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Ten million people visited the Louvre last year, at least, that’s what the statistics seemed to show. Ethan obviously could not miss the world’s largest museum with an extremely impressive art collection, now that he had an opportunity to see it all with his own eyes. He was actually quite glad that he could do so in peace, and on his own, his introverted soul needing a bit of a break from the crazy trio that stayed behind at the hotel. He’s been walking through the spectacular place for almost two hours already, still mesmerized, his mind trying to comprehend the fact that this single building housed more than 35 000 works of art, spanning from the 6th century B.C. to 19th century A.D.
On his phone, while walking through the gorgeous streets of Paris and approaching the gallery, he made sure to read up on all of the basic facts. He learnt how the construction began in the mid-1500s, but only part of the building was completed, and how every subsequent French king added to the structure, enabling the visitors to spot several different architectural styles. It took 200 years for the entire building to become a museum. For some, all of that might be unnecessary and borderline boring information, but Ethan Torchio relished in all of that.
The place was so big, so various, so filled with objects, and so beautifully disordered that there was still, especially off-season, a chance to infiltrate inside, instead of being regimented within it. He seemed to be quite lucky, coming in just the right time to be able to browse in peace and without hordes of people rushing him.
The second he had stepped through the door into the often overlooked Richelieu wing of the gallery, heading towards the displayed sixteenth-century Flemish tapestries called “Les Chasses de Maximilien,” his gaze had been drawn to her.
Her; wearing all black, yet looking like the most alive person around. She adjusted the leather strap of her purse, and he noticed that her nails were painted a bright red that perfectly matched the shade of red she wears on her lips.
When she moved, he followed her almost subconsciously, compulsively, his gaze pulled towards her as if magnetized. Not being able to take his eyes off her, Ethan also noted that she was wearing a gold necklace with a pendant showing the letter C, and he speculated her name must start with a C. Was she a Claudia, a Camellia, a Clara? Or something else? Whatever it was, he needed to know.
Her eyes were perfectly blue, her hair, black and straight, moving as soft prairie grass in the summer wind. She was beautiful, but then a lot of girls were beautiful. There was something different, something special, about this girl. She carried herself so elegantly, proud, and Ethan thought that she might be pretty much the definition of a femme fatale.
She smiled looking at the portrait of the Italian diplomat and author Castiglione by Raphael, her mouth stretching wide into a grin that spreads up to her eyes, making them sparkle with delight. He yearned to have those eyes staring into his, to know that that smile is for him. It was rather unexplainable.
Then, in another room with massive 17th-century oil paintings in pompous gold frames, he watched as she stops to brush a few strands of her hair out of her eyes. Her hair was the colour of raven wings, dyed pitch black. Ethan imagined it must smell like strawberries, his favourite fruit.
Ethan followed her out of the interior of the gallery, back outside to appreciate the Louvre pyramid as she headed confidently towards the adjoined café, protected from the rain by a roof supported by beautiful sand-coloured arches. The whole complex was the perfect example of how architecture is not meant just for convenience, ergonomy or cost-saving usefulness, it's also meant to reflect beauty, longevity, power, and tradition as well as innovation, boldness, skill, and to inspire awe to visitors and locals alike. The Louvre is a gigantic palace yet it seamlessly blends in with the city without looking like a giant lump of stone that someone unnaturally placed there.
Ethan had been told countless times that everything happens for a reason. His family was a bit superstitious like that. He had never paid much attention to the overused saying, but then for the first time, he saw there might be some truth to it.
He took a seat not too far from her table, holding the menu in front of his face to partially concealing his curious stares. She took out her phone from her purse and held it up to her ear, and Ethan saw her talking into it. He was sitting far enough away that the chatter and noise of the coffee shop made it impossible for him to hear her voice. He hungered to hear what it sounded like, probably like a gentle breeze rustling through leafy green trees in spring. Who was she talking to? A friend? A lover? Perhaps even a husband?
It was an enticing challenge for thieves to take away something valuable from under the noses of the public from the Louvre. For centuries since the opening of the museum, poor security led to the theft of art, from paintings to sculptures and heavy statues. He wondered if he could get away with stealing her.
Mustering all of his willpower, he stood up. He tested the limits of his courage as he started to force his legs to carry him towards her, while his instincts told him to turn and run. One step, two steps, three. Any second she would look up and see him. Four steps, five. He now stood beside her table. The rapid beating of his heart, his sweaty palms, he could even feel the tops of his ears tingling. Suddenly it was as if everything had slowed down. He drew in a deep breath as he saw her finally raise her eyes to meet his own.
“Hello,” he said politely, hands tied behind his back.
She placed the porcelain coffee cup down on the glass table, a small smile appearing on her lips.
“Hello. I was starting to think that you’d never come to introduce yourself. You know, since you’ve been tailing me for quite some time.”
Ethan’s eyes widened, suddenly feeling quite embarrassed. The whole time, he was convinced that he did everything sneakily enough for her not to notice him. Turns out he was wrong. He cleared his throat and shifted. She did not look angry. He pressed his lips together and placed his hand on the free chair by her table, testing his luck.
“May I?”
She gave him a simple nod, watching him closely, her eyes tracing the features of his face.
"You're not from here. Visiting Paris?"
It wasn't so much his looks to make her assured of that but the strong accent that shone through his English. It definitely wasn't a French accent. She had a very good ear for languages, and her grin expanded, almost sure about where she could place him on the imaginary world map in her mind.
Ethan nodded with a chuckle, wondering whether his English would ever get to a level where he would sound more neutral and less Italiano.
