We'll Always Have Paris - A Harry Styles Fanfiction

Gabrielle Moreau is a 19-year old French girl living in Paris, the “capital of love”. To most people she looks ordinary, but behind her high-built façade hides a girl that suffers. She tries to shut the inferior sides of her life out by doing the things she loves and letting her thoughts circle around something elsewhere—and she succeeds in focusing on the good things in life flawlessly.
When Gabrielle an early morning gets a call from One Direction’s manager, who offers her the opportunity of working with them on their summer tour in Paris, she immediately replies him with a yes. She doesn’t know it just yet, but within the next few months she will get to grow a close bond to each of the boys in the band—and particularly one of them. Before she knows it, Gabrielle has been thrown into something she this time won’t be able to pull herself out of … Will she finally start opening herself up to someone and let them in without any conditions? **Check out the trailer in the right sidebar**

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11. Dating in the streets of Paris (part 1)

 

Brushing the beige, rough fabric of my curtain aside, I let myself sneak a peek at the street below my room’s window. According to what Harry had texted me earlier and what the time on my alarm clock says, he can be here any moment. Confirming my thoughts, my eyes find the curly-haired boy standing on the wide sidewalk and his shining green eyes that’s staring directly into mine. When he sees my face behind the pane, he breaks out into a smile.

I let the curtain fall back into its place and walk out of my room, leaving the door open behind me. When I get to the living room I jump into my favorite pair of black stilettos, which, even though it’s not very common for a pair of high heels, surprisingly isn’t very uncomfortable to wear. I guess you can say they are my most treasured pair of shoes! I look at my father sitting by the desk with his laptop, getting some of his scheduled work done. 

“I’m going out,” I tell him as I grab my bag from the hallstand and hang it on my shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”

He takes away his attention from the computer screen to regard me. “Is it that boy you were talking about earlier this week?” he asks me.

“Dad, it’s not fair to pry in my stuff. Keep your nose within your own business,” I say and point a finger at him. “And remember that you still shouldn’t expect me to tell you his name.”

He throws his hands up in the air and shoot a grin in my direction. “No, that won’t do,” he jokes, making the sarcasm as clear as a glass of water.

“I’m off,” I tell him as I walk out of the front door. “See you later!” Reminding myself to close the door behind me, I walk out onto the sidewalk and towards my awaiting date.

Harry’s dressed in his usual casual sense of clothing style; a couple of tight-fitted jeans in a dark nuance and a simple, plain T-shirt beneath a leather jacket. When he sees me approaching him, he reaches something from behind his back out towards me. His large hands are almost covering the small petals of the dawning, white lily, when he gives it to me with a smirk. “I thought you should have it,” he tells me with a glimpse in the eye.

“You already know the rules of how to charm a lady, huh?” I say as I whirl the beautiful flower between my fingertips. I nod towards it; “You must've been lucky when you bought this one. Lilies are my favorites.” I sigh and glance up at him. “Enough about my taste in flowers. I was late—by the way I’m sorry about that—so let’s get going!”

My heart flutters in my chest as he takes my hand and pulls me closer towards him. “You should never have given me your address, you know. Now I know where you live,” he whispers in my ear, making a warm feeling arouse in my stomach…but either way I don’t hesitate on pulling a face. “Ew, stop being so creepy, Styles,” I tell him. “Shouldn’t it be me stalking your house, not you stalking mine? You’re the one that’s famous here.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, but I can still stalk people if I want to. I’m pretty good at disguising myself. I mean, look!” He throws out his arms to make a point. “We’re not even being chased by paparazzi’s right now.”

“No, but we will be if you keep on shouting like that,” I say and let out a laugh. 

When he hears my words he worriedly cocks his head around to see if anyone noticed his exclaim. “You’ve got a point.” He gives my arm a light pull as he starts to walk down the sidewalk.

“Where exactly are we going?” I ask him. I couldn’t remember we had talked about what we're going to do tonight; all I knew was that he was going to pick me up at home at 7 o’clock.

He turns around to smile at me. “To a nice place. A place where no one will disturb us.”

 

 

 

After twenty minutes of sluggish walking through the wide boulevards of the city, Harry leads me into a small restaurant named L'Italian chef, whichwonder why—is French for "The Italian chef". I smile at his choice of where we're going to eat; since I was a little kid I have felt a rare love for the delicious food culture from the land in the Southern part of Europe.

As a waiter comes towards us to get us a table, I move a little closer to Harry's side and grab his hand within mine. "I like this place," I tell him in a low whisper, not wanting to disturb the other guests eating their dinners. "But where'd you get the idea of eating Italian food in France?"

