DAY 1
In the heart of Paris, spring was in full bloom. The city of love welcomed Marguerite and John, who, after years of adventures and overcoming countless challenges, had finally found a moment of peace and quiet just for themselves. With their young son William safely in the care of his dedicated nanny and enjoying the company of Veronica and Ned, who were visiting, they were free to indulge in a beautiful trip and a little romance.
Hand in hand they strolled beside Seine, towards the famous bridge - the Pont Alexandre III. Marguerite felt like a young woman again, like she was discovering Paris for the first time. Their laughter echoed softly as they shared anecdotes and dreams, their conversation flowing as easily as the river beside them. This feeling of being carefree and utterly in love eveloped them.
John glanced at Marguerite with a playful twinkle in his eye. "Do we have a plan, or are we being spontaneous?"
Marguerite's smile was a blend of excitement and yearning. "Well, we do have tickets for the Moulin Rouge, opera at Palais Garnier and balet at Théatre des Champs-Elysées, but besides those, I thought we could choose as we please."
"I like the sound of that," John said, his voice warm with anticipation. He appreciated the balance between a planned experience and a freedom to explore. "The best of both worlds. Some classic Parisian experience, and then... letting the city guide us."
Marguerite linked her arm with his, leaning into him slightly as they resumed their walk. "Exactly. A bit of structure, a lot of spontaneity."
John's voice took on a flirting note. "And a lot of love making, I hope."
Marguerite's eyes danced with amusement and love. "John Roxton, you are incorrigible. But yes, I think Paris, with its romantic allure, might inspire a fair bit of that too."
As they approached the bridge, Marguerite squeezed John's hand, a silent expression of her love and gratitude for this moment of romance and beauty. John's arm found its way around her shoulder, drawing her close as they meandered across. They paused at the center of the bridge, taking in the panoramic view of Paris. The Eiffel Tower stood majestically in the distance. They watched a boat gently navigate the river below. They saw a couple on the deck, arguing then resolving it with a kiss.
Marguerite, with a curious tilt of her head, asked, "Did you ever have a French girlfriend?"
John, seizing the opportunity for a bit of playful teasing, said. "Oh, yes. I recall sharing a rather memorable kiss, right there on that quaint bench." He gestured towards an iron bench on the shore.
Without missing a beat, Marguerite playfully nudged him, a mock look of disapproval on her face. She then turned her gaze back to the distance, admiring the picturesque view of the Seine. John took this moment to lean in closer, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. As he did, his eyes lingered admiringly on the earrings she wore - delicate, elegant, and catching the light in a way that mirrored the sparkle in her eyes.
They continued their leisurely stroll through the streets of Paris, shifting through both the grand boulevards and the smaller, yet undiscovered streets. Sometimes they walked hand in hand, fingers intertwined; at other times, John's arm was around Marguerite's waist, while her arm rested comfortably on his shoulder. Their journey through the city was light-hearted and filled with affection. They flirted, exchanged witty banter and every now and then, they would steal quick, loving kisses.
At one point during their walk, Marguerite paused in front of an aged four-story building. She gestured towards a balcony on the third floor. Her gaze was tinged with nostalgia.
"See that apartment over there? That was where Adrienne and I lived for a time. Now it feels like a lifetime ago. When Adrienne died, I took her jewelry and left for Monte Carlo. There, I met a man who taught me everything I know today about people, politics, business, finance, and high society. The knowledge and skills I gained from him I have used in all my further endeavors."
John listened intently, valuing these rare glimpses into Marguerite's enigmatic past. He knew she seldom opened up about her life before their adventures together, and he appreciated the trust she was showing by sharing these memories. He was careful not to interrupt, conscious that asking the wrong question might make her retreat into her shell again. Instead, he chose to be present, offering a supportive ear, understanding that for Marguerite, revisiting these moments was not just recounting her past but a way of sharing a part of herself that was deeply personal and often guarded.
Marguerite and John found their way to a small café tucked away in a small street. They both ordered coffee, settling into comfortable chairs with a view of the street. As they sipped their drinks, they watched the people pass by - locals going about their daily routines, tourists marveling at the city's charm, artists capturing the scenes of everyday Parisian life.
For their late lunch or early dinner, Marguerite and John chose Le Petit Châtele, the restaurant known for its traditional French cuisine. Its interior was a warm blend of exposed stone walls and wooden beams, with cozy lighting that cast a welcoming glow over the intimate tables. Vintage French posters adorned the walls, adding to the authentic ambiance. The menu boasted a range of classic French dishes. Marguerite opted for Coq au Vin - a hearty, flavorful stew of chicken cooked in red wine, accompanied by mushrooms, thyme, and a touch of rosemary. John, in contrast, chose Boeuf Bourguignon - tender beef slow-cooked in a rich red wine sauce, complemented with carrots, bay leaves, and a side of creamy mashed potatoes.
Their meal was complemented by a bottle of fine French wine, enhancing the flavors of their dishes. They savored each bite, enjoying the combination of exquisite food and the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant.
Throughout their day Marguerite was the one who conversed with the staff in restaurants and cafes in fluent French. John, being a British aristocrat, also spoke French, but Marguerite had such a clear accent that it was a delight to listen to her.
As they finished their meal, the sky outside had darkened, signaling the onset of night in Paris. John looked at Marguerite with a content smile. "Shall we head back to the hotel?"
Marguerite shook her head. "Actually, If you're not too tired, I'd like to take you for just another drink to a little pub I know. It's not far from here, and I think you'll like it."
