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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32. Passionate piano playing

 

>>Harry<<

After pressing the small button beside the front door I warily take a small step back, listening to the alarming sound of the bell ringing somewhere inside the house. Looking around me I don't catch sight of anything unusual; maybe the black tee covering my well-known bicep tattoos and the dark RayBan shades hiding my eyes has finally come to its suppose. I exhale a heavy breath of relief, finding that today I am not recognized publicly. Which for a change actually feels kind of nice.

After a time of jingling with the chain-locks the door in front of me is opened. My gaze slides from the pavement to face Gabrielle's genuine happy smile. I fling towards her, taking the last step between us and uniting our bodies by sliding my arms around her lower back and pressing my lips against her soft ones. 

She breaks away, the hint of a wondering wrinkle showing on her forehead as she gently pulls the sunglasses off my eyes. "Since when do you wear RayBans?"

A chuckle escapes me. She doesn't know anything about me at all, does she? Thinking of how long we've been dating it seems that it is still the smallest things she is unknowing of. I pull her in closer, shortly kissing her lips with a smile on my face. "Since I started liking wearing them."

The doorway seems to be a lot smaller when I move past her and enter the flat, dropping off my shoes at the hall stand before walking on to sneak a peek inside the living room. The tranquility surrounds me by instance and the single couch radiates nothing but emptiness. I'm not long on putting the pieces together and figuring out that nobody is home.

The presence of Gabrielle is noticed when I feel her hot breath on my neck. I grasp for her hand, but she moves past me with an impertinent smile before I can even get to touch her.

"Where's your dad?" I question her, still putting notice to the empty flat a bit more than I probably should.

She carelessly shrugs her shoulders. "At work. It's nothing new, really," she sighs, holding out her hands in front of her to take a glance at her nails. She starts picking at the navy-blue polish on her fingertips.

"And your mom? You know, I still haven't met her--did I scare her off without knowing it or something?"

Gabrielle picks hard down at the bottom of her nail, flinching back from the sudden shot of pain being sent through her body. She slowly lifts her face to regard me, her dark brown eyes seeming even darker and wilder by the moment. "My mom's not available at the moment." Her voice is dry as a desert, like it's going to crack at any second. 

I moist my lips. "Promise me I'll meet her at some point?" I slowly manage to ask her. I can't help but feel surprised of how soothing my tone actually sounds.

Stepping closer and taking me by the hand, her upper lip trembles into a grimace of a fake smile. "C'mon. Let's go upstairs," she slowly speaks, pretending not to hear the words I have just spoken. Even though I know she did. I don't have a clue on why she'd ignore me like that, 'cause it has never really happened before; she likes to hang onto every single word I say. But here I am, wondering why a question as simple as the one I had asked her could possibly have made her feel badly aware of something I did not know a thing about.

 

 

 

Despite the strange and uncomfortable eructation earlier in the afternoon, I quickly seem to let it flow out of mind. Being with Gabrielle can always take my mind off the craziest stuff and that's a quality not many people I daily am around is lucky enough to have. 

It is as every time she lights up in that wonderful, bright smile it makes me want to kiss her face in every possible way. There's no way I will ever be able to appreciate the affection she gives me enough. I may be famous, rich and I don't know what else, but if there's one thing I'm sure of then it's how I will never deserve a girl as flawless as her.

"Babe, I swear I'll kill you if you cook those potatoes as much as a minute too long," Gabrielle's voice sounds from across the kitchen counter, a giggle hiding in her mischievous tone.

I don't tilt my head to look at her, knowing that she will rip me out of my heightened state of concentration. In stead I keep myself  focused on placing the tray with colored roots and greasy chips into the heated oven in front of me. "Don't worry," I slowly speak in precision. "I got this covered." Closing the gate of the oven with a swift hand, I finally turn around to regard the brunette girl sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island. I untie the apron from my waist, pull it off my head and throw it towards her with an amused grin.
"I'm a master in cooking and I just made a completely delicious dinner for you," I say whilst trying to fake a thick Italian accent and pretending to have one of those giant, black mustaches I know I'll never be able to grow. "But if you think the food is bad you will have to go to someone else with your cries and prayers!"
I drop the act and walk towards Gabrielle with a self-conscious glimpse in the eye. "That wasn't too bad of an intimidation was it?"

