Walking into the house after a long day of planning and organizing my thoughts for the Chanel account along with a multitude of other smaller brands that I'm working with, I kick my heels off by the door and bend to pick them up; careful to not drop the brown paper bag of groceries I had purchased from the little market down the street.

The lights were all off and it was very quiet, indicating that Cameron wasn't home yet. Another late night at the office, I suppose. He'll probably just come home, grab himself a beer, and shut himself off in the room to play video games again. Staring at the ingredients I just bought, I decide to go ahead and prepare a meal with hopes that maybe, just maybe, he'll come home and want to eat dinner with me this time.

After finding the pot I needed, I make my way towards our bedroom to change into some leggings and an off-the-shoulder sweater to keep me a little warmer in the early spring night air that always comes through as a draft in between these old Parisian walls.

Just as I'm stirring the homemade soup and doing a taste test to see if it's made to my liking, I hear the front door unlatch and shoes being kicked off by the entranceway. Taking a deep breath, I plaster on a sweet-looking smile and straighten my posture to go greet my husband.

"Hey," I softly say, still trying to keep the smile on my face even though he doesn't even look in my direction while he shrugs off his suit jacket, "I made some soup from all fresh ingredients. Would you like a bowl?"

Finally looking up at me, he gives me a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "I ate before I came home."

"Oh," I do my best to not sound too let down, "would you like to hang out? We could watch a show or something. Your choice."

"I'm really tired. I'm just going to go into the den." Cameron leans in and places an awkward kiss at my temple, before leaving to go play his video games, "Maybe some other time?"

I don't respond as I stare up at him with a blank expression on my face, trying to calm my irritation. So he's too tired to sit on his ass and watch a show or movie with me but not too tired to play a video game? Why am I even here anymore?

"Mia, for fuck's sake, I'm tired! I worked all day and just want to relax." He starts to try to argue with me but at this point, I am done arguing.

"Then go." My eyebrow raises as I turn on my heel and leave him standing behind me.

But as I figured, I soon hear the sound of his heavy footsteps following behind me, "Why is it always a problem that I want to spend my time off doing something I want to do?"

"That's just it, Cameron," I calmly state as I begin stirring the soup again, "it would be nice if, for once. spending time with me, acknowledging me, or considering me was something you also wanted to do. At least every now and then." I turn to look up at him, refusing to let my eyes well up with hot tears like they threaten to do, "When will our marriage be a priority to you?"

"It is a priority," he responds by trying to reach up and caress my cheek, but I quickly move my head away from his touch, knowing it was all a lie.

I've heard the words and the false reassurance over and over and over until they echo so loudly in my mind that I question if my feelings are even valid. A couple of months ago, I told myself that I wouldn't allow him to manipulate me like that again. I wouldn't be feeling these things if I truly believed that our marriage was a priority to him, I wouldn't question what the point was for being with him if I was honestly happy.

And I'm sick and tired of carrying this marriage all on my own.

"Actions speak louder than words, Cameron. When's the last time you offered to take me out or you had dinner with me? When was the last time that you even went to bed with me? Why am I always the one asking to have sex with you and yet, you're always turning me down? Huh? Actions! Actions mean so much more than empty words of reassurance." My voice cracks as I speak.

Turning off the pot of soup, I stare at it, disgusted by the thought of eating right now and I hate the fact that I'm allowing myself to get so upset that I don't even want dinner when my stomach is rumbling.

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't, right?" He squints his eyes at me, "I work all day and just want some fucking peace when I come home."

"I work all day, too, or did you forget that about me as well? When do you want me to talk to you about how I've been feeling or be honest with you about how rocky our marriage is? When can I squeeze myself into your air-tight schedule of work and video games?" I huff out as I place a glass lid on the pot.

Letting out a loud groan, he turns to walk down the hallway, slamming the den door closed with so much force that the pictures on the wall begin to swing and ignoring everything once again. Once again leaving me alone and trying to pick up the pieces all on my own.

Does he want me to just shut up and put up with it? Be married to him but get nothing in return? At this point, the only benefit of being together is the joint income.

Why does he hate me so much and when did this happen?

Did I do something to make him no longer be interested in me?

Wiping away the gathered wetness from the corner of my eye, I take a deep breath as I look up at the ceiling and get myself back together. As much as my heart aches, crying over this isn't going to do anything but put me in a severe depression that I still refuse to allow myself to fall into.

Walking down the hallway, I pause by the den to listen for a moment. My chest restricts at the sound of Netflix starting up and it's just confirmation that he wasn't too tired after all. He just didn't want to spend time with his wife.

Needing to get fresh air, I turn back around and walk towards the front door where I slip on some boots along with a peacoat, and grab my purse off of the small table next to the vase of flowers I had bought myself. Just another reminder that he doesn't pay any attention to me anymore.

