Love Like Ours

by Sophie Love

  She remembered Zach’s most recent text, in which he’d called her a bitch. She did deserve to be respected but she let people like him walk all over her. She decided to broach the subject with Cristiano, but she felt cautious as she did so.

  “My ex called me a bitch the other day,” she explained. “That’s why I got mad and threw my phone in my purse.”

  Cristiano pressed his lips together. “And you said nothing in return? You let him treat you that way?”

  “Yes. I did. I just let it go.”

  “Only you didn’t,” he contested. “Because I can still see the hurt you carry. You didn’t ‘let it go’, as you say, you just chose not to confront him. Next time an ex…” He crinkled his nose as he said the word, Keira noted, as if in distaste, “…treats you that way again, you can send him my way. Let me deal with it.”

  She laughed. “No, darling. I don’t need any kind of chivalrous displays of masculinity.”

  But even as she chuckled, she saw that Cristiano was deadly serious. Once again, it dawned on her that since coming to Paris, something had altered in his perception of their relationship, a deepening that made him more protective of her. It was alarming, yet at the same time exhilarating. Never before had she roused such passion in a man.

  As all these new understanding dawned on her she realized that something was deepening inside of her, too. Her feelings for him were growing even more intense, even more powerful. It terrified her. But more than that, it inspired her. With Cristiano by her side, anything felt possible.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Early the next morning, Keira left Cristiano sleeping and went to sit at her desk. She was finding writing much easier for this assignment. Her and Cristiano’s love felt solid, unshakable, and weaving their story into the romance of Paris came naturally. In fact, looking back over her notes stunned even her. Had these eloquent words really come from her mind?

  She lost herself in her work, typing on her laptop as though in a trance.

  Paris has a reputation that precedes it. I’ve seen her on the big screen, read about her in the pages of literary masterpieces. The City of Love. The City of Lights. I’m fully prepared for the reality not to match up to the hype. But Paris not only lives up to her reputation, she surpasses it. No other city has the ability to make torrential rain romantic, but Paris can.

  On our first full day, rain falls in ice cold torrents. But that cannot sobre the romantic mindset our illuminated ferry ride along the Seine last night, nor the glitzy dancers of the Moulin Rouge, have evoked in us. In fact, what could be more romantic than huddling beneath an umbrella together as we stand atop the hillsides of Montmartre, with the Sacre Coeur at our backs, the soaked streets of Paris below? Peering through the gray sheet of rain gives the city an extra dream like quality, one we are both more than willing to allow to sweep us away.

  Keira paused, looking through the window over the streets of Paris and the Seine. Suddenly, Cristiano appeared behind her, wrapping his arms around her, enveloping her in his warmth. He pressed a kiss onto her head.

  “Good morning, my love,” he said.

  She turned in her seat and gazed up at him. “Good morning.”

  “Are you working?” he asked.

  “I don’t have to be,” she replied. “Did you want to head out for breakfast?”

  “I do,” he confirmed. “What is on our itinerary for the day?”

  “I was thinking about going to the catacombs,” Keira told him. “A bit creepy, I know, but I want to try and do unromantic things.”

  Cristiano laughed. “A romance travel writer who wants to do unromantic things?”

  “I don’t want it to be so obvious. Anyone can fall in love with this city. It’s easy. I want a challenge.” She grinned.

  “And you want to prove our love?” Cristiano queried.

  She paused, contemplating his query. “I guess I do.”

  Cristiano didn’t seem offended in any way. He shrugged. “If my love wants to spend a day in an underground tunnel surrounded by dead bodies, who am I to stop her?”

  She laughed. “When you put it that way…”

  Cristiano wrapped her up more tightly in his arms. “I do have one request, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Can we counter your creepy destination with something calm and tranquil?”

  “That’s fair,” Keira replied. “We haven’t seen much of Le Marais yet, despite being here. Also I’d like to see the Promenade Plantee.”

  “Like the one we walked in New York?”

  “Exactly. But it will be French so much more romantic.”