"Not at all. I actually speak a little Italian, and that was honestly a very good try at being one of their chefs," she says with a giggle.

I raise my eyebrows. "I didn't know you could speak Italian."

"Ciao bella!"

A smile breaks on my lips. "Sure. You're fluent."

I take a step closer, pulling her legs slightly apart to place myself between them. Slipping my arms around her waist I lean in to press my lips against hers. She puts her hands on the small of my neck and pulls me deeper into the kiss, her tongue escaping her lips. My mouth is pressed harder against hers and for a moment all I can think about is the feeling of her being so close to me it hurts. The thoughts of her takes me sky-high.

She breaks away suddenly, leaning back with a gaze held on my lips. Making me feel a tad insulted, she places her small hands on my chest and carefully pushes me away before sliding down from the counter and exiting the kitchen. My astonished gaze burns into her back as she walks towards the grand piano standing in the bright sunbeams of the tall window's glass and place her bottom in the wide seat of the piano chair. Her eyes find mine from the distance. She pads the tiny seat beside her. 

When I get the message momentarily, I walk towards her. When I finally settle down beside her the smile forming in the corner of my mouth is unmistakable; this is the only place in the world Gabrielle can feel superior--and she knows it.

When she first begins playing the many notes of a melody on the instrument it doesn't sound too advanced, but after a few minute's time the difference is more than notable. It's like singing vocals; you have to warm up before you can give it your best. 

I watch in awe as her fingers fly from tangent to tangent in a pace so fast my eyes can barely keep up with the certain pushes. The melody flowing out from her generous fingers' actions is unknown to me as it is surely some ancient, classic piece, but still it doesn't matter to me. Just the experience of her extraordinary gifts within the subject of music is enough. 

The most fascinating thing about it all is studying her face while she plays. How her features becomes more prominent and sharp beneath the late afternoon sunlight, how the glow in her eyes illuminates, how she tends to bite her lips whenever her concentration is lacking.

I get lost in the moment.

"Here," Gabrielle speaks after a time, taking hold of my hand and guiding it to a couple of the white tangents. She demonstrates how to play the note, then fasten her eyes upon my face. A smile slips onto her pink lips  when she listens to me carry out her instruction. 

Within no time she has put a few pieces together and taught me how the song goes. Whenever I play the melody to her a new giggle escapes her and she's every time fast to let me know that my hands just look so large on the keyboard that it's almost too amusing for her to stare at without cracking up. And every time, I nudge her shoulder and tell her to shut up.

"What's the tune called?" I question her with a genuine interest, realizing that the flow of the melody is a surprising rush of joy listening to.

"'Never Gonna Leave This Bed'. One of my favorite songs to play," Gabrielle replies. She adds a rushed, "and teach" alongside a pair of perfectly raised eyebrows.

I try to play the song again, but it's like I forget how it goes already within the first few notes. Oh, how great a pianist I am. "Is there any lyrics?"

She gently swipes my hands away from the keyboard to take control of it herself; pushing down the same tangents as I did not more than a moment ago, she clears her throat and kicks off with the vocals, "You push me..."

After only one line of the song, I'm convinced that Gabrielle has covered up her singing abilities ever since I first met her. I know that she makes YouTube covers, but I have never jumped to the conclusion that she can actually sing. This girl is defiantly hiding more surprises up her sleeve than what I ever have expected.

A smile frequently grows on her face as she stares over at me, her brown eyes finding mine. "I don't have the strength to resist or control you; so take me down, take me down."

And this is when she pauses. Her hands fall empty to her sides, the brown strands of hair falling in cascades around her head when she she sends a glassy gaze at the vintage tangents in front of her. The scent of her sweet perfume lingers in my nostrils as my head dips towards hers, fingertips brushing the glossy locks away from her face to let it flow down her back in its long strands.

My hand find hers on the smooth surface of the piano chair's leather. I smile, eyes closed as I lean in to gently kiss her temple. "Your talent makes me look like a zero, you know?"

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