He didn't question where the flowers came from and he hasn't noticed that my wedding ring set has been in the jewelry box right next to his watch for a week. Not once did he notice my new perfume or that I painted my nails his favorite color to try to elicit some sort of reaction from him.

All things he would take notice of before.

I remember when I would take my ring off after a shower and forget to put it back on due to not being used to wearing it. There were times he would make sure to bring it to me, reminding me that I forgot it. But that was when we were newlyweds. When I thought he hung the stars and the moon and I believed his promises to try to always make me happy.

Getting into my car, I drive down to the bridge and park my vehicle in a random parking lot so that I can walk across it instead. The chilly night air and the sound of the river below me usually calmed me down enough and allowed me to breathe a little deeper. There was even a small, charming restaurant at the other end that I figured I would get some tea at, possibly even something to eat if my appetite reemerged.

There weren't as many people on the bridge tonight as some other nights but still enough to distract me. Artists painted paying customers with the river and moonlight as their backdrop while buskers played their instruments in hopes of some donations.

Paris, France is often described as the city of love and romance. As I look around at the couples, both local and tourists, around me with stars in their eyes, I smile at the fact that they feel what it is I cannot. Those swirling butterflies and the grin that doesn't seem to ever disappear from your face; the excitement of seeing the one you love no matter how much or little time had passed and the safe feeling of being wrapped in their arms. I was honestly happy for them.

If I couldn't have that, I'd hope that everyone else could.

Everyone deserved to feel loved and desired.

My chocolate brown tresses still in waves from the bun I wore earlier blow in the wind as I look out to the river and watch the boats decorated with white lights passing underneath me. Paris was a magical place that made you feel like anything in the world was possible and giving myself a moment to admire it on my own reminded me of why I moved here from the states all of those years ago.

"It's a beautiful place, isn't it?" A man's voice speaks up and my brow furrows at the fact he's not speaking French.

Turning my head to the left, I see Mr. Park standing beside me. A person I definitely wasn't expecting to run into so randomly, "Mr. Park? Oh, sorry... Jimin? What are you doing out here?" I smile at him in his burgundy-colored beanie and black thick-rimmed glasses on his face, making him look much less intimidating than earlier today.

"I guess I could ask you the same thing." He grins, sticking his hands in his coat pocket.

"Long day. Needed some air," I respond before turning around to lean my back against the tall railing.

Doing the same to stand right next to me, Jimin sighs and looks up to the night sky, "It was such a long day. I was just trying to find somewhere new to eat. I've only just moved here a month ago and I think the restaurant down the street from my apartment is getting tired of seeing me. Or maybe I'm just getting tired of them."

We both chuckle as I remember how awkward it felt at first to browse the city alone.

"There's a small restaurant I really enjoy just at the other end of the bridge," I inform him. "You may find something to your taste there."

Pushing himself off of the railing to stand upright, he pokes out his elbow to offer his arm to me, "Care to join me?"

Although I came out here to clear my mind, I did intend on possibly grabbing myself something from that very restaurant before I left. It would be awkward if I declined his offer and later showed up anyway just to sit on my own. Not to mention, how rude would that be towards my biggest client? It would surely make an uneasy interaction during our next encounter.

Hooking my arm with his, he smiles down at me and I look away to not allow my heart to flutter at the sight. He was devilishly handsome and I knew that he was well aware of that fact. A man like him could not deny it.

"So what brought you to Paris in the first place, Mia?" Jimin questions curiously.

"Well," I begin, "I was actually born here but moved away before I had a chance to remember it."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I assumed by your English you were only from the states," he apologizes while glancing back down at me. We're taking very slow steps towards our destination and I'm thankful for the leisurely pace.

"Oh, I'm from Maryland to be specific. I moved to Paris after high school. I needed a change and what better place to run away to than Paris?" I smile at the memory of pure joy that flooded over me the moment I started school here instead of the University of Maryland as originally planned, "Granted, being an American all alone in Paris wasn't easy. Eventually, I met my husband: another American new to France at the time."

"I caught onto the title during our meeting but was a bit confused by the lack of a ring." Jimin taps my ring finger on my left hand that's resting on his muscular arm.

"Ah, yes," I think for a moment about what to say or if I should even say anything. Marriage life is complicated and personal. Not many can even understand. "Things have been... well..."

"Rocky? No need to explain if you don't want to," he speaks up when he notices my hesitation, "I haven't been married myself but I had friends back home that had been in quote-unquote rocky marriages."

"Are you liking Paris?" I ask, quickly changing the topic. The subject being something I'm not fond of discussing with a stranger.

"Yes! I mean, it's a beautiful city and lots to do. Just lonely at times," he smiles as he lowers his head.

"I can understand the loneliness." I slightly rock him, making his smile broaden, "I'm sure you'll find someone that will spark your interest."

He watches me walk through the restaurant entrance while he holds the door open for me, "I'm sure I will."

