Remain Nameless

Chapter 33

Just as Hermione wondered why on earth they would need a powder room while on holiday, she stumbled upon the master bedroom, bedecked in lush-looking cream-colored furniture, with two enormous armoires, and gauzy curtains framing the ceiling-high windows. The large bed looked impossibly soft and Hermione repressed the urge to jump onto it and leap about like an over-excited child. She could already hear the snide remark of "peasant" in her head should she surrender to that urge.

The walk-in closet already held their clothes and she shook her head at the ludicrousness of it all. Hermione opened the door to the ensuite bathroom, closed it, and then opened it again. The bath reminded her of the Prefects' bath at Hogwarts, also made of pristine white marble, and Hermione let out a moan of longing. Her roving eyes took in a shower stall behind frosted glass, two dual vanities flanking each side of the massive washroom, and to top it all off, champagne chilling in a stand-up tub beside the enormous bath.

"Merlin, this is unreal," she sighed under her breath.

Upon her return to the main living area, she found Draco eyeing her apprehensively with his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. It dawned on Hermione that he'd nervously awaited her inspection for an opinion on the accommodations he'd selected for her. For them. His silent bid for her approval tugged at her heart.

"Malfoy, this place is truly amazing... it really is too much!"

Her genuine enthusiasm hit its mark and his lips quirked into their familiar pleased smirk.

"But you haven't even seen the balcony yet."

Most of the far wall was covered in ceiling-high glass doors outfitted with more fine drapery, and as Draco led her through the one off the dining area, Hermione did not even attempt to stifle her gasp. She hadn't realized how high up they were, nor that the balcony ran the entire length of their suite. It stretched on, dotted with low café tables and chairs as well as a few loungers scattered here and there, should one wish to stretch out. The golden skies of early evening reigned above, but brackets of gas lamps hung at the ready to cast a hazy glow along their personal terrace the instant the sun fully set. It would be their own private Parisian café, stories above the city.

Speaking of the city, their room offered a spectacular view of the City of Lights, complete with the requisite Eiffel Tower backdrop in the near distance. How did one become used to a lifestyle such as this? Hermione sucked in a breath of pleasant summer air at the sight, awed at the splendor before her.

"It's charmed to look like a block of pied-à-terres from the street," Draco remarked quietly.

Pied-à-terres? Oh, for the love of Merlin...

Now she sucked in a breath for a very different reason. Draco stepped behind where she stood at the terrace edge, leaning out against the railing. His hands came to rest on either side of hers, and he dropped a kiss to her shoulder.

"Where—?" She cleared her throat and tried again to speak normally, "where did you learn to speak French?"

"My grandparents, both sets, were fluent. Of course, French was also part of my tutoring schedule as a child."

"I see," she replied, throat dry. "Well, it's umm... pretty much perfect."

Hermione's own French left something to be desired. Though she'd visited the country plenty of times, her grasp of the language stayed within the limited confines of stock conversational phrases, asking for directions, and ordering at restaurants.

She felt Draco press closer and his hands came up to skim her bare arms.

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, Hermione?" he murmured and her entire body quaked.