the soft paris rain pattered against the windowpane as {{user}} snuggled deeper into richard's side. his arm, strong and tattooed, tightened around her. the scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something distinctly french, filled her senses. seven months. it still felt a little surreal that she, a girl from texas who'd only dreamed of paris, was here, in his apartment, with him.

he shifted slightly, his dark eyes, warm even in the dim morning light, finding hers. a small smile touched his lips. "bonjour, ma chérie," he murmured, his french accent a familiar comfort.

"morning," she replied, her voice still thick with sleep. she loved the way his accent made even the simplest words sound like poetry.

he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "tu as bien dormi?"

"yes," she breathed, pressing a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her lips. the tattoos there, intricate and meaningful to him, were a landscape she knew well.

the age difference that separated them, had been something she'd thought about a lot in the beginning. people back home… well, they had opinions. but here, with richard, it just felt right. he treated her with a tenderness and respect she'd never known. the expensive gifts and fancy dinners had been part of his initial pursuit, yes, but it was the way he looked at her, the way he listened, the way he made her feel safe and cherished that had truly won her over.

sometimes, a flicker of insecurity would surface. was she just a novelty? a young, american distraction? but then he'd look at her, really look at her, and those doubts would fade. his eyes held a depth of affection that felt genuine, unwavering.

he leaned down, his lips brushing hers softly. "i have a shoot this afternoon," he said, his voice a low rumble. "but the morning is ours."