The day was, indeed, absolutely beautiful. The weather was not too stifling, as August weather can often be, but just right. The afternoon sun was out in a blue sky only marked by a few white clouds, just the perfect amount. A gentle breeze broke the tranquility in the Bois de Boulogne occasionally, giving life and movement to this beautiful spot on the west side of Paris. Georg sat on a park bench, contentedly watching his wife a few yards away. She crouched at the edge of a pond, throwing the last bits of her breadstick onto the surface of the water, where the ducks could come and finish them.

My angel . . . she is so beautiful . . . he thought as he watched her. She had changed out of her ivory traveling suit into a light summer dress, the fabric white blossoms on a light green background. The sleeves ended just above her elbows, the skirt at her knees. As she tossed the last crumbs to the ducks, he saw a glint of gold flash in the sunlight. He smiled, and looked down at his own marriage band. It fit perfectly, so perfectly it felt like a part of himself.

True to Maria's request, they had spent the day outside. The remainder of the morning they had walked the streets of Paris slowly and idly, in absolutely no rush to be anywhere. Maria looked at everything around her, occasionally injecting a question about a landmark or a sight into their conversation, and Georg was more than happy to answer her. For lunch, they had stopped at a pleasant café and sat at a table outside.

His wife was positively glowing, had been glowing since they'd arrived in this beautiful city. It made a certain sense to him, since she'd been cooped up in that Abbey for six weeks, more of a sentence than an engagement in his opinion. Though he knew that wasn't exactly fair – the nuns were good people and Maria loved them – he was thinking more of how it had felt to himself, not even being aloud to see her.

Now he could, and with history, he would never, ever, take his wife for granted.

Maria stood up and wiped her palms together, and Georg allowed his eyes to travel over her from head to foot. Her figure was slim, curving in all the right places. The curve of her fit calves . . . the slope of her neck exposed by her short hair . . . her perfect skin glowing in the light of the afternoon sun . . .

Georg took a deep breath, trying to calm his heartbeat. He was still getting used to the fact that he could look at her as his wife, and therefore without shame. When he'd first become aware of his attraction, the shame and guilt he felt were deep. It had been a relief to know how similar her feelings had been. Now she was his, and he was hers.

Maria was now walking back towards him, a lazy smile on her face. She sat down beside him and leaned back on the bench like he did. She leaned her head back and enjoyed the sensation of the sun on her skin, exhaling. She felt her husband's eyes on her face and some blood went to her cheeks; it felt like a heat.

Without moving or opening her eyes, she inquired, "What are you looking at, Captain?"

Georg's response was only one word: "Belle."

Maria opened her eyes and met his gaze, her brow furrowed. "Hmm? Is that French?"

"Mm-hm," replied Georg, nodding his head, that half smile she loved so much on his face with his intense gaze.

She quirked an eyebrow. "And are you going to tell me what it means?"

Georg's smile turned playful. "Perhaps."

Maria rolled her eyes and resumed her original position, this time with her eyes open. She raised her arm and made a sweeping motion with her hand. "What's the French word for 'sky'?"

"Ciel," replied Georg, turning his gaze to that, too.

"Ciel. And 'sun'?"

"Soleil."

"Soleil . . . beautiful words, beautiful language." Her eyes closed again as a memory came back to her. "When I was about sixteen, I would volunteer at the orphanage in my hometown. One day, a policeman brought a little French girl about Gretl's age. Apparently, she became separated from her parents, who were vacationing here."

Georg turned to look at her. "What was her name?"

Maria opened her eyes and looked at her husband, settling in to tell a story. "Adele. Poor thing was even more shy than Marta, most likely because she could only speak French and was frightened to be away from her parents."

Georg heaved a deep sighed. "If one of the children were lost, I would be as terrified as Adele."

"Me, too," said Maria, nodding. "I can't imagine anything worse . . . I tried to help Adele as much as I could, despite the language barrier. Eventually, we came up with a sort of sign language. Simple things like water, bedtime, supper, things like that. But every time I would see her, she would ask in her own tongue for her parents." She blinked strongly. "It broke my heart each time I told her I couldn't bring them to her. I knew that there was nothing I could say to make her feel better, having lost my own parents."

