and another clean T-shirt that could double as her pajamas for the night.

She accepted them with a grateful smile and disappeared into the shower—which, oddly enough, was right in the kitchen area. No walls, no separation. Just a shower booth. “Interesting layout,” she muttered, crinkling her nose before closing the door.

While waiting for my turn, I tidied up the tiny desk where we’d eaten and unfolded the sofa into a bed. The place wasn’t much, but it had its charms.

After we both showered, I found Seo-yeon standing by the window, gazing out at the shimmering Paris skyline—being on the seventh floor meant we had a perfect glimpse of the city’s lights.

I stepped behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and pressed a light kiss to her neck. Her skin was cool, carrying the fresh, clean scent of soap.

“So,” I murmured, lips close to her ear. “Want to check out the gifts we picked for each other?”

I felt the warmth rise in her body as she tensed slightly in my arms. Then she let out a small huff. “I panicked and had no idea if you were serious or just messing with me,” she admitted, sounding a little annoyed. “So I just grabbed this.”

With a sigh, she pulled a bright-red eye mask, trimmed with delicate lace, from her bag and waved it in front of me.

I burst out laughing, easily picturing her flustered expression as she hurried to check out with the lacy red mask at the adult shop earlier tonight.

“Well, thank you,” I teased, smirking. “At least it’ll be useful on the plane.”

Before she could say anything, I tilted her chin up and captured her lips in an open-mouthed kiss—because, honestly, I couldn’t wait any longer.