For Lovers Only

Chapter 1: Arrival

Sun filtered in through the window, shining brightly on the passengers in the aircraft.

Slowly coming out of the dreary haze sleep had put her in, she cracked open a crystal blue eye and took in her surroundings. Sitting up straighter in her seat, the woman stretched her arms above her head and sighed in relief when the tension in her shoulders released. A quick glance out the window made her raise a hand over her squinted eyes, blocking the harsh light coming through, so she pulled the blind down.

Just then, the plane gave a sudden jolt. She took in a shaky breath, her heart pounding when the jostling of the plane ceased.

Oh how she hated flying. Absolutely hated it.

The woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and though she was in first class, it still wreaked havoc on her back. She could never seem to find a proper position, always straining her neck and shoulders from sleeping in an awkward pose for hours on end.

But this trip was necessary, so she had to make the strenuous journey. No matter how much she despised it.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she got out of the seat and stretched again, trying to get all of the kinks out. A sudden hand on her shoulder grabbed the brunette's attention, startling her a bit. It was an older woman and she was much shorter than her mere five-foot-two-inch frame.

"Excuse me, dear." She kindly asked if she could scoot to the side so she could get to her seat a few rows ahead.

Smiling, she did as asked and watched as she hobbled to her seat before she reached up into the overhead compartment to grab her small carry-on bag and black leather jacket. As she slipped the jacket on, the intercom system suddenly buzzed to life.

"Ladies and gentleman, if you could please take your seats, we are making our final descent into Charles de Gaulle Airport," the captain ordered.

Taking her seat, she buckled her seatbelt and shut her eyes, fear coursing through her veins. As much as she despised flying, the worst part was landing. It made her nerves bounce all over the place, and it took her quite a long time to calm down afterwards. It was an adrenaline rush, one she wasn't too keen on having.

Her hands gripped tightly onto the arm rests, knuckles turning as white as her face, the color quickly draining from her features. The massive wheels screeched against the blacktop, the entire plane and its occupants bouncing as it finally slowed down to a controlled speed.

Letting out the breath she didn't know she was holding, she ran a shaking hand through her curled brown locks. Feeling the gaze of someone watching her, she turned to find a young boy, no older than eight, staring at her with an amused expression on his face. The kid had apparently found her fear of landing amusing, a tiny smirk tugging on the boy's lips as he held in the laughter that was ready to burst out of him at any moment.

Merely shooting the kid a closed mouth smile, she looked away embarrassed as the aircraft approached the gate.

"Thank you for choosing to fly with Air France today. We hope you enjoyed your flight and that you'll be flying with us again soon," the captain thanked over the intercom. "Welcome to Paris."

Sluggish step by sluggish step, she made her way through the terminal of the Charles de Gaulle Airport. Many passengers walked to and fro with their suitcases trailing behind them, passing her by without a single care as to why she was here, too consumed in their own business - which was something she hasn't been able to do in a long time. Typically, there would be hoards of fans and paparazzi following her every move. So it was nice to go under the radar, even for a little bit.

Walking to Customs, she waited in line for a few minutes before it was eventually her turn. Handing over her passport to the man behind the counter, she checked her watch and noticed the time. It was nearing dinnertime; she'd grab something to eat once she got to the hotel.

"Welcome to Paris, Miss Mitchell," the gentleman greeted, his French accent thick as he gave her the passport back. "And I must say, I'm a huge fan."

Giving the man a small nod in thanks, Beca proceeded out of the airport. Not needing to go to baggage claim because she had all she needed in her bag, she headed straight for the passenger pickup area of the airport. Sunglasses now on, she got in the next available taxi. After telling the driver the address of her hotel, she stared blankly out the window and watched as other cars zoomed by, becoming lost in her thoughts.

This trip wasn't going to be very eventful. She just finished her first U.S. tour, which followed the success of her debut album, so she was in desperate need for a break. All she wanted was to take in the sights and keep a low profile - much to Theo's dismay. He wanted her to start working on her next album as soon as possible. But, after a lot of convincing, he finally relented. All he asked was that Beca returns to the states in 10 days.

So, here she was ... all alone in Paris ... for 10 days.

As she watched the city pass her by, she couldn't help but think back to the last time she was in France. No, she couldn't. A deep sigh left her lips and Beca shook her head in attempt to push away the memories. An unsettling feeling resided in her gut, and as much as she tried to ignore it, its grip was too powerful.

"Focus, Mitchell," she told herself. "It was a long time ago. No need to get upset about it now."

Instead, she kept her eyes on the road ahead as they got closer and closer to the hotel.

——————

"How long will you be in Paris?" An older taxi driver asked his female passenger.

The woman looked up from her lap and at the driver in the rear view mirror. Her all-too blue eyes held sadness and pain, but were concealed behind a pair of sunglasses. She gave him her best smile.

"About two weeks," she answered simply. "Just here for a small vacation."

The taxi driver was very outgoing and polite, always treating his customers with the upmost respect. "Traveling to Paris alone?"

He was surprised that a woman of her beauty was by herself. She wore no ring on her left hand, so she couldn't have been married. He truly didn't know what her story was, and he was sure she didn't want to share, but he couldn't help but feel curious.

Nodding her head, she ducked her head down into her chest. "Yes. It's just me."

"This is the city of love, sweetheart. You're bound to come across some when you're here."

She gave him a tiny smile, not believing him but nodding her head in agreement anyways. She doubted she'd find love here, or even joy, especially after everything that has happened in the past few months. Hell, in the past two years. It was why she came here, to get away from that part of her life for a bit.

Just the thought of it all brought tears to her eyes, but they never fell.

The driver's voice brought her back. "Keep your eyes open to the light, to love, and you won't regret it. Trust me."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," she thanked, looking out as they zoomed passed buildings and neighboring vehicles.

About 10 minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of the Meurice hotel.

"Here are your bags," the elderly man huffed, placing the two suitcases down on the sidewalk at her feet. "It was a pleasure driving you today. If you need a ride, here's my number," he handed her his business card.

She took the card, looking over it before shaking his hand warmly. "Thank you, André. For everything."

"Not a problem, Miss...?"

"Beale," she informed him. "Chloe Beale."

He grinned. "Enjoy your stay in Paris, Miss Beale. And do not forget -– open your eyes and heart to love because you never know what opportunities lie ahead if you do." And with that he gave a final wave before getting in the taxi and driving off, leaving her there all alone.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her bags and headed inside the hotel.