I am in trouble.

     Pierre told me that this restaurant was very fancy and I had nothing to wear. Shame on me for rushing when I packed. Then again, I did not plan to go on a date. At all.

     Now, I was practically running down the street carrying a plastic bag; trying to return to the hotel to get ready. I bought the dress from a thrift store for 30 euros. I was enchanted by how beautiful and cheap it was... mainly because it was so cheap.

     The pale pink fabric ended around my mid-thighs. The flowing sleeves hung loosely around my arms and made their way across my chest. Lace roses decorated the dress; it reminded me of how Pierre and I met.

     I quickly slipped on the dress and put on my sandals. They may not be the fanciest, but the classic nude slip-on had to work for now.

     I lightly curled my blonde hair with a curling iron the hotel had supplied, I wanted to bring attention to it since Pierre seemed to like it, and slipped on a headband that had three lilies perched on top that matched nicely with the dress. I looked in the mirror that hung along the back wall of my hotel room. I smiled at the girl in front of me.

     She was so pretty.

     The hotel phone buzzed and I hurried to pick it up.

     "Miss Monelle, you have someone downstairs waiting for you."

      I grabbed my purse and phone, along with my sunglasses.

      "On my way," I replied before laying the phone back down on the stand.

      With one last check in the mirror, I waited for the elevator to lower to ground level. The doors groaned open and I walked out while biting my lip with an ache in my stomach.

     What if Pierre was like Zach?

     My thoughts were interrupted by a wall. More specifically, a human.

     "Ow," I mumbled. Please don't be. . .

     "We should stop meeting like this, Olivia." He chuckled

      "Hey, Pierre," I said sheepishly.

      His smile lit the whole room. I am in trouble.

      "Ready to go? I made a reservation at a really nice place." He informed me. God, his accent is really cute.

      Pierre laughed. "Your accent is cute too."

      Shoot. Did I say that out loud?

      My cheeks flared red and I looked away. I don't know why I brought my sunglasses. It was almost dark outside; the street lights led the way.

     I grabbed my glasses and reached for my bag. I must've veered to the right because Pierre looped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. I barely made it around the businessman who was talking on his phone.

    "You should be more careful, Blonde." He chuckled.

      I blushed and just held my sunglasses in my hand while Pierre brought his hand back to his side.

      For the first time, I really looked at him. Pierre was tall, I'll give him that. But he wasn't a muscle head like Zach. His hair was dark brown and slightly curly like he never lost the young baby curls. His eyes were warm and dark, like chocolate. I had yet to see a trace of anger in them.

     If I had to use one word to describe him, I would say. . .

          Dorky.

     But in a cute way.

     "We are here!" He called with a thick accent. He couldn't help it.

     "L'Abeille? Sounds fancy."

     "It means 'The Bee'," He said. "I don't know why." He added quickly.

      I nodded and we walked up to the hostess up front.

      "Reservation for Reneux?" Pierre asked. Even his last name was so French-sounding.

      The lady smiled and grabbed two menus, leading us to a table on the balcony. I silently gasped. From the balcony, you could see the Eiffel Tower. It was lit up, with the golden streams of light flowing down on the people below.

      "I will give you two a minute to get settled." The hostess said before walking back to the front.

      I shut my mouth that was hung open at the beauty of the iconic structure and turned back to Pierre.

     "Sorry, I can't help the little tourist inside me." I laughed as we both sat down across from each other.

     "It's no problem, really. I remember the first I saw the tower." He shifted in his seat. "By the look on your face when we walked out here, I assume you haven't been yet?" Pierre asked me with a small smirk.

     "Guilty."

     We laughed as the waitress came to take out orders. Pierre ordered for us in French. I tried to keep up, but it was no use.

     As the lady walked away with a fake smile, Pierre focused on me.

     "I have no idea what you just told her," I admitted with a shrug.

     "Didn't you take French?"

     I laughed. "For five years! And yet, here I am. Only knowing how to ask to go the bathroom."

     Pierre looked at me with curiosity. "Ok then, do it."

     I looked around the restaurant. "Ok, I don't. . . Somehow."

     Pierre laughed and leaned back in his chair. "Blonde, tell me five things about you." He said with a small smile tugging on his lips.