"I wasn't in the mood for snails," he says, letting out an amused chuckle.

"You should be happy I'm not a nationalist," I point out to him. "Insulting a proud Frenchman on the first date wouldn't be a good idea. Fortunately for you, I have always adored the Italian kitchen."

"Great. Just like I thought you would." He slides his arm around my waist and pulls me close as the waiter approaches us with a dazzling toothpaste smile plastered across his face. The young man welcomes us to the restaurant before leading us out of the main dining room and out onto their light-filled wood terrace. He then shows us to a squared table for two with a spotless white tablecloth, and I settle down at one of the chairs.

"Can't we move this a bit around, please?"

I look up to find Harry politely introducing a conversation with the waiter, expressing the thought of getting his chair on the opposite side of table moved over beside mine. By his request the waiter quickly shifts Harry's plate and silverware to my side of the table alongside with his chair.

Harry sits himself down beside me with a gratified smile playing on his lips. "Thank you," Harry nods at the waiter as he gives us a menu with the courses of the restaurant.

"I'll leave you alone to decide on your order," he tells us before exiting the terrace and walking back out into the kitchen.

Reaching my hand over Harry's, I point my finger at one of the courses. "You know what I'm feeling like getting?" I say. "Pizza."

"I was just thinking the same," he mumbles in return. "Pizza is my guilty pleasure."

"Are you a guilty pizza lover?!" I question him in a deep commentator voice.

"Yes mister, I have to say I am!" he squeals as an answer in a high-pitched, girly voice. Well, as high-pitched as Harry Styles' voice now can get. I still found it rather amusing though, and can't hesitate but to let out a not-so-silent giggle.

"We'll share one, I guess? A pizza?" I say and scan through the long list of possible toppings. Harry nods approvingly at me before he like me starts looking for the right topping.

"Are you ready to order?" our waiter's voice suddenly sounds from beside us. I glance up from the menu card to regard him.

"Um, yeah," I say even though I'm unsure whether if we are or not. "We'd like to share one of your large pizza's." The waiter scribbles down my words on a jotter before looking expectingly back at me.

"What would you like as a topping?"

"Pepperoni," I hear myself and Harry speak in chorus. I smilingly turn towards him to gaze into his leaf-green eyes; that was certainly coordinated.

"Would you like anything to drink with?" the waiter politely asks us.

"The house's white wine would be excellent, thank you," Harry tells him and the waiter scribbles down his words, too. Then he turns around and disappears back into the restaurant.

"I've been wanting to ask you something for a time. Not just you actually, but all of the boys," I conclude, saying my thoughts aloud. "Why did you choose Paris?" Judging by the perplexed look on Harry's face, I hadn't quite expressed myself clear enough. "Why did you choose to go touring in Paris?" I try again. "Why did you choose to spend a whole summer here?"

Realization has taken it's part in his eyes when he glances over at me. "Management gave us a choice of either touring in New York, Berlin or here, in France," he slowly explains to me, making small gestures with his hands in a try to explain things better to me without himself knowing it. "And the boys and I got along quickly and fastened on the idea of Paris. America and Germany sounded exciting too, but we have been there so many times by now. Here we have never been touring before, and honestly who wouldn't love to come to a city as this if given the opportunity?"

It's always nice to hear a foreigner talking positively about your city, and this is defiantly not an exception. The curly-haired boy sitting in front of me isn't just any tourist - he's Harry Styles.

"Have you visited any trademarks yet, then? 'Cause here we've got lots," I say, almost letting out a sigh just thinking about how many famous monuments, museums, churches and cafés there is to visit if you're a tourist in Paris. I'm pretty sure there is at least a hundred on the map.

"No," he replies, letting his lower lip bulge out in a pout.

"You haven't?!" I burst out in shock. He's been here for a week and haven't even seen the Eiffel tower? Wow. He and the boys must have a busier schedule than what I've thought.

"Nope," he insures me, popping the p. "But I really want to." I look over at him only to discover that he's already gazing at me. "Now that I answered one of your questions, you will have to answer one of mine; Please Gabrielle, do me the honor of being my tour guide?"

"What?" I laugh, trying to keep myself as silent as possible. "Your tour guide?"

"Yeah. You know, like taking me around the city and showing me the things I just have to see?"

"Um, sure. It'll be my pleasure, Mr. Styles," I say and break out into a smile. Something tells me that he only have asked me to show him around town so that he can spend more time with me. To him it probably is a well-hidden excuse, but to me it isn't.

I barely know him, but I can already see through him - and in a strange way I like it.

 

A/N:

I know that the boys have been in Paris/France, but just remember that this is a fanfiction. Everything is imaginable ;)

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