Noir

Coeur Brisé a Paris (Heartbreak in Paris)

prologue.

5:41 PM, October 2nd.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

···

5:32 PM, October 2nd.

The Louvre was closed on Tuesdays.

Nevertheless, that rainy October Tuesday, Maddox West and Harry Styles leisurely wandered the famed museum. A romantic walk along the Pont des Art preceded this, as much as any walk could be with two security guards trailing not far behind, anyway. And before that, they'd enjoyed each other's company over Dom Perignon and grilled pawns with gomas on the terrace outside of La Calife.

Moments ago, their footsteps echoed along the patterned wooden floor as they entered the vast room, hand in hand, gazes studying their surroundings. The silence, along with esteemed sculptures and paintings framed in gold, overwhelmed and haunted all at once. Several pieces were larger, more conspicuous than the acclaimed, featured piece.

But unlike Harry, she'd only seen it in pictures and videos and throughout the day, it was all Harry could do to keep her from practically bouncing off the walls. Her enthusiasm was cute, however. It made him laugh. But now that they'd finally made it, she wouldn't wait for him. Her hand lingered in the air as it parted from his. Her feet ran the show, carrying her toward the far wall.

Maddox's wiry frame approached the bar separating the art from its appreciators. She stood tall in front of the Louvre's crown jewel, Da Vinci's Mona Lisa. Kinky locks extended upward just beyond the ornate frame's top bar as she admired the portrait. Harry quietly parked his long, lean frame beside her. She was fully mesmerized and probably wouldn't have paid him much attention anyway.

He gave her some time. Then, he had to ask. "Don't you think it's a little underwhelming?" He'd seen it years ago, alongside his former band mates, when he was younger and inexperienced. He thought maybe he could properly appreciate it now, being a good five years older and that much wiser. But standing there absorbing Da Vinci's legend wasn't as brilliant as he'd anticipated.

Maddox hardly registered his question, his low, deep British drawl falling upon deaf ears at first. Then she turned her mahogany eyes onto him, shrugging her shoulders.

"I don't know. It's smaller than I imagined it would be. But still," she breathed, smile spreading like wildfire across her full, plum-painted lips. Most guys liked red on a woman, but he wasn't most guys. She absorbed the picture again. "It's the Mona Lisa."

Harry knew then that nothing he could ever buy her would ever compare to this, the day he used power and pretty pennies to pry open the otherwise closed Louvre doors for her.

She adjusted the Yves Saint Laurent crossbody bag slung across her shoulder, its silver chain jingling in the eerily quiet room as she fished his phone from inside. No phones, they'd agreed, but this exception could be made. She ignored the buzzing from her own phone. "Will you take my picture with her?"

And no way he'd deny her. "Of course." She turned her back to Mona, fingers gripping the bar just behind her waist.

Her gaze shot past him, but there was no audience. There was limited staff on hand, paid well enough to cater to their every whim, but they hadn't followed them there. Security either. A wave of uncertainty washed her features anyway. "Does my hair look okay?"

"It looks perfect," Harry said earnestly, cheeks dimpling as he reassured her with a smile. It meant the world to her, her crown, and in turn, it meant the world to him, too. Especially knowing all he knew now, everything she'd taught him. "Don't touch it," he added softly as she lifted her hand, lowering it again and smiling.