Paris Sketch 6

He walks along the street hand-in-hand with his bride of fifteen years. He grins because she grins and they are perfectly in step, in more ways than one.

His smile widens as he remembers booking flights just seven days earlier. He wanted Venice. She wanted Paris. She won.

They stop briefly to catch their breath half way up Montmartre and he takes the opportunity to slip his arm around her waist. She turns to face him, eyes glowing with pleasure, and he knows without a doubt that they had made the right choice. He mentally kicks himself for doubting her judgement, not that he would ever tell her.

Their last day in the city was to be a lazy wander, killing time before the flight back to reality. The company, the weather and the scenery conspired to make those last few hours of escape perfect. They amble idly into Sacré Coeur, and listen as the local priest delivers a surprisingly energetic mass, another fascinating escape from the hectic crowds outside.

The service concludes and they exit once more into the bright, blinding sunshine, jostled on all sides by throngs of tourists eager to find some tiny modicum of the “real” Paris. After six days wandering the city he feels an unwarranted superiority over the newer tourists, he snorts haughtily at their gullibility.

He snorts again at the irony of being dragged to an overpriced bistro for a glass of wine, as she tries to sneak another few minutes of holiday. But he loves seeing her happy and is glad that Paris has given him the chance to see her smile so much.

In a few short hours they will be back in their own home, in their own bed. He hopes she has enough good memories to keep her smiling for years to come.

Even if he would have preferred Venice.