My feet are killing me as I bustle down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of groups of tourists, gravel crunching lightly under my feet. The sky is a steely gray above me, the soft rumble of thunder rolling in the distance and I try and quicken my pace but pain shoots sharply up my legs. Damn these shoes.

“Sky, slow down,” Justin urges me for the thousandth time, jogging a little to catch up to me in long strides, his sneakers giving him less trouble than my heels.

“My meeting is in ten minutes,” I mutter shortly as we step through the large gates leaving the jardin des tulleries.

“Oh we’ll make it,” Justin says with a wave of his hand. “HEY! Lemme get your picture in front of the fountains!”

Before I can even protest he grabs my hand and tugs me into the small square in the middle of Concorde Place, his other hand struggling to pull his camera out of his bag. I sigh. When I’d told him I was going to Paris to coordinate with the Grand Palais on a small Grecian pottery exhibit he’d been ecstatic loving the idea of a little vacation in the city of love. He’s been cooing little French phrases at me for the past week and a half, planning unrealistic itineraries and babbling on about all the places he wants to show me. I’ve already told him several times that the reason for my visit is to accompany the Met’s Greek pottery collection and help with the exhibition but true to form he ignored all of it.

“Justin,” I whine letting my head hang back as my feet drag. “You’ve taken my picture seven hundred times already.”

“Oh I have not,” he says with a wave of his hand and I sigh, watching him fiddle with his light meter, his eyebrows drawn in concentration.

“You took my picture in front of every Greek statue in the Louvre,” I argue and he smirks at me.

“There are only two-hundred-fourteen Greek statues in the Louvre,” he replies smarmily and I scowl at him.

“You only know because I told you that,” I pout and he sighs looking at me wearily.

“You had fun at the Louvre with me shut up,” he says dismissively and then grins, pulling his camera to his face. “Now smile.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes before smiling for him and his shutter clicks before he pulls the camera from his face and looking at the little viewing screen. He smiles.

“That was a good one,” he says looking up at me and I heave a sigh.

“I’m sure it was now let’s go!” I say reaching to grab his hand and it nearly kills me but I manage to jog across Rue Royale, tugging Justin along behind me.

“Your feet hurt?” he asks as we make to the sidewalk on the other side, strolling under the birches that line the Champs-Élysées.

“I’m fine,” I say, wincing as I slow to a walk and his hand rubs up and down my back quickly.

“Hey lemme get your picture,” he says and I sigh.

“Justin!” I snap sharply as he reaches for his camera again and he looks up at me bewildered. “Honey,” I sigh, a hand reaching up to rub my forehead as a large drop of rain dots the back of my hand. “I can’t be late for this meeting.”

“But we’re in Paris!” he exclaims. “the Citee de Amour!” he says his voice lowering into a cheesy French accent. I giggle despite myself.

“Yes we are,” I say with a sigh, turning away from him. “But I’m here to work. Come on it’s starting to rain.”

“Skylar.”

I pause looking over my shoulder and find that he hasn’t moved from his spot and he snaps my picture quickly before I have a chance to roll my eyes.

“Come on Sky,” he says as I turn away from him, continuing my brisk walk and I feel him jog up behind me, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.

I gasp slightly as he stops, spinning me back to him and I’m against his chest in an instant, the rain starting to dot the sidewalk around us steadily. His hand goes to my lower back, his other reaching to brush the hair away from my neck and he smiles warmly at me, his blue eyes sparkling in the weak sunlight.

“We’re here, in Paris, walking along the Champs-Élysées!” he says softly, his nose brushing mine and people around us are pulling out umbrellas or fleeing towards the cover of trees but it’s all just background noise because really there’s only us as the backs of his fingers brush my cheek. “It’s me and you. Here. Together.”

“En le citee de amour,” I say softly and he grins at me, his hands coming between us to cup my face tenderly and when his mouth descends on mine I’ve forgotten all about my meeting and the rain and my aching feet and there is nothing but he and I together, in the city of love.