My Toxin

Chapter 33: Parisian Comforts

The plane touched down in Paris with a gentle thud, the city sprawling beneath us like a glistening tapestry. As we disembarked, the excitement between Marjorie and me was palpable. This trip was a chance to escape the everyday grind and immerse ourselves in the romance that Paris so effortlessly exudes.

Our cab ride to the Hôtel de Luxe was a visual feast. Paris seemed to pulse with an enchanting energy, its cobblestone streets and charming cafés painting a picturesque scene as we drove through. The grand façade of the hotel came into view, and Marjorie's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Checking into the hotel was effortless, and soon we were ushered into our suite. The room was every bit as luxurious as I had hoped—elegant marble floors, a king-sized bed draped in crisp white linens, and an expansive view of the Eiffel Tower that shimmered in the distance.

Marjorie flopped onto the bed with a happy sigh, her satisfaction evident. I stood there for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away from her. She was so beautiful, so at ease, even without knowing the surprise I had in store for her tomorrow.

In the bright light of the room, I noticed the details that made her so uniquely Marjorie. Her French tip nails, perfectly manicured and subtly elegant, added a touch of sophistication to her look. But as my gaze shifted to the blonde wig she had worn for the trip, my smile faltered slightly. The wig, though striking, just didn't feel like her. "You know," I began hesitantly, "I really prefer your natural curls. This wig is pretty, but it isn't you."

Marjorie looked at me, nodding in agreement. "Honestly, I'm glad you said that because I hate it. It's so uncomfortable too, but Chanel was so persistent I didn't want to let her down."

Relieved that she shared my sentiment, I suggested, "How about we eat, and then we can figure out how to remove it properly?"

Her face lit up with gratitude. "Really? I'd appreciate that."

I placed a kiss on her forehead as my way of saying, "You're welcome." "I've got something special planned for tomorrow, but it's a surprise. For now, let's get room service and then do something about this wig."

We ordered room service, selecting a delightful array of Parisian delicacies: buttery croissants, a variety of cheeses, succulent pâté, and a chilled bottle of champagne. The meal was a luxurious treat, though it wasn't very filling, leaving us both wanting a little more.

After our meal, we turned our attention to the wig. We pulled up a YouTube tutorial on how to remove it safely, our faces illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. Marjorie stood in front of the grand mirror in our hotel bathroom while I stood behind her, both of us following the instructions as best we could. We carefully worked to remove the glued-on wig from her scalp, using the few tools we had at our disposal.

When the wig was finally off, Marjorie sat patiently on the floor between my legs as I carefully began to unravel the cornrows beneath it. My fingers worked gently to avoid causing any discomfort. Her natural curls, once freed, cascaded around her shoulders in a glorious display of thick, vibrant texture. I couldn't help but admire them—they were exactly as I remembered, full of life and so uniquely her.

With the wig removed and her curls fully revealed, I placed a silk bonnet on her head to protect her hair overnight. "I'll book you a hair appointment for first thing tomorrow morning," I promised, "But no more wigs."

Marjorie's smile was a mix of gratitude and relief. "Thank you, Alex. I'm looking forward to it."

With her hair sorted and her spirits lifted, we snuggled together in bed, our matching pyjama sets adding a playful touch to the evening. We continued watching *Emily in Paris*, her favourite romantic series. Marjorie was giddy with excitement, relishing the fact that she was watching the show while in Paris. Her head rested gently on my shoulder as she relaxed, the warmth of her body against mine creating a cocoon of contentment.

As the evening wore on, we snacked on fruit platters, talking comfortably while watching the show. Marjorie kept prying for clues about her surprise, but I held firm, denying her any hints. After a while, she grew sleepy. I kissed her forehead gently, and with that, she drifted off to sleep, her breath soft and even against my chest.

Tomorrow was going to be a day she'd never forget. As I lay there, holding her close, I couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she discovered what I had planned.