We find a small table for two near a window and away from the louder chattering at the front. I glance around the small restaurant, following Jimin's line of vision as he admires all of the artwork and vintage architecture. He has the same glint in his eyes that I used to have all of those years ago and I miss the enchantment of seeing Paris beyond the tourist destinations for the first time. Even the cobblestone streets used to make my heart flutter.

"Monsieur, mademoiselle. Que voulez-vous boire?" The waiter in a white button-up with a black apron wrapped around his waist questions with his hands clasped in front of him as he waits for one of us to respond.

Leaning over the table, Jimin cups his hand next to his mouth to hide his words from the waiter, "I'm still working on my French. What did he ask?"

Letting out a small laugh, I lean in closer as well to whisper, "What do you want to drink?"

"Ah, wine, please. Red. Whatever you recommend," Jimin responds with a smile and thankfully, the waiter was able to understand him just fine.

"And for you, Miss?"  He turns his head to look at me.

"Tea, please," I state politely.

"Oh, come on. A long day deserves more than just tea." Jimin gives a small grin and I mimic his expression before turning back to the waiter.

"I'll have red wine as well, whatever he'll be having." I change my order and turn back to look at Jimin who nods his head approvingly.

Over the next hour, Jimin and I discuss much more about ourselves than I thought we would and I find it incredibly easy to talk with him. While I still don't go into detail about my marital issues, I am thankful that he doesn't bring it back up either. Instead, we discussed how he made the decision to come to Paris after working with Chanel in South Korea. They had an opening and just like when I was about to go to college, he simply craved a change of scenery and wanted to see more of the world.

I talk about things such as my interests and my dislikes, smiling at how intrigued he was at even the smallest details. I couldn't tell if he was genuinely finding me interesting or if he was just being polite since the companies we work for are business partners. Either way, the entire conversation was a good ice breaker between us and I found myself genuinely smiling more in the last hour than I had in such a long time.

"I've been wanting to ask you, what's your age? You look young but I can't place my finger on it exactly." He inquires before taking the last sip of his wine, his cheeks flushing a rosy shade that reminds me of the spring flowers near the Eiffel Tower.

"It's impolite to ask a woman her age, you know." I quirk my brow, also finishing the last bit of my ruby liquid.

Chuckling, he shakes his head, "I'm asking because of a cultural thing."

"Cultural thing?" I furrow my brow and tilt my head, unsure of what he's referring to exactly.

"In my culture, we refer to people born before us by a certain title, even if they're only a year older, sort of as a sign of respect. I'm curious about yours." His eyes blink slowly as he licks the taste of wine from his plump pout.

Smiling, I glance at the table for a beat before looking back up at him, "You first. What's your age, Jimin?"

"My international age is twenty-six," he answers and giggles at my confused expression, "International age is a topic for another discussion some other time. Now, quit avoiding me. What's your age?"

"Twenty-eight," I reply with a shrug and a roll of my eyes. I figured we were close to the same age but considering his maturity, I really didn't peg him to be only twenty-six.

"Ah... so you're noona," he smirks with a nod of his head as he sits back in his seat.

"Noona?" My brows knit again at the term.

"Yes, you're older than me. So... noona," he hums the word and the tone of his honey-dipped voice makes my stomach flip for some reason.

Biting my lip, I do my best to not bashfully smile as he continues to stare at me, "Are you all done?"

Looking at the empty plates and wine glasses, he nods his head before standing from the table with his hand outreached for mine, "May I walk you back? It's getting late and a woman as beautiful as you shouldn't be out all alone."

Nodding, I grab his hand and gulp at the warmth that flows through every inch of my body upon contact. Even him as so much as caring for my safety is starting to make me swoon and I force myself to push away the intrusive thoughts, claiming that it's just the buzz from the wine anyway.

Even as we begin to walk back across the bridge, we take our time admiring the people and sights surrounding us as well as stopping to watch the artist at work once we pass him by. Being with Jimin in the city tonight is almost like I'm finding a new appreciation for this place where I have resided for the past ten years. Almost as if I am seeing it in a new light through his eyes and if I'm being honest with myself, I love the feeling.

Reaching my car, I awkwardly tell him that we've made it. Feeling like I was a young girl on some innocent date being dropped off at my doorstep, I fiddle with my keys and shyly avoid eye contact.

Taking my hand again, he raises it as he bows his head, placing a soft kiss on the back of my hand as he locks eyes with me once again, "Thank you for having dinner with me tonight."

"Thank you for having me," I grin and stifle a giggle. Why am I giggling? I shouldn't be giggling.

Opening my car door for me, I sit inside and wait for him to close it but when he doesn't right away, I stare up at him with anticipation of what it is he's going to say.

"You have my number. My cell number. Maybe we could do this again sometime, business or otherwise," Jimin grins, his eyes going back into those adorable crescents again.

"I guess you'll have to wait and see." I bite down on my lip, "Good night, Jimin."

"Good night, Mia," he says just before shutting the door and stepping back to give me room to back away, leaving me with a small wave before I drive off completely.