"I don't share," he growled right into my ear, his heavy breath hitting the base of my throat.
"I'm not yours." I hissed back.
He stepped closer, a smirk appearing on his face like all he was feeling at this moment was amusement. My patience was thi...
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My phone buzzed again as a new message popped up. It was the middle of the night and Jungkook didn't seem to have realized that there was a time difference between him and me that meant a sunny morning for him but a full moon for me. Or he just didn't care.
Either way, I wasn't mad at him for robbing me of sleep, because I didn't have anything important planned in the morning and was therefore able to sleep in. Jungkook was currently in Paris with his father for work-related matters, which left me, Dalrae, and Mrs. Jeon behind.
I wouldn't necessarily say that Mrs. Jeon cared very much whether I showed up at the breakfast table or not.
I picked up the phone, its display now gone dark again, and found one of many pictures my husband had been sending me without end over the past few days. Sometimes it was a gloomy place filled with strange people or street corners full of trash that he had taken pictures of from his rental car when passing by.
And just because I had told him that people believed Paris to be the city of love. I personally had never been there. Every city had its dark side, I figured, but there were places ranked higher on my travel bucket list.
I laughed as Jungkook's face filled my display, a disgusted expression written on his features with the message that the place reeked of piss. I ignored all the tall buildings in the background. I knew he was doing it because he knew I wasn't a romantic myself and a city wouldn't represent love to me.
I typed a message back.
Me: Seems like a perfect place for you to be.
Then I snapped a picture of myself lying in his bed among the soft blankets and pillows.
Of course, it was all nothing more than a joke. There was no way Mr. Jeon was staying in lower-class locations and that's why they were all probably staying in one of the most prestigious hotels. Jungkook and Yoongi were less picky when it came down to it, but of course, they had to keep their image on an important business trip.
And mentioning Yoongi, I eyed the box of macarons on my bedside table that Yoongi had given me. He had flown back earlier today and was probably roaming somewhere in his room, deprived of sleep caused by jet lag. His role in Paris had been fulfilled, which was why he had returned home early.
I had laughed out loud when he first pressed a croissant into my hand, squashed in a paper bag because of the long trip, but, as always, he was being an idiot and shoved the box of macarons into my hand afterward, half of which I already devoured.
I had never eaten macarons so delicious and the packaging alone told me that Yoongi had chosen one of the best patissiers, which I appreciated. Jungkook's message pulled my attention away from the macarons.
