HARRY STYLES
When we talked about our honeymoon the first time around, Rowan and I originally wanted to go somewhere tropical if we would travel in October. We thought it'd be nice to take advantage of warm weather before the winter came...but then we remembered that we live in Malibu California, where the sun is shining every day and all you ever really nice is a light jacket at night during the coldest months.
So after some more back and forth, we ultimately decided that rather than trying to escape the fall and winter, we'd rather embrace it and spend a week in a place where the leaves change colors and we can take full advantage of the season we otherwise don't really get to experience in California. That's how we ended up in Paris, and I couldn't be happier about it now that we're here.
"Do you think we should have stayed away for the flight?" Rowan asks as the plane slowly rolls to a stop before our gate. "Now our sleep schedule is going to be all messed up."
Through a yawn, I say, "Who said anything about sleeping while we're here?"
She smiles tiredly in my jumper with a few tangles in her fine hair from how she slept. "You're so right, what was I thinking?"
"I have no idea," I scoff, making her laugh as we stand to get our bags and step off the plane.
Regardless of how groggy she is, she still squeaks in excitement at the sound of someone speaking French over the intercom in the airport. I think that's when she starts to feel more awake as she takes my hand and we find the baggage claim together.
It's strange to feel like we missed a whole day, seeing as we left in the middle of the night in LA and arrived after sundown here, but the city seems to still be very much alive at 8:00 as we hail our taxi to take us to Rowan's parents' penthouse in the middle of Paris. We plan to settle in a bit before we change to go to dinner, but I think if it were up to me, we'd just stay in for the rest of the evening.
Rowan's parents' flat is, of course, absolutely stunning even from the outside. The architecture of the white stone building is traditionally Parisian, and the interior is much of the same as she uses a key to let us into the lobby. The damp bottoms of our shoes squeak on the polished mosaic tile floor as we drag our luggage to the lift, and the whole building smells of coffee and something sweeter. Rowan explains that it's coming from the bakery next door.
The lift only stops at the very top of the 28-floor complex, and then we step out to be met with a white hardwood door. Rowan unlocks the flat for us and feels around the wall to switch the spotlights in the lofty ceiling on. The place is tremendous, and there's something incredibly regal about the decor. It feels simultaneously aged and renewed, and I can't believe we're about to live here for the next week.
"Jesus Christ," I laugh to myself as Rowan crosses the living room to pull the linen curtains apart, revealing none other than the Eiffel Tower shimmering in all its glory so close to us. We couldn't have a more perfect, unobstructed view.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Rowan scurries back over to dim the lights so we can see the tower better.
"It's something," I follow her back to the window, dropping my hands on her shoulders as she stands in front of me. The funny thing is that I never really cared for Paris as much as I think a lot of other people do, but being here with my half-Parisian wife is starting to change my perspective just a bit.
"How are you feeling?" She tilts her head to look up at me. "Tired?"
"Not at all," I kiss her cheek. "I'm ready to go to dinner if you are."
"Mhm," she turns in my arms to reach up on her toes. "Come see our bedroom."
Not needing to be told twice, I let her pull me past the spacious living room, through a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a black grand piano, and down a wide hallway with herringbone hardwood floor. We pass a few closed doors on either side of the hall until she opens the one at the very end.
The room is massive and comes complete with a king-sized mattress wrapped in white and beige bedding, a fireplace with a lounge couch on one side, an ensuite on the other, and a balcony that gives us the same view of the Eiffel Tower. If I was never allowed to leave this space, I'd be alright with it.
"Is this the same penthouse your parents used to live in?" I ask her.
She laughs a little nervously. "No, um...well, they sort of bought this for me when I moved here for culinary school. Actually, no, I just gave them an excuse to buy a new place. It's not really mine."
It's funny that she still feels the need to defend her wealth as if I could ever think that she's a spoiled brat the way she thinks she is. What's really insane, though, is not that what's mine is hers, but that what's hers is mine. When she insisted on joining our bank account, I never thought I'd see that much money that would belong to me in my life.
