Yet in walked Gabriel after seven years and remembered like it was yesterday.
Mind. Blown.
All of that alone would’ve been enough to digest, but my mind was also trying to process the fact that he’d admitted he’d looked at my bum. That instantly made me feel self-conscious because I knew it wouldn’t be as perky as the women he normally dated.
I wasn’t twenty any more and sitting at a desk all day for work and not exercising enough was hardly a recipe for perfect buns. And I couldn’t even blame my age, because I was sure J.Lo and plenty of women who were older than me still had a toned tush.
But he didn’t say it in a negative way. In fact, he even said it wasquite the opposite. There was no way I was buying that he liked it though. A man like him could have any woman he wanted.
Anyway, I didn’t know why I was even thinking about this. I’d be going back to London soon.
I was hoping that today we’d get to visit the Eiffel Tower.
Originally I was planning to go home tonight or tomorrow morning, but now that I thought about it, there was no way I could go back without seeing the most recognisable landmark in the city properly.
I was sure that we’d go there tomorrow, so once I’d ticked that off my list, I could go home.
Yep. That sounded like a good plan. An extra twenty-four hours wouldn’t make a big difference.
‘So, what do you think?’ Gabriel said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I turned around and admired the sight in front of me.
‘Wow,’ I gasped as I took in the sweeping panoramic views of the city from the terrace in front of the church. ‘There’s the Eiffel Tower!’ I said excitedly. I was just thinking about how much I wanted to go there.
‘Oui,’ Gabriel confirmed. ‘You can also see other monuments too, for example, Notre-Dame.’ He pointed. I wasn’t sure that I could make it out clearly, but I nodded anyway. ‘Would you like to go inside? If you want we can go to the top. Or I can take you Place du Tertre.’
‘Is that where all the artists are?’ I said, remembering reading about it in a guidebook.
‘Exactement. It is known as the painters’ square. Picasso, Renoir, Dali and van Gogh spent time living in the Montmartre district and there are about three hundred artists that are based there.’
‘I’d love to see it!’
After we’d taken several photos of the views and the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, Gabriel took me to the famous square.
It was buzzing. Hundreds of artists were sitting in front of their easels in the open air, sketching portraits and caricatures of the tourists in front of them.
There was the sound of chatter in more languages than I could count. I loved the cute cobbled streets and the bistros, restaurants and cafés that surrounded the square.
‘This is brilliant,’ I gushed. ‘I love how vibrant the whole place feels. We should get our portraits done. That’ll be good for our funny photo.’
‘Hmmm.’ Gabriel paused. ‘I have an even better idea. Wait here.’
My face crumpled. What was he up to?
Gabriel approached different artists. The first two shook their head at whatever he’d just asked them. But when he approached a third man, he nodded enthusiastically.
Gabriel returned with a wide smile on his face.
‘Come with me.’
‘What’s happening?’ I asked.
‘Instead of just having the artist draw us, he has agreed to let us also draw each other,’ Gabriel said and my eyes popped.
‘That’s abadidea.’ I shook my head. ‘I’mterribleat drawing. You’ll end up being a stick man! I think we should leave it to the expert.’
‘I am sure that you are much better than you think,’ Gabriel said. ‘When Ricky was a child and he gave you his paintings, what did you do with them?’
