As Georgia Hill enters her second year of college at Champlain, she's forced to leave the country with her family, as her father gets a great business deal in Paris, France.
One plane ride with one stuck up arrogant rich boy changes her life, but s...
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Georgia's POV
"Do you have everything packed and ready to go?" Mother asked, before slipping on a pair of her pink Ugg's. It was the middle of November, and it had just snowed a week or two ago. We were on our way to catch a flight to Paris, because my fathers signing a business contract to open Hills resorts, a Hotel company in his name overseas.
He's had his name out there for about a year now. Selling in about 5 different states, each resort had been packed up to the max. I suppose they're giving him a better profit in France, hence why we're moving there.
I wasn't to keen about it, but I kind of always wanted to see what it would be like to live out of the US. The first place I had in mind was South Africa, but I can fit France in there too.
"Yeah I'm ready to go. Do you think we can stop for something to eat on the way to the airport?"
I grabbed my bags, and led the way as I rolled them down the steps, into the kitchen with my mother right behind me.
"I don't think we'll have time. The airport has food like Chick-fil-A, just wait." She replies, grabbing her purse from the kitchen island and planting a kiss on my fathers lips.
I couldn't help but smile at their small interaction. My parents were truly in love. I'd never much cared for dating, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in love. The love my parents show for each other, proves its out there. Everyone has a different lot in life, I doubt mine is finding close to the same love my parents both share.
"Okay wrap it up love birds, we have a flight to catch." I smirked, earning chuckles from both of my parents. Once we grabbed all of our belongings, my father made sure to put a reminder on his phone, to contact the moving company so he can have our things flown out to us.
After we packed our suit cases up to the brim of the trunk, we fastened our seatbelts, and next thing you know we're on our way to the airport.
***
I huffed before plopping down on a seat, beside a man that looked no older than 25. He was definitely eye candy for a white man.
I couldn't see his eyes because they were shut, but his long slender yet built body hugged the black and white suit he had on perfectly. His silk blonde strands were gelled back to perfection, and his beard seemed to have just been trimmed to the point where it was almost nonexistent.
His enchanting scent danced through my nostrils, making me melt within as I secretly went back for another wiff. He smelled so unique. It wasn't like he drenched his entire body in cologne; he sprayed enough.
His face held such distain and agitation though. It's like if he smiled for even one second, he'd shrivel up like a witch who just got water poured on her.
"puis-je vous aider?" (May I help you?) I lightly jumped at the sound of his voice. His thick French accent soaked up his deep groggy voice, sending small shivers down my spine.
Was this man perfect or what?
"Uh... I can't understand you." I mumbled loud enough for him to hear, before looking back, and allowing my eyes to glance over the small crowd.
My parents got first class, some of the people on here had already built a line up at the mini bar in the back.
"You come to France, and you can't speak our native tongue?" He scoffs, taking his ear plugs from his ear and placing them in the small compartment on the back of the seat in front of him.
No sir I cannot.
"Umm, aren't there people like you who speak English there?" I asked.
He turned towards me, finally revealing his icy blue orbs; before allowing them to quickly scan my figure. He quickly averts them back to my face, before clearing his throat.
"You're a pretty girl." He comments, making me smile. As I'm about to say thank you he cuts me off...
"I guess it wasn't a myth about pretty girls being débile" (Dumb).
"Wait what? I don't get i-
"Look it up buttercup." He winks, before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes once more.
I don't know what the hell he just called me, but I can only assume it wasn't anything nice.
I shake my head, before childishly scooting away from him and turning the other way. I stared out the window across from me, until my eye shut and my body let sleep consume me.
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Julian Monet ,23 years of age. This is the man from the plane. You'll all be seeing a lot of him.
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