"You're cute," I hold her waist and take just two small steps toward the bed behind her, but she stops me with a smirk and a shake of her head.
"Dinner first," she stands on her toes to peck my lips, and I have no choice but to follow her back to the entryway to retrieve our luggage.
To "keep the excitement alive", or so Rowan decided, we take quick separate showers just to freshen up after being on a plane for ten hours. While I change, Rowan slathers her skincare on in place of face makeup, but she does add blush, mascara, and lipstick before she opens her suitcase to find her first outfit.
"Wait right here," she smiles excitedly as she disappears into the grand closet on the other side of the room, holding her whole outfit in her arms.
As I'm told, I sit on the bed and rest back on my elbows to wait for her, laughing when I hear something thump against the door. But in the next minute, she opens the door to show me her long black dress paired with her favorite black pointed-toe heels. Somehow, she looks equally adorable and beyond sexy as she turns around to show me the open back.
"What do you think?"
I inhale a deep breath as I force myself to stand with her. "I think you're making it really hard for me to want to leave."
She has a blush in her smile as she comes closer to me and reaches up to take my face in her hands. "I love you, but we need to eat something that didn't come from an airplane."
Reluctantly so, I agree and watch her stuff her essentials into her white Dior clutch before we find our way through the flat to leave again. Something about it feels terribly normal even though I've never been here before. I guess I can just see us living here permanently easily enough.
"So we have dinner reservations every night this week...except for tonight," she smiles guiltily up at me as we link arms and start walking down the street together, "but, there's an amazing cafe just two blocks down that I used to eat at religiously on my day's off from school."
"I trust you," I release her hand just to drop my arm over her shoulders instead, and she slips her arm around my waist to keep me just as close.
The cafe isn't overcrowded by any means, but just active enough for anyone to assume that it's a popular place for dinner. It's also not too posh, and Rowan already guaranteed that we wouldn't be eating at any restaurants that are too conceded apart from her very favorite. Even then, she promised me that I'll enjoy it and I believe her.
But for now, we step into the cafe and are sat at a vacant table meant for two by the window looking out to the street. The lighting is warm and faint, making the restaurant feel more intimate, though I can imagine that it's bright and vibrant during the day with the wide glass storefront and all.
"So they have a lot of comfort food, but I think you'll really like the lemon pasta with chicken, or this savory crepe is basically what I make you at home all the time," she points at the menu as we inspect it sideways together.
In the end, I go for the pasta while she naturally chooses her favorite dish of lobster mac and cheese, and I watch her place the order to our waiter in flawless, fluid French. Again, ridiculously sexy and adorable all at once.
"Would you want to live here again someday?" I ask her, seeing as she's obviously in her element.
She smiles a little, playing with my turning my wedding band around on my finger. "I think about it sometimes."
"Yeah?" I turn my palm up so she can trace the lines in it.
"Yeah," her blue eyes flicker up to meet mine. "I think about a lot of things."
I narrow my eyes at her, intrigued. "Like what?"
"Like...if I'll open a second bakery somewhere else, and if you'll stay at Shamrock forever, and if our children will have your accent or mine, and if I'd like them to be raised in America or Europe. And I think about you. A lot."
It's confessions like that one that make me wish I could be inside her head more often. "What about me?"
She hums a seemingly tired sigh as our waitress brings our glasses of wine to the table. "How much time do you have?"
I thought she was joking, but while we wait for our meal to arrive, she goes on to tell me that she thinks about kissing me more often than I would assume she does, and that she thinks about how our relationship is only going to get stronger with every passing anniversary, and how it's going to be when we're in the hospital and she's giving birth to our first out of ten children, and how excited she is to be with me forever. It's comforting to now know that I'm not the only one thinking those things.
And she was right about dinner, too. Both of the entrees that we ended up sharing were just about as comforting as comfort meals can be, and because we don't have to drive anywhere, we both had a bit more to drink than what we normally would if we were on a date back home. I feel warm under my clothes, and Rowan has the kind of blush on her cheeks that only comes around when she's had three glasses of wine.
