Tattooed On You

XXXXV: Je T'aime, Dégoûtant

Soft echoes of whispers move through the huge space. We're surrounded by people, and we're all looking at the same thing. Jo's next to me, standing against my side as it's grounded. Her arm is laced through mine, and in the five minutes we've been standing here, she hasn't said a word.

But then, she turns and lifts onto her toes so her mouth comes closer to my ear. "Is it me or is this the biggest anticlimax ever?"

I stifle the chuckle that wants to escape as I look at the piece on wall in front of us again. "It is kind of small, innit?" I answer, my voice just as soft as hers.

Nodding her head, she looks at the wall again. "I was expecting it to be way bigger too," she agrees, moving her head to the side as a confused puppy would. "And the more I look at her, the more she creeps me out."

"Yeah, she definitely ain't smiling," I agree. Jo is right, this painting is hyped way more than it should in my opinion. Millions of people from all over the world come to see her, Mona Lisa, and I'm sure that every single person that's been here in the Louvre thought exactly the same when they first saw it. It's damn small.

It might look even smaller because we aren't allowed to get up and close to it, and because it's busy, there are about twenty people in front of us too which makes the distance even bigger.

"I mean, maybe her eyes are smiling," Jo counters, moving her head to the other side as she studies the canvas once more. "It depends on how you look at it, I guess."

I hum, even though I truly don't see her smile. "Well, I guess it's one of those things you just have to see once in your life," I conclude after looking intently at the painting one more time.

Jo chuckles as she finally tears her gaze away from Mona so she can look at me. "I think you are right."

Smiling, she leads me out of the crowd, and while we stroll past other pieces of art, her arm stays laced through mine. In slow tempo, we walk, and since Jo is a creative brain more than me, she pays attention to every single piece.

And I love that. I love how she watches the canvasses, almost as if she's trying to unfold their secrets. I love how she sometimes moves closer, just to see the paint better. And I love how, when she sees a piece that she really finds beautiful, her eyes light up before she looks at me to hear my opinion.

Now, I suck at appreciating art, so I don't doubt my responses are laughable. But she still listens and even more importantly; she doesn't laugh. She just takes in my words, and then looks at the painting again to see if she can see what I said too.

The Louvre and all the art it holds is imposing, no doubt, but it's got nothing on Jo. She's the true piece of art here, and I'm once again so fucking happy I tattooed exactly that on my skin so that when I'm old, grey, and forgetful, I'll still be reminded of that.

"I still can't believe we're here," she mumbles dreamingly as she lays her head against my arm. "This morning we were in London still, and now we're in Paris. In the Louvre, no less."

Turning to her so I can kiss the top of her head, I hum in agreement. I have to say, that's not really something new to me. I often wake up in London before flying to LA to be on a red carpet a few hours later. But I admit that this is different because this was short notice for me too. I arranged all of it yesterday after all.

"And then to think we'll be here for six days," she continues. "We can see so much of the city."

"We can," I tell her. "I have planned a few things too though."

Lifting her head, she looks at me with those blue, twinkling eyes. "Like what? Or is that a surprise too?"

"Curious little thing, are you?" I smirk. Initially, I wanted to surprise her every day, but I can't resist those eyes. "Tomorrow, we'll go to Versailles."