Georg gently took one of her hands and held it between both of his, encasing it. "Whatever happened to her? Do you know?"

Maria sighed, and a hardness came to her eyes and tone. "Her parents came about two weeks after she was brought. They were a rich couple, it turned out, and had continued on their vacation through the country realizing two weeks too late they had forgotten they had brought along their only child."

Georg clenched her hand in anger; she didn't notice in her own anger at the memory. "Bastards . . ." he murmured under his breath.

"I don't think I was ever so angry in my life . . ." said Maria quietly, a distant but angry look in her eyes. "Not even when we yelled at each other by the lake . . ."

"You should have been." Maria's head snapped to the side to look at him in shock. "No, you should have been. I was no better than those parents . . . how often did I leave my children behind and push them away?"

Maria covered his hands, already encasing her right hand, with her left. "You did that out of grief, Georg. You changed, and you had never stopped loving them. Would you ever care more about money than your children?"

"Never!"

"And would you ever put your own pleasure at the forefront so much that you would forget you were even a parent?"

"Of course not!"

Maria simply shrugged. "Then you are nowhere near as bad as those parents were, and probably still are. If you were, I could never have fallen in love with you. Not in a million years."

Maria's simple but powerful habit of being honest jarred him in that moment. It would have annoyed him at one point – like that day by the lake – but now he found it extremely refreshing. He suddenly hoped that this quality about her would never change. She corrected all of his wrongs. She was his better half.

Wordlessly and quickly, Georg swooped in and claimed her lips. She gasped, surprised at how powerful and full of need his kiss was. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer, and her hands reached up to clutch the collar of his shirt, bringing him even closer. A breeze grazed her cheek, and Maria suddenly remembered where they were and pulled away from the kiss and his grasp, flushing deep red and looking around. She smoothed the folds of her dress and put a few inches between them on the bench.

Georg, who had not regretted his actions but understood why she had pulled away suddenly, gently took her right hand with his left between them and nothing more. "If it makes you feel any better," he said softly, "there is a reason Paris is known at the most romantic city in the world."

"Oh?" she said, her voice still a little breathless. "Why is it?"

In answer, Georg discreetly pointed to a couple walking down a nearby pathway. They were holding hands, and the man was speaking very softly into his partner's ear – and sometimes not even speaking. Georg then pointed to another couple on the other side of the pond, who were necking very enthusiastically without really bothering to hide themselves.

"Oh my!" Maria giggled. "I suppose their beliefs about public displays of affection are a bit more liberal than back at home."

"Or anywhere else, for that matter," Georg chuckled.

Feeling better, Maria released his hand but scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Georg wrapped his arm around her shoulders and they both relaxed on the bench in the afternoon sun.

"So, my love," said Georg, after a few moments of contented silence. "I've already made dinner reservations for us tonight. Why don't we head back to the hotel soon so we can phone the children before getting ready?"

Maria looked at him with full eyes for a moment, then kissed his cheek before nodding, settling back on his shoulder.

As they walked back to their hotel some time later, the sun getting lower in the sky, Maria suddenly slowed and a ponderous, almost worried look, came to her face. "Georg?"

"Hm?" Hearing her serious tone, Georg turned his head to look at her. "What is it, love?"

"I was just wondering . . . seven is already a big number and I would understand completely if you didn't . . . but since one can't always plan on these things . . . would you want any more children, Georg?"

Georg stopped completely to turn to her, causing her to do the same.

He was smiling. As he cupped her cheek, Georg said, "I want as many as God will allow, Maria. To have a child, or children, with you . . . I can't think of anything that would make me happier than I already am now."

Relieved and happy, Maria now smiled radiantly. Then, right there on the sidewalk of Paris, they kissed. As they did, an elderly couple passed them and looked at them. The old man smiled, and the old woman just said, "Ah, l'amour," before sharing a special look with her husband.

Maria and Georg did not notice anything beyond each other in that precious moment.