"Oh my God, you know what we have to do?" She gasps as we stand after signing our bill.
"What do we have to do?" I mimic her enthusiasm with my hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the cafe.
"We have to go to Le Marais for dessert," she beams up at me. "Can we please?"
I laugh at her little puppy pout. "Sure, but where is it? Should we get a cab?"
"It's two more blocks that way," she points away from the direction of our flat, where we came from.
"Is it really?" I frown in thought as we start wandering that way. "So...that means my old temporary tattoo shop is down that way."
"Which means that we were never that far from each other when we were both living here," she completes my thought. "You know what would have been incredible?"
"What?"
She smiles to herself, swinging our hands back and forth between us. "If we met while we were here and had a little fling, and then if we met again years later when you'd eventually move to LA and live across from me."
It's a cute plot for a love story, but the only flaw is that we wouldn't have had a little fling if we met when we were living here in Paris. I would have fallen in love with her, and I would have followed her back to California anyway. I would have followed her to the goddamn moon if that was what she wanted.
"Did you have any Parisian flings?" I ask. We've never talked about that, I don't think.
The tip of her nose gets all wrinkled as she laughs. "I had a few, yes, but they weren't what you'd think when you picture a 'fling'."
Curiously, I press the issue. "What were they like then?"
"Well...I went on three dates in total, they all took me to dinner, and then they all made out with me outside of my apartment building. It was very classically romantic in Parisian terms."
Now that I'm picturing three with their French tongues down her throat, I wish that maybe I didn't bother asking at all. "You didn't like any of them?"
She smiles at the cobblestone beneath our feet. "One of them was really handsome, but no. Didn't feel right."
Although I'm fucking married to this woman, I still feel myself starting to relax with her confirmation that she wasn't into them...before we even knew the other existed. "Too bad for them."
"Mhm," she looks up at me, her smile growing wider before she turns her head to face forward again.
We cross the street when we see the bakery coming up on the other side, and I'm hit with an intense wave of nostalgia. I haven't been to Paris since I left after the renovations in my London shop were finished, and I certainly never imagined that the next time I'd be back would be on my honeymoon with my wife. But it feels good to come full circle.
Now, I wouldn't say this shop is identical to Chéri, but I would certainly say they're very similar in aesthetics and in terms of that genuine Parisian feeling they both give. It's no wonder the people of Los Angeles are so obsessed with Rowan's shop; it really is a piece of Paris in California for everyone to enjoy without the ten-hour flight.
"Should we just get a few things and take them home?" She suggests.
"Yeah, that works," I step up to the glass casing with her, both of us inspecting whatever pastries they have left at this hour.
All I ask for is a chocolate croissant, which Rowan orders as well, but at the last minute, she asks for a raspberry tart and six macarons of various flavors to all be boxed up for us. While I wait for her to pay, I look over to the small tables by the window and imagine her sitting there with a book and an espresso, and I try really hard to think if maybe I had seen her before. But, like I already thought, there's no way I'd forget a face like hers.
Before we start our walk back home, she picks out a lemon and chocolate macaron for us to have on the way. The way she hums in contentment at the taste and lets her head drop back for a second makes me feel like we need to hurry up and get back to the flat.
Thankfully, we're lucky enough to ride the lift to the top floor alone, without any interruptions. Rowan hands me the box of pastries so that she can open the door for us, promptly swinging it closed and flipping the lock in one swift motion. Her heels echo on the hardwood floor as she leads the way to the open-plan kitchen and turns on the dim overhead spotlights.
"Do you want some more wine?" She asks, disappearing into a deep walk-in pantry.
"Sure," I rest my lower back against the countertop and fold my arms over my chest, watching her tuck her hair behind her ears as she takes a corkscrew from one of the drawers to open the wine. She looks so pretty doing it somehow.
"Here you go," she smiles and hands me my half-full glass, then opens the bakery box to pick out another macaron for herself.