    I blew out a breath. "My name is Olivia Grace Monelle, I am eighteen as of a week ago, I am an only child, I've never been on a true date before, and I suck at French." I finished off with a sigh. I chose not to think about that stupid quiz. Or was it a test?

    "Your turn," I spoke with a smug look.

     "Okay, my name is Pierre Reneux, I am nineteen years old, I have an older sister named Roselyn, I have lived in Paris for my whole life, and I am really good at French."

     I scoffed. "It is because you are French! I am a purebred American."

     Pierre cleared his throat. "Howdy!" He said in his best American accent. Except, it was really bad.

     I laughed and Pierre followed with his own chuckles.

     "You are just too French!" I giggled. "It suits you though."

     Pierre smiled as the waiters brought our food. But for some reason, all I wanted was chocolate.

                  I am in trouble.

       ***************************

     Pierre paid the bill. All of it. The whole €103.

     "Are you sure I can't pay you back?" I asked as we walked down the cobblestone roads.

     Pierre shook his head as he stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. He offered to walk me back to my hotel and I bluntly agreed. Some part of me never got over the fact that there are still dangerous people, even in magical cities like Paris.

     "What are you thinking about, Blonde?"

     I looked up at him, shaken from my thoughts. All of my pedophilic-based fears drifted away as I studied Pierre's chocolate eyes.

     "Just about how I am at risk of being kidnapped, even in The City of Lights," I admitted to a smiling Pierre.

     "Is that a way of saying you think I am going to kidnap you? Because I'm not." He laughed.

     I chuckled with him as we neared the hotel. If I ever wanted to talk to him again, I had to do something.

     "Can I have your number?" I blurted out.

     Pierre smiled and pulled out his phone. I hastily typed in my number and handed it back to him. He opened my contact and texted me.

Hey, Blonde.

     I grinned. He must really like my hair.

     "I guess I will see you around?" He spoke after a minute of peaceful silence.

                   I am in trouble.

     Why did my stomach drop a little at the thought of never seeing Pierre again? I know I had gotten his number, but who said we would ever meet again?

                     I am in trouble.

     "Okay. I'll see you around?" I reply, my lungs feeling weak.

     "Yeah." He said as he turned around.

                   I am in trouble.

     The old Olivia always followed the rules. Every. Last. One. I did everything my Mom told me to do. I even had to fire the old gardener because my Mom was too busy talking on the phone to give it to them straight.

                   I am in trouble.
 

     The new Olivia takes risks. Hell, she even bought a plane ticket to Europe with stolen money.

     Pierre was almost around the corner when I snapped back to my senses.

     "Pierre!"

     He turned around and smiled, walking back to me.

                   I am in trouble.

     When he was within arms distance, I ran up to him. I kissed him as I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood up on my toes. I don't think Pierre was ready but neither was I.

     After a moment, Pierre wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing me back.

     This was better than any life-ruining daydream about Zach. This was possessed by the spirit of Paris, itself.

     Pierre pulled away and his cheeks were stained pink.

     "Qu'est-ce que tu m'as fait?" He whispered, mostly to himself.

     I looked into his star-struck eyes with my own. "I can't speak French, remember?"

    He smirked. "You weren't supposed to know."

    "Well," I said as I bounced on the balls of my feet. "This night was amazing, but I finally feel like the time zones are catching up to me."

     Pierre chuckled. His laugh was so beautiful.

     "Yours isn't bad yourself." He said. Not again. I blushed like a madman, obviously. I need to stop doing that.

      "Goodnight, Blonde," Pierre whispered so only I could hear. As he said this, his accent shone through the years of practice.

      "Goodnight," I said, wistfully.

      As Pierre walked back down the street, constantly looking back at me. Fortunately, I hadn't moved since the very spot we kissed.

                  I am in trouble.

     I felt like I was falling for this boy. I have been gone for around a week, and I was already deep in the pit of love. Remember Zach?

     I don't.

     My stomach no longer jumped at the thought of his touch. My lips never turned up at the thought of us holding hands, or sharing a sundae. My head never wandered to the world of realistic life with Zach.

     All I could think about was Pierre.

                    I am in trouble.

     But when I thought about it, really pondered about whether I deserved happiness, was I? Was I really in trouble?

~~~~~