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A black Mercedes was making its way through the lit up streets of Paris, the city of lights living up to the name with the Christmas lights making it more luminous. It was that time of the day when the darkness of the evening bled into what was supposed to be the afternoon, the darkness of winter enveloping the world. But Enver Gortash was more focused on the pair of black Louboutin heels that were in his lap, the shiny patent leather looking brand new.
"Well, seems like our little stunt at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show went over well," a warm voice said. The person attached to the feet in his lap, scrolling away on her iPhone. Little stunt, like that gigantic diamond on her ring finger was just a little detail. He'd done an excellent performance as well, pre-show interview where he had gushed about her and had teased about any engagement rumors - like people couldn't see that shimmering ring that reflected in every shot and picture she was in. His latest little scandal with this new cryptocoin was already forgotten, where searches for 'Enver Gortash fraud' had shifted to 'Enver Gortash engagement'. People were too easy.
It had been what had brought them two together. He had been in a tricky situation, some issues with the new AI department of the Foundry. It had been a sort of last ditch attempt from his PR-department, a PR-relationship to take attention away from this little mishap. Before he had known it, he had been in a meeting with his PR, a modelling agent and Seara Alsevir. Daughter to the French supermodel Enya Alsevir and American actor Rordan Alsevir, a model who was on a revenge-rampage after her actor ex-fiance Nere had cheated on her. He'd done his research on her, obviously. Ambassador of Ancunín perfumes, covers of Vogue and Vanity Fair, a fixed presence on the runways at Fashion Weeks and friends with the IT-girls of the moment. But the thing he had liked was her determination when they had met, how she had hissed to her agent that she wanted to torture Nere that he couldn't google his name without her showing up as well. Her beauty also helped, he had seen beautiful people before. Had shared his bed with them as well but she was different. That beauty combined with razor sharp wit.
"Earth to Enver, did you even hear what I was saying?" He hadn't, her amber eyes peering in his. A smokey eyeliner accentuated them even more, long lashes that she used when she wanted to get her way.
"Alors, to repeat myself. There will be some paps le Rue de l'Université for some Eiffel Tower pics so please be romantic yourself. And then it'll just be up to us walking around the Christmas Market and then we can get back to the rest of the evening."
The perfect, produced 'candid' photo that had taken enough preparation. Outfits that didn't clash together, settled on both wearing black woolen coats with him wearing suit pants and her a short skirt that wasn't visible under her coat and sheer black stockings with a line at the back. He had been drawn to them from the moment that he had seen them, almost like an invitation to follow the line up. The Louboutins she had picked out were nothing more than an invitation, she knew the effect she had in high heels. She had complained when he had slightly tousled her perfectly blown out hair to press a kiss under her earlobe. But had seen her eyes when he had put on his charcoal Hugo Boss suit as well.
The first months had been strictly business, leaving some breadcrumbs for the press and gossip industry online. So called candid pictures leaked of him at her families villa in Saint-Tropez, sightings of her in his head office in New York, him turning up at the New York Fashion Show for 'support'. When their relationship had been announced there had been an increase of them spending time together, the expected support on public affairs,being her date to the Met Gala, her being there when he released a new product. Her bite more revealed, how she swore and sometimes muttered in French. He had concluded that it would be for the best that he didn't know what she said.
But around six months into their PR-relationship something had shifted. Stolen glances, a bit more touch than was needed, their teasing more relentless. It was at an after party for the launch of one of the perfumes she was the face off. The owner Astarion himself had rented out the ballroom at the Waldorf for it, she had worn a dress that made her look like a Greek Goddess. He had drunk a little too much, partaken in a line too much. He had to touch her, had to feel her on him. He'd pushed her against a wall, a kiss so needy that he thought he would die without it. Her hands tangled in his hair, his mouth exploring her neck. He had thought that if he died that night that he would be the happiest man alive. Until his PR had called that someone had taken a picture of them like that, it had been by luck that it was well received.
Another six months it had purely been physical, it was just easier that way. Sharing hotel rooms was to be expected, no need to be sneaking around. But after those six months, something had taken a hold of him. No, she had taken a hold of him. Looking forward to her texts, staring at her when he was awake before her, kisses on her forehead, reaching for her hand when she was near.
When it became time to negotiate the terms of the contract, he'd been a wreck of nerves. Not that they had talked about it, they both rather plunge in a shark-infested sea than talk about feelings. But there had been no mention of those, only of terms of moving-in, talk about an engagement. More time with her. More time where he had no clue.
Smoothly, the car came to a stop. Her feet leaving his lap, the sound of cars honking behind them.
"Merci beacoup, Arnaud." Him thanking the driver in English before he opened his car door and going to the other door to open her car door. She always smiled when he did that, he wished he could capture the moment himself.
"Such a gentleman, Enver," she purred when she took his hand, their leather gloves sliding over each other. The sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower in the background, he had always liked Paris. Seara slotted into the city like she was meant to there. In the corner of his eye he could see some photographers, time for business before pleasure. Or he could combine the two. He tucked of her blonde hair behind her ears, cupping her face and placing a gentle kiss on her lips.
"Enver, let's be naughty and have some drinks here." There was mischief in her eyes and a pout on her lips. He groaned, he was never able to refuse her anything.
"What do you want, sweetheart?"
"I would kill for a hot chocolate with amaretto. You should try some glühwein, mon coeur." He wasn't the festive type, growing up in foster families tended to not be very jolly. Before her he preferred to ignore it all together but she loved the festive period. The last two years had given him tradition of yearly trips to Paris and London followed by Christmas spent with her family in New York. It was almost becoming pleasant.
"If you want, love." Before he finished his sentence, he was dragged over to a kitsch chalet.
"Bonjour! Un chocolat chaud avec amaretto et un glühwein, s'il vous plaît." He was pushed against her back with all the people trying to get past them.
"You're so hot when you talk French," he whispered when he leaned over her.
"Oh, so you brought me to Paris for selfish reasons? Naughty, naughty Enver." His unoccupied arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer. But then she turned around with two cardboard cups filled with hot liquid and big grin on her face.
The warm wine was nice, albeit a bit too sweet for his liking. But when Seara drank from her cup, she closed her eyes in delight. There was still some of the liquid clinging on her lips as he leaned over to kiss her and trace his tongue over them.
"Even sweeter than you normally are," he whispered. A blush formed on her cheeks, pushing through her perfect facade.
"You know, when we're finished here, we could just go back to the car and ask Arnaud to drive back to the hotel. Cancel the other plans." People were whispering around them, recognizing them both. A few smartphones angled in their directions, ready to be sent to instagram gossip accounts. Ready for captions about how corny they were. Not that they would have noticed, their world reduced to just the both of them.
"Sweetheart, nothing sounds more perfect. Just a shame these drinks are hot so I can just chug them down."
"Mon chéri, a little patience. Good things come to those who have a patience." And for a second, he believed it all.