The flat is dead silent. Even though we're in a building with other tenants, it feels like we might as well be back in our Malibu house, secluded from our few neighborhoods and the rest of California. It's a peaceful and comforting kind of silence, though I wonder if I'm the only one who can feel the tension growing between us as we sip from our wine across from each other in the kitchen.
"So, you know how I told you I think about a lot of things when we were having dinner?" She starts.
I nod, she blushes and takes a long pull from her stemless glass.
"I think that, um...I mean, if you are–or I mean, if you would like to...I think I wanna start trying for a baby."
The unbelievable thing is that if any woman would have said this to me in the last two years, I think I might have started to panic. I'd try to find a way not to hurt her feelings, but I'd be honest and tell her that I'm not quite ready. But now? I don't even flinch as the suggestion sinks in. I don't have to stop and quickly think about whether or not I'm ready for it.
"You do?" I fish for her confirmation anyway.
"I do," she sets the last bit of her wine down on the counter and takes the few steps she needs to get to me. "What do you think? Be honest. This is a big deal, and you won't hurt my feelings."
I keep my gaze down on her as I finish my wine and blindly place the glass behind me. "I think I'm ready if you are."
It seems as though she can't help her smile from growing before she can stop herself from getting too excited. "Really? You're not just saying that to make me happy?"
"I wouldn't," I promise her, "not with something this serious."
She nods, placing her hands on my chest with a more concentrated expression, but then she's fighting her smile all over again. "So this is it? We're gonna have a baby?"
As I take in her genuinely excited and eager expression, I remind myself of my promise to her dad when I asked him if I could marry her. I might not be able to buy her a mansion or fill her closet with designer clothing, but I can give her a baby and make her a mother if it'll make her happy. That has to count for something, doesn't it?
"We're gonna try," I hold her hips and start walking us toward the direction of our bedroom on the opposite side of the flat.
"We're probably going to have to try a lot–" she giggles against my mouth as I cut her off with a kiss, but then she sighs into me as I pick her up to carry her the rest of the way.
With the glittering lights from the Eiffel Tower illuminating the bedroom through the open curtains, we don't bother with any of the switches on the wall as I set her down to her heels on the Persian rug in the center of the room.
Without ever detaching her lips from mine, her fingers start unfastening the buttons on my shirt until she has to tug out the material from inside my trousers to finish the job. I only remove my hands from her to let her push my shirt off of my shoulders, but then I'm just as eager to find the side zipper on her dress.
As the fabric drops and pools to the floor, I can't help myself from pulling back just to catch a glimpse of her lacy red underwear this time. It's typically always black or white with her, but now the crimson color matches the darker shade of lipstick she's wearing tonight.
Her lips are parted over mine as I slip my hand between her thighs to cup her over her lingerie, and I can already feel how wet she is through the material as I drag my middle and ring fingers back and forth. That's when she bites down on her bottom lip and arches her back with her own hand dragging down to touch me over my trousers.
I walk forward until she has to sit on the edge of the bed, and the way she immediately spreads her thighs apart for me would have had me dropping to my knees if she didn't start unbuckling my belt and undoing my pants to yank down my legs. Before I can fully brace myself, she's pressing her full lips to my lower stomach, paying special attention to my fern tattoos while she massages me over my briefs with both hands.
I move her hair out of the way for her as she pulls my underwear down to join my trousers, and my lips involuntarily part as I watch hers do the same right before she puts me in her mouth. For just a second, I drop my head back on my shoulders, blinking up at the vaulted ceilings as she hums and uses her right hand to pump what can't comfortably fit in her mouth.
She closes her eyes as I push my fingers through her hair, her lashes casting long shadows like iron filings on her cheekbones as she tilts her head to the side. I find myself doing the same thing as I brush my thumb over her hallowed cheek, but I almost lose it when she forces her eyes open to look up at me.
When I shake my head at her, she pulls back to laugh and swipes her thumb across my tip as I lean over to kiss her. I don't really think about it when I keep pushing forward until she gets the hint to move further back on the bed.
