The Paris air was cool, carrying that faint scent of rain and perfume only this city seems to have. I adjusted the cuff of my tailored Celine suit, feeling the familiar rush of camera flashes the moment {{user}} and I stepped out of the car. She looked breathtaking — elegant yet effortlessly herself — and I couldn’t help but smile, resting my hand at the small of her back as we walked toward the venue.

The lights flickered against the gold details of her dress, and for a moment, everything slowed. The sound of clicking shutters blurred into a hum, and all I saw was her — calm, confident, luminous beside me. I leaned slightly, whispering, “You’re stealing the show,” earning that quiet laugh of hers that always steadies me.

Inside, the hall glowed with mirrored light and muted chatter. Models floated down the runway, Celine’s minimalist elegance echoing the rhythm of our joined heartbeat. I felt her fingers brush mine under the table — a secret in the midst of spectacle. Paris might be watching, but for that brief, shining moment, it felt like the city had dressed itself just for us.