John accepted Marguerite's invitation, intrigued by her suggestion. She led him to a small pub - nightclub, a place that was far from luxurious. The atmosphere was lively and unpretentious and the air was filled with the rich scent of cigars. Guests were engaged in games of poker at various tables. Drinks of all sorts were being enjoyed, from simple beers to more elaborate cocktails. The décor was modest, with an old-world charm that felt welcoming and warm.
On the other side of a pub there was a small stage, where a piano stood, waiting for a performer. The simplicity of the setting was a stark contrast to the places Marguerite usually favored, and John couldn't help but feel there was a story behind it.
As they found a spot, John looked at Marguerite, his expression curious. "I must admit, I'm surprised by your choice. Is there a story here?"
Marguerite, with a mysterious smile, glanced around the pub. "Surprising as it may sound, sometimes it's nice to step away from the luxury and enjoy something that's more grounded and real. But yes, there's a story here and I'll tell you about it, but first, let's enjoy the atmosphere."
A couple came on stage, the man taking his place at the piano and the woman preparing to sing. The audience responded with a warm round of applause. They began to perform a beautiful French chanson, filling the pub with lively, rhythmic music.
John, embracing the ambiance of the place, ordered a cigar from the waiter. He and Marguerite sat back, enjoying the performance.
As they listened, Marguerite leaned closer to John, and said. "Fifteen years ago, I was that girl on the stage. Though, back then, we didn't have jazz like this. Its influence was only beginning to emerge in Paris. Cabaret songs were all the rage. While I sang, Adrienne would move through the crowd, mingling with people. She met all sorts of dangerous individuals."
John listened, fascinated by the fact there was a time when Marguerite lived a life so different from the one he knew with her. Her words painted a picture of a young, vibrant woman, immersed in the eclectic and often risky world of Parisian nightlife.
"This is also where Coco used to work before she became the Chanel we know. I haven't actually met her here, though. We've been introduced through some mutual acquaintances. Coco was very sympathetic and protective towards both Adrienne and me. In a way we had led quite a similar life."
She paused, reflecting on those memories. "Watching her interact with all the men in the room... It was the first time I saw flirting done in such a seductive, almost artful manner. I remember observing the whole process with fascination. There was a certain power and grace in her ways, a sharp contrast to the straightforward interactions I was used to. I learned so much from her."
John listened, captivated by Marguerite's story, and the intriguing connection to Coco Chanel. It painted a picture of a world that was both glamorous and gritty, where survival often depended on wit and charm. Marguerite's experiences, so rich and varied, never ceased to amaze him.
John gently squeezed Marguerite's hand, his eyes reflecting appreciation. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said sincerely.
Marguerite smiled softly, a glint of fondness in her eyes. "Well, I did promise to tell you everything one day, didn't I?" she replied, her voice warm with the comfort and trust that came from years of shared experiences and deep love.
After their evening out, Marguerite and John made their way back to their hotel.
Their room was a blend of classic and contemporary luxury. The walls were adorned with tasteful art, and the large, plush bed was dressed in the finest linens. Heavy curtains framed the windows, while soft, ambient lighting created a warm, inviting atmosphere. The furniture was a mix of antique and modern, with a comfortable sitting area and a desk. The room also featured state-of-the-art amenities, blending the charm of old-world Paris with modern comfort.
Once inside, they changed into more comfortable attire, shedding the formalities of the day. Marguerite was the first to use the bathroom, emerging refreshed. The bathroom itself was a marvel, with marble surfaces, a large bathtub, and luxurious toiletries.
When John finished in the bathroom, he found Marguerite on the balcony, gazing out at the city. The Eiffel Tower shimmered in the distance, its lights casting a soft glow over the Parisian night. Marguerite stood there in a silk nightgown, the fabric catching the light breeze. She looked so bold and beautiful against the backdrop of the city. He quietly joined her on the balcony, standing close. The night air was cool, but the view, coupled with Marguerite's presence, filled him with a warmth that transcended the chill of the evening.
"The view is so beautiful," Marguerite remarked, her eyes fixed on the Eiffel Tower, its lights twinkling in the distance.
John responded, "I couldn't agree more." But when Marguerite turned to look at him, she caught him gazing at her, not the cityscape.
Marguerite placed her hands gently on John's shoulders and he responded by wrapping his arms around her waist. She took one more glance at the Eiffel Tower, its lights a distant spectacle, before returning her gaze to him. They kissed and as the kiss deepened Marguerite's hands moved up towards his neck and chin and he held her even closer.
He led her inside and sat on the edge of the bed, with her standing in front of him in a seductive pose. He started pulling the straps of her nightgown down her arms, the nightgown sliding down her soft and smooth skin.
"Although, this is the view I prefer", he said when she was completely in nude and began enveloping her body in kisses, while her fingers went through his hair, pulling his head closer.
Between the kisses, John asked, "You know what I'm looking forward to?"
Marguerite, caught in the moment, replied with a curious smile, "What?"
John leaned in closer, whispering, "Waking up next to you alone."
Marguerite replied with a light-hearted chuckle, "You mean without the nanny, baby, maids, Veronica and Ned jumping on our heads from the early morning?"
"Yes," he confirmed, and in a skillful move, he maneuvered her onto the bed and landed atop her. She laughed and he kissed her passionately and the world around them seemed to blur, suggesting a night of passion reserved only for them. Lost in each other, they surrendered to the love and desire that merged seamlessly. The light gently faded out, leaving the rest to the imagination, and when it returned, it was a fresh, new morning.