She lays down in front of me with her knees bent and together, smiling with her thumb nail between her teeth like she's the most innocent little thing in the world. But then she parts her thighs to make room for me, still smiling as I drop down on top of her.
"I really want a baby," she quietly reminds me, "but no pressure or anything."
I hang my head to laugh, hearing her do the same as she places her hands on my shoulders. "I'll do my best."
Her smile remains as I kiss her, but then she easily lies back when I dodge her lips to get her neck and start making my way down her chest. She gently tugs at the roots of my hair as I lap my tongue over her damp underwear, but she when lifts her hips impatiently, I don't waste any time in peeling the flimsy material down to toss on the floor.
Every sound she makes is still the only sound I can hear apart from the puffy duvet rustling under her as she shifts around on the bed. I feel like we might as well be the only two people in Paris as she says my name loud and clear, pulling roughly enough on my hair until my eyes roll shut and my mouth falters on her for just a second.
"More," she moans with her head back on the bed, and I can't help but think back to when she just experimentally wanted me to try pushing one finger in first. Now I'm curling two inside of her, and that doesn't seem to be enough.
"I think I'm gonna cum," she gasps and moans shortly after, and I look up to see her tossing her head to the side with her hands cupping her breasts as the muscles in her stomach flex and relax.
She's still coming down as I smudge messy, wet kisses back up her body with a new determination to have her. Maybe it's because we haven't been intimate since before the wedding, or maybe it's because we both know that tonight is about more than just having sex.
"Oh my God, I love you," she's smiling and out of breath as I kiss her mouth.
"Hope so," I swallow as she drags her right hand down my chest to take my length and bring the tip closer until I impulsively push into her.
Her lips part like mine do as she breathes in, and her lashes flutter as I smack my hand down on the mattress and shift my hips like I'm trying to impossibly push in further. She's blinking up at me with a hint of desperation in her eyes, and it reminds me why we're doing this as I pull out halfway just to thrust back in.
On impact, Rowan's whole body tightens around me as she pulls on the back of my neck to meet me halfway for a kiss. I lower myself down to my elbows when I feel her nails digging into my back, and I can feel the chills rise on her skin as I bury my face in her neck and slide my hand up the side of her thigh to squeeze her hip.
For some reason, as Rowan says my name in an exhale and presses her lips to my shoulder, I'm suddenly very aware that this could possibly work. There's a good chance we won't get that lucky on the first try, but what if we do? What if this is the last time we have sex before we're a family of three? That idea should scare me a lot more than it does.
"Look at me, H," She turns her head toward mine as I force my eyes open and push up onto one palm. "I love you so much."
I think we're both aware that she just told me that, but she was at least partially joking when she said it right after I gave her an orgasm. Right now, she seems to mean it more seriously as she knits her brows together and threads her fingers through my hair, slowly meeting me thrust for thrust.
"I love you," I speak over her lips, and I just wish she could know how much I mean that. She's my partner, my wife, and my other half. She's absolutely everything to me.
Her jaw goes slack as I suddenly buck my hips a little faster, and I watch her moan with the reflection of the Eiffel Tower's sparkling lights through our window dancing all over her and the bed. Her red lipstick remains an intact stain on her lips, but her mascara is slightly smudged from all the laughing we've been doing all night, and her cheeks are flushed a rosy pink color from the way the heat is rising in our room.
And out of nowhere, she says, "I love that you're the only guy I've ever been with."
I feel my stomach drop from the unexpected compliment, but also from the way she says it with a higher-pitched moan. She's getting close already. "Yeah?"
"Mhm," she went her lips and parts them again right before I give her a tongue-filled kiss. "I love that you're the only one who has ever touched me and been inside me like this."
I'm obviously extremely conscious of the fact that I'm inside her right now, but hearing the reminder makes me throb as I pull out just to fall onto my side, facing her.
