Chapter 10 - The Real Paris
One year later.
The golden afternoon light bathed the lush green lawns and marble statues of the Luxembourg Gardens in Paris. The air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts, fresh espresso, and blooming spring flowers.
I sat at a outdoor café table near the central fountain, wearing a gorgeous silk scarf, sipping a hot café au lait, and reading a book.
Beside my cup lay my new passport, stamped with entry seals from three different European countries, alongside a high-end camera filled with photos of my month-long solo journey across the continent.
My phone buzzed on the marble table. It was an email notification from my wealth management bank in New York: RESTITUTION FUNDS FULLY RECOVERED & CLEARING COMPLETED.
I looked at the screen, smiling softly, and closed the notification. The money was fully back, my home in Greenwich was completely renovated into a breathtaking modern masterpiece, and my career was thriving beyond my wildest dreams.
"Excuse me, mademoiselle?"
A handsome French waiter stepped up to my table, carrying a tray with a fresh butter croissant and a small, elegant porcelain dish.
"I didn't order the croissant," I said in polite French.
The waiter smiled warmly, gesturing toward a gentleman sitting three tables away—a tall, handsome man in a dark linen suit who gave me a gentle, respectful nod.
"The gentleman over there wanted to welcome you to Paris," the waiter said softly. "He said anyone who reads classic literature with such a radiant smile deserves a proper French breakfast."
I looked across the terrace at the man, feeling a warm, peaceful flutter in my chest—not the frantic, anxious feeling I used to mistake for love, but the calm, open joy of a woman who was completely in control of her own destiny.
May you like
I picked up my coffee cup, raised it toward him in a polite, confident toast, and took a slow sip under the warm Parisian sun.
I had finally made it to Paris. And this time, I belonged entirely to myself.