  Cristiano laughed. “Well let’s spend the morning in this neighborhood then. We could see go to the gallery in Beaubourg between breakfast and lunch, then spend the afternoon in your catacombs.”

  They washed and dressed for the day, then headed out to a nearby bistro. It was furnished with comfortable worn, leather armchairs, and exuded a calm vibe. Keira quickly wrote notes as she sipped her coffee and nibbled on her pan au raisin.

  Once they were finished they walked to the neighbouring arrondissement, Beaubourg, and into the contemporary art complex, le Centre Pompidou. They feasted their eyes on several floors of art, that contained some of the greatest artists in the world; from Picasso to Kandinsky. Keira was awed by the artistic talent around her, juxtaposed with modern interior of the gallery, which was all exposed piping and echoey rooms.

  Just then, Keira noticed a sign declaring a roof terrace.

  “I can’t get enough of the view,” she told Cristiano. “Can we?”

  Cristiano waved their trusty umbrella. “Of course.”

  They headed out onto the roof and the whole of Paris spread out before Keira’s eyes. Their view before had been from the hills of Montmartre, but this view included Montmartre itself, with the Sacre Coeur’s shining dome. The view was so good here they could even see the modern glass skyscrapers in the distance.

  “There is Notre Dame,” Cristiano said, pointing out its ornate, gothic towers.

  “We’ll have to go tomorrow,” Keira said, realizing they still hadn’t visited the more tourist heavy parts of the city. “And the Louvre.”

  “We’ll be tourists tomorrow,” Cristiano confirmed.

  They left the gallery and walked the thirty minute distance to where the Promenade Plantee began.

  “Well this is just glorious,” Cristiano said, as they reached the top step and the whole park opened up ahead of them.

  The took their time walking the long bridge route, marvelling at the trees and plants all around them, the streets far below them.

  “This is like being in a fantasy book,” Keira said. “Don’t you think?”

  “Of course,” Cristiano replied. “Or a movie.”

  “I can be Audrey Hepburn,” Keira said, giggling.

  “Paris is always a good idea,” Cristiano replied, quoting her infamous line.

  They strolled, hand in hand, and Keira let her mind wander, giving it the space to conjure up the narrative she’d write about later that night. She worried, a little, that she was just going to join the myriad of writers who’d gushed about Paris. There were centuries worth of them. What did she have to add to that vast body of work?

  The promenade came to an end in the eighth arrondissement and they headed back down to street level.

  “We should see the L’arc De Triomphe while we’re here,” Cristiano said.

  Keira grinned. This was what Paris did. It let you formulate a plan for the day but then lured you away with its delights, with all its amazing buildings and art galleries and parks and palaces. There was just so much to see, to do. You’d need a lifetime here to see it all.

  They took the Avenue de Champs-Elysees, walking the entire length until they reached the infamous landmark. To Keira’s surprise it was surrounded by roads, twelve in total, all converging on that spot. But there were no markings on the roads to show the cars where to drive, and they weaved in and out, ho
nking their horns, driving far too fast. It was another unexpected scene. Keira had been expecting something tranquil. But then again, Paris was the most visited city in the world.

  “I suppose the cars do ruin Paris a little bit,” Keira said, frowning. “I mean, there’s no way we’ll be able to cross this traffic!”

  “Never mind,” Cristiano replied. “I’m starving.”

  Once again, their morning had been so filled with activity it was already late afternoon and they’d not yet sat down for lunch. They took one of the twelve streets leading away from the L’Arc De Triomphe and found a bistro that was suitably small and intimate. It was decorated with music and film posters, and old music from the 1940s played in the background, adding to the atmosphere.

  Keira ordered cod with mashed potatoes, which was cooked to perfection, and Cristiano opted for a steak tartare. Of course, they also had a bottle of wine to compliment the food.

  It was late afternoon by the time they finished eating and headed to the closest metro station. The catacombs were on the south side of the river. It was the first time they’d be on the other bank of the Seine.

  The metro journey took just over twenty minutes, but they arrived right by their destination; the Paris Catacombs.