"Yes, for work. And you?"
"Also just visiting," the corners of her lips twirled upwards into a teasing smile.
"So, will you tell me your name, or..?"
Ethan shook his head quickly, realizing that he was making a bit of a fool out of himself. It was quite easy to do in a presence of someone so special, of someone like her.
"I apologize. Where are my manners? My name is Ethan."
He extended his hand toward her, pleased that she responded with the same gesture.
"Carmen," she replied simply, wondering where that little sexy scar on his cheek came from. Some might consider it perhaps an imperfection, but to her, it was the perfect spice, the perfect embellishment on an already very charismatic face.
"Nice to meet you, Ethan."
Carmen. What a name. So fitting of her beauty, so fitting of the playful sparks in her eyes, so fitting of her scent. She was just there, close to him, tracing the edge of the coffee cup with seemingly the softest fingers in the world. He stopped talking, stopped moving, and stopped breathing. He was glad that he was sitting down because the way she was looking at him - the way a cat would look at a mouse - made his knees give out.
Then she smiled—that smile! let her smile again. It took him a few more moments to recover just from that. He smiled back, leaning back into the chair comfortably.
"You have the most wonderful blue eyes," he muttered honestly.
Carmen leaned in closer, playing with the small metal spoon that came with her drink, smirking.
"Is that why you followed me around? Because of my eyes?"
"Amongst many other things," he chuckled, nibbling on his lower lip. He liked the sassy, teasing attitude. He liked it perhaps much more than it would be appropriate.
"By the way, I don't usually do that - sneak around following women."
Ethan's comment made her laugh. She shrugged her shoulders casually, staring right into his eyes confidently. It was definitely there; the attraction running both ways.
His accent was soft, as were his eyes, and she found that appealing. Not to mention that he was, of course, a very handsome man.
"Well, I didn't mind it; you, following me around."
He cleared his throat and shifted, not quite used to such directness. However, it was a breath of fresh air, and it made his insides tingle with excitement. His gaze fell on her phone which was still lit up, laying flat on the table. Chapter 8, he noticed the most prominent line in bold.
"Reading anything good?"
"Actually, yes. Re-reading Anna Karenina," she nodded.
"Do you read much?"
"Hmm. That's a classic," his grin expanded.
"Not as much as I used to a couple of years back, but I'm trying," Ethan replied, getting all kinds of vibes from the way she was looking at him. None of the vibes had anything to do with just the usual conversation about literature. There was a bit too much tension and a bit too much sauciness.
Carmen sipped on her coffee, the subtle smile remaining on her lips, making him more than well aware that he was not just imagining the subcontext that seemed to linger between them. He crossed his arms, just shamelessly staring at her, and what he liked the most was that she was doing exactly the same thing in return. They shared a couple of minutes just like that, in silence, the chatter surrounding them not bothering them. However, he was painfully aware of the time, the phone vibrating in his pocket constantly reminding him that he should probably make his way back to the hotel soon to get ready for the radio show. Every other time, he'd be very much hyped about it. But not then. He rubbed his palms together, leaning closer, resting his elbows on the table.
"I know this is pretty forward, but, can I have your number? I, unfortunately, don't have that much time left today," he said quietly, looking at her with a bit softer eyes, hoping that she would agree. Because if she would not, he wasn't sure what he'd do.
Carmen cocked her head to the side, wondering whether she should take mercy on him or steam him just for a bit longer.
"Hmm? Well, that depends..."
Ethan blinked quickly, not sure whether what she said was a good thing or a bad thing. But at least it meant that she was considering the option.
"Depends on what?"
She played with a strand of her hair, wrapping it around her finger the same as she had already managed to do the same with him.
"On the reasons why you'd want to get in touch with me again," she smiled coyly, teasing him on purpose.
Ethan rubbed his chin and chuckled a bit, before turning completely serious and leaning in even closer, their faces just a few inches apart, the small round table generously allowing for such action. He could play that game with her. He could be bluntly honest, too. His eyes turned even darker, pupils dilated.
"I think you know the reason," he purred, voice low.
Carmen bit her lip, not even a sign of any kind of shyness on her face.
"Do I?"
"Yeah," Ethan nodded. "You know, to talk some more."
He would, of course, love to talk some more. But talking wasn't necessarily the first thing on his mind looking at her right there and then.
"Mmm-hmm. Sure. To talk."
She knew very well what he meant. Actually, she was thinking just about the same thing. Her eyes dropped to his lips for a moment, trying to think about the way he would taste. She was very well aware of what she was doing to him, and she loved it. Finally, she broke the eye contact, hand disappearing into the little black bag. The pen she pulled out looked expensive, like a proper pan that perhaps a writer would own. That simple detail made Ethan even more intrigued. Pulling the white napkin with the Louvre logo on it, she quickly scribbled a set of numbers on it, sliding it across the table toward him.
"There you go. By the way, I don't usually do this - give my phone number to complete strangers," her lips curled upwards, thinking of the comment he made earlier about following her around.
Ethan smirked, looking at the numbers, not recognizing the area code. Not that it mattered too much. He had the number and he would use it.
"Seems like we both feel rather adventurous today," his eyes sparkled as he neatly folded the napkin and made sure it was safely plunged deep enough into his pocket.
"I tell you what," Carmen whispered, as if she was telling him some kind of a secret.
"The next time we meet - and that's if we ever meet again - I'll make sure you learn the true meaning behind the word 'adventurous'," she licked her bottom lip, still smiling.
He would make sure that they would meet again.
"I always welcome the opportunity to expand my vocabulary, Carmen."