With a little whine from the loss of contact, I think, she scrambles to roll over and face me, letting me hike her leg up to my hip just so I can push back in. Her lips tick up in a half-smirk as she moans in contentment and drops her head to rest on the feather pillow.
"It's never been this good with anyone else," I tell her in return, hoping it's not a mistake to remind her that I've slept with other women, unlike her. But then she bites back her smile and moves closer to me, splaying her hand out on my jaw as I hold onto her hip and use it as leverage to thrust in deeper.
"I'm your favorite," she says. It's not a question.
"You're the only one that matters," I retort, earning myself a wet mismatched kiss as she once again starts rolling her hips into mine until we establish a perfect rhythm.
"My God, that's so good," she breathes over my lips right before I kiss her, stifling both our moans as she drills her nails into the back of my neck and starts to pulse around me without any warning.
"Oh, fuck," I knead her hip and breathe through my mouth while trying to thrust her through the last of her convulsing orgasm.
"Don't forget to cum inside me," she practically laughs as she spreads her fingers out on my chest. She always laughs or at least wears a big smile after she's been properly fucked, and I love that about her.
But, with the reminder, I push forward to get her on her back again right before my whole body comes to a halt. I push in further and let myself smile against her neck as she gasps and locks her ankles behind my back.
"Do you think it worked?" She whispers slightly out of breath.
I laugh with my forehead resting on her shoulder. "I don't know. Do you feel like it did?"
"Maybe," she scratches her fingers through my hair with one hand and uses the other to trace my spine. "But maybe we should try again just to be safe."
"Oh, you do?" I pull back to see her smiling from ear to ear.
"Mhm," her laugh is muffled as I kiss her, and I almost can't believe it when I feel her walls squeezing me from the simple gesture. Sometimes I forget how much she likes to be kissed.
"I think you're probably right," I mumble between kisses. "We might as well just go all night."
With a little grunt of effort, she pushes me over to climb on top of me, comfortably straddling my waist. The Eiffel Tower and Paris skyline serves as the background, and I think, for the first time, I might understand why they call this place the city of love.
"Might as well," I nod as I prop myself up on my elbows.
Her smile softens as she motions for me to sit up, and I don't think twice before I comply, hugging her waist. She tilts her head to press one soft kiss to my lips, and in the next two seconds, I'm the one chasing her lips as she takes me in her hand to get me hard again.
After two more rounds, the pillows are scattered around the floor, the duvet has fallen off the bed, and the alarm clock on the right nightstand has been swept off and unplugged from the wall after Rowan was looking for something to grab onto.
"Okay," she huffs as I pull out and fall to the bed beside her, "if I'm not pregnant after that, it's still the best sex we've ever had."
I cough out a laugh and push my damp and sweaty hair from my forehead. "That's the first time you've ever spoken French in bed."
She lets out her good laugh, wrinkling her nose before she slaps her hand over her mouth. "If there was ever a place, it's here, yeah?"
"Mhm," I laugh to myself and roll onto my side to brush my knuckles over her pink and glistening cheekbone. Her smile stays as she closes her eyes and leans into my hand.
It takes a lot of coaxing, but eventually, she agrees to get off the mattress so that we can clean ourselves up properly before actually getting into bed. I hardly get to lay down before she's curling up onto my side, sharing my pillow with me and draping half of her body across mine. I wouldn't have it any other way.
"H?" She whispers.
"Yes?" I whisper back, turning my head to see that she has her eyes closed.
She smiles. "Tell me you love me, please."
I laugh as she blindly slides her hand up to cup my jaw like she's trying to make sure I'm looking at her. "I love you, Rowan."
Her smile grows as she squints with one eye open. "Thank you."
"Thank you?" I scoff, making her giggle as she tries to get closer to me.
"I love you too," she speaks against my cheek before pressing a kiss there. "Forever, and ever, and ever. Promise."
That's not the first time someone has said that to me, but it's the first time I have reason to believe it, and it's the first time that the words actually hold any weight. But I guess this is also the first time I've ever really been in love, myself. Who knew it would also be the last?