  Keira’s heart skipped as they headed down into the dark catacombs. The air was damp and dank, and the temperature was freezing.

  When Keira peered through the gloom at the interior she instantly questioned her decision to come here. It was without a shadow of a doubt the creepiest place she’d ever been in her life. She’d been expecting crypts or tombs set within some kind of cavern, but the very walls of the catacombs were made of bones, and the place was filled with macabre art made of skulls.

  Her first instinct was to feel embarrassed by her reaction. What had she really been expecting? She hated scary things! She’d been a fool for wanting to prove herself to her readers.

  Shaking, she reached for Cristiano.

  “This is terrifying,” she admitted.

  “I know,” he whispered back.

  Something about the place made them both feel like lowering their voices. He held her close as they took small, shuffling steps further inside together.

  Ahead of them was a pillar stretching from floor to ceiling made entirely of skulls, behind it a crucifix had been constructed out of bones, and further down the corridor they found a series of skulls shaped into a heart.

  “I don’t like this,” Keira said to Cristiano. “It’s creeping me out.”

  “Do you want to leave?” he asked, tenderly.

  But having him here beside her made her feel brave enough to continue on.

  They reached a rocky wall and Keira screamed in terror as she saw several yelling faces etched into its surface. Just then, Cristiano began to laugh. She turned to face him, thinking he was laughing at her fear but he was looking into the distance at something.

  Keira peered ahead and saw what he was laughing at. It was a sculpture of a toilet.

  They headed onwards and found an underground well with turquoise water, and again another sculpture, this time a miniature replica of a palace carved right into the walls.

  Keira realized then that the ground was sloping up. They were heading out. It couldn’t have come soon enough! She was becoming incredibly claustrophobic down in the morbid tunnels.

  As soon as they reached the surface, Keira turned to Cristiano, feeling ice cold but triumphant.

  “Well, there’s no way you’re going to be able to spin that to be romantic,” Cristiano said, shaking his head. “That was morbid.”

  But Keira smiled to herself. She knew exactly what she was going to write about their trip into the catacombs; that moment that Cristiano had held her close to him, how they had walked in step, united by their fear, supporting one another. In fact, there was nothing more romantic in her mind than that.

  *

  Thankfully, Keira’s trip into the bowels of Paris hadn’t put her off her dinner. They found a wonderful, romantic restaurant nearby.

  “I want something crazy for dinner,” Keira said over their menus. “I’m feeling adventurous.”

  Cristiano smiled at her, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “I can tell. You’ve had this look in your eyes ever since we left the tunnels.”

  “I think it’s pride,” Keira said, laughing at the slightly unfamiliar sensation. “For making it all the way through the catacombs.”

  “It was a remarkable achievement,” he replied.

  “I’m proud of us,” Keira told Cristiano.

  Her pride wasn’t just because they’d done it, but that they’d done it together. And moreover that they’d been in one another’s company day in and day out and only grown closer. They’d not had even the first hint of a squabble.

  Keira thought of Zach, of their fraught relationship. She’d never felt like he was on her team. Everything she’d done had been weighed against how it would negatively impact on Zach. He’d been lurking at the back of all her decisions.

  Then there’d been Shane. Though she’d fallen for him hard, their relationship had been founded upon bickering and teasing. In fact it was how they’d conducted every one of their conversations!

  Things were different with Cristiano. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d needed what he gave her until she was getting it. They fit together better than she could ever have imagine. Nothing could affect the love they’d found.

  “Rabbit terrine,” Keira said aloud.

  Cristiano frowned. “What?”

  “I’m getting rabbit terrine for starters,” she said. “And… I think mussels for my main.”

  Cristiano grinned. “Then you’ve left me no option than to get the veal tongue.”

  Keira’s eyes widened. “No. You wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” he said with a smirked. “Veal tongue to start and… pheasant stew for main.”

  Keira dissolved into laughter. Though French food was amazing, it took a lot of guts to even order half of it, to put a fork to your lips knowing you were putting rabbit or veal in your mouth.

  “We haven’t had snails yet,” Keira said. “Or frogs legs.”

  “Tomorrow,” Cristiano said with a wink.

  Keira grinned at him, feeling more in love than ever. With Cristiano she felt fearless.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Our days become a blur of culture and color, lights and music. On Monday morning we see the iconic Notre Dame, its fascinating exterior adorned with carvings of French kings, its interior lit by rainbow light streaming through stained-glass windows. That afternoon we go to the Louvre and spend the rest of the day taking in the famous artworks and exquisite ceilings. By the end of the day, are we still in love? Yes. Very much so.

  On Tuesday the rain lets up so we head to the Pere Lachaise cemetery. The cemetery is so large it has its own signposts, directing us through a myriad of paths. It is also the quietest place in Paris. Somehow, the sounds of the busy streets and bustling market outside its gates are masked by birdsong, absorbed by the mausoleums and Gothic arches.

  Keeping on theme, we spend the afternoon at Le Pantheon, whose underground crypts contain the tombs of French revolutionists…

  Keira stopped typing and turned, seeing that Cristiano was stirring in bed.

  “Good morning worker bee,” he said.

  Keira smiled. Cristiano was now used to waking up to the sound of her typing. They’d been in Paris for ten days and had fallen into a routine; work in the morning, art and culture for the rest of the day, and eating whenever they got the chance in between. It was blissful.

  Keira did have one worry, though, and that was that she wasn’t giving Viatorum magazine, and in turn her readers, what they wanted. There’d been no drama. No conflict. Her love story was too perfect.

  “Where do you want to go today?” Keira asked Cristiano, bringing her knee up to her chin and gazing at him adoringly.

  “You know we haven’t spent a day in bed yet,” he repl
ied.

  Keira’s eyes widened. “We can’t waste a day in bed when the whole of Paris is waiting for us to explore it!”

  “Why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you how much of a waste it will be?” Cristiano said, patting the space beside him.

  Feeling a thrill of excitement race through her, Keira stood from her seat and went to join Cristiano. But she was interrupted before she reached the bed by an unfamiliar sound. Her cellphone. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d received a call.

  She found her phone in her bedside table drawer and pulled it out.

  “Let me guess,” Cristiano said, flopping against the pillow with an exhalation. “It’s work.”

  But Keira saw that the number on her phone wasn’t work, or even home. Though it was an unrecognized number, she knew the area code well. It was coming from Ireland.

  “I have to take this,” Keira said, looking up at Cristiano, feeling troubled.

  She hurried out into the corridor and answered the call.

  “Shane?”

  But it wasn’t Shane’s voice she heard on the other end. It was female. Young.

  “No, it’s Hannah.”

  Shane’s youngest sister. The sweet, angelic-looking sixteen-year-old. But what was she doing calling Keira? She sounded upset.

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Shane?”

  Keira listened to the sound of snuffling on the other end. Hannah was crying.

  “Not Shane,” she said finally. “It’s Dad.”

  Keira remember Calum’s heart attack last month. It had been the catalyst to her and Shane breaking up.

  “What’s happened to Calum?” she asked, feeling terror take hold.

  “He…” Hannah began, her voice cracking. “He died.”

  Keira gasped and steadied herself against the wall. “Hannah, I’m so sorry. Thank you for telling me. You know how much I loved your father. All of you.”

  “I thought you should know. I miss you, Keira.”

  “I miss you too, hun.”

  Keira’s heart sank even further. Shane’s family had become important to her in the brief time she’d spent with them in Ireland, particularly Hannah. They’d had a real connection, an easy friendship. Hannah was the first person in Keira’s life who seemed to look up to her like a mentor, and she’d felt a sort of calling to take the girl under her wing. But circumstance had prevented them being in one another’s lives. She wondered now whether Hannah was really just calling her to break the news, or it there was something more, whether she needed Keira to be her confidante. Outside the Lawder family, she wasn’t sure whether the young girl had many other people to turn to.