le temps de l'amour [florence]

june 2001

Arkasha couldn’t believe his luck. Every day he woke up, expecting to wake up from the most amazing dream he had ever had. And every day he woke up, pleasantly surprised that everything was his actual life. The past few months of his life had been an actual whirlwind, getting swept up by this unstoppable force that was his wife. His wife. That was the most insane detail of his life, but also his most favorite.

Making himself get out of bed early was quite the feat, having to peel himself off of his little spoon when he knew he would have been perfectly content staying there forever. But he had plans, and they needed to happen before she was awake. Today marked one month of them being married, and while the man had zero experience with celebrating anniversaries, he didn’t want to let Florence down.

He slipped on a pair of shorts, white with small, pink hearts all over them, just one of the many little presents his wife had given him. It was a cool morning, but it was nice inside their loft. The windows were propped open and letting in a picture perfect stream of sunlight. It took all the resolve he had to not look back towards the bed, knowing fully well that he would change his mind about making this a special morning, something different than their now usual mornings of slowly waking each other up.

No, this was going to be different and special. Arkadiy Maksimovich was making breakfast. Hopefully. He had yet to be able to successfully use the toaster, but today felt different. He fumbled around with the loaf of sandwich bread, still not used to all the different bread choices that Paris presented him. He pushed down the lever of the toaster, staring at the little knob deciding if the ‘1’ or the ‘6’ was the right setting, not wanting to go somewhere in between and accidentally overdo it.

Picking the 6, Arkasha set about the little kitchen, pulling down jam jars, filling a glass with water, plucking a single daisy from the bouquet on the counter and setting it in the glass. He set out a plate from their collection of mismatched china, hoping she wouldn’t want anything other than toast, but knowing that he would get her whatever she wanted, no questions asked. The last thing he needed was a pot of coffee, but he wasn’t about to wait around to do that without magic. The perfect little cup of espresso was ready in no time, even before the toast.

But he smelled the problem before the toaster alerted him to it. The toast popped up, charred and bringing a small cloud of smoke with it. The man let out a long string of Russian expletives, regretting his decision to grab at the toast before waiting for it to cool. He threw it on the plate with another curse before remembering that Florence was still asleep and all the noise was probably not helping her stay that way.

He turned around, able to see the bed from his spot in the kitchen. She was already awake and sitting up; he had already messed up the second part of the morning, waking her up with little kisses before surprising her with breakfast in bed. Now there was no breakfast and no wake up service. What a good start to their second month of marriage. “I, er," he paused, a sheepish grin on his face, “I burned breakfast.” He tipped up the plate in his hands, showing her the blackened toast. “Happy one month anniversary.”

"Narhgff,"

The grunt came from the figure covered in a bright bed sheet who frowned in her sleep. Her messy blonde hair was wild, full of knots and curls that had lost their shape and spread out across the plump pillows. Still not entirely conscious, she reached out her hand and spread it across the mattress to feel the residual heat and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

It seemed strange. She'd been sleeping alone for years but now that she'd become accustomed to sleeping next to Arkadiy, it was almost impossible to do so without feeling his comforting weight on the mattress next to her. Shifting in her sleep, she pressed her face into her pillow and smiled, wiggling around and effectively making a little burrow with the sheets. Their apartment was great. Small but functional in the liveliest part of town. They had a balcony, they had everything they needed.

The summer breeze drifted in through the windows, carrying birdsong and the trundles of lorries and the scent of morning; croissants, grass and traffic fumes as Paris began to wake up around them.

Florence  had had a lovely restful sleep. Then again, she always had slept like a log and without any issue at all. Thankfully, her husband (husband!) was both a keen and accomplished snuggler. She yawned as she flexed her toes, content to stay firmly curled up in a ball until midday. Like always, she didn't have a plan for that day. The apartment was fully furnished but she still needed to do one or two odd jobs. A light bulb needed changing, a door knob needed tightening up and she needed to do a load of laundry but none of that mattered as the delicious lull of sleep pulled her in close.

That all changed, however, when she smelled smoke.

The familiar language caught her attention and she turned. "Whaa?" Florence mumbled, cracking one eye open and instantly wincing at the bright sunlight that reflected off the bright white walls. Bleary eyed, it took her a few seconds to slowly come around. So far, she'd ascertained that there was smoke and that Arkasha might somehow be implicated.

Rubbing her eyes, she smudged the remnants of yesterday's eyeliner. Despite washing her face and brushing her teeth every night, Florence still had the uncanny ability to look like a woodland creature emerging from a hedgerow. Seeing the daisy, she offered Arkadiy a sleepy smile. Her heart was filled with joy and in that moment she was perfectly, incandescently happy. She tilted her head, her wild hair over her shoulder as the bed sheets slipped down a little further, revealing her skin. The tan that she'd acquired from their honeymoon was starting to fade, more to her annoyance and it only meant one thing; they needed another honeymoon. And soon.

"I loved burned toast," she said swiftly as she cracked a grin, extending her hands and wiggling her fingers in an invitation for Arkasha to come closer. He was so sweet and she often found herself wondering what she did right in a past life to deserve him. When she was reincarnated, perhaps she'd come back as a dung beetle to make up for the generosity she was being awarded with right now.

"Happy one month anniversary," Florence replied with a grin and a blush, momentarily looking down at her wedding ring that glinted in the sun and then back up to his face. It was odd. For a few days since the ceremony, her hand felt strangely heavy. Scooting across the mattress, she plucked the daisy out of the glass and deftly slipped it behind her left ear. With Arkadiy having his hands full, Florence knelt up on the mattress and cupped his face in her hands, dragging it gently down to her level so she could kiss him swiftly. She had absolutely no qualms about getting crumbs in the bed.

Arkasha returned his wife's grin as he discarded his disaster of a breakfast, trading the plate for the makeshift flower vase and the cup of espresso. He wasn't about to serve her burnt toast, whether she pretended to love it or not. he wiggled his eyebrows at her as he delivered his gifts, congratulating himself on a job well done as she tucked the flower behind her ear, somehow managing to look just as beautiful two minutes after waking up as she did on their wedding day.

He happily bent down to meet her lips with his, relieved that she wasn't mad for being woken up like she had been. He'd just have to make up for that mistake with the rest of their day. Sure, he hadn't thought of anything past breakfast in bed, but he was fairly confident that they could figure something out. He straightened up, holding out the small cup of coffee to Florence, with a cautionary, "It's hot," as if he would ever make cold espresso.

Smiling again, Arkasha took a seat on the bed, making sure to smash his side up against Florence as much as possible. Personal space was for lonely people. Personal space was a thing of the past. He stretched his arm out behind hm and leaned back a little, keeping his eyes on the woman next to him. "I can make some not toasted toast," he offered with a nod, slowly realizing he had just offered to bring her regular bread. Something told him that gift wasn't quite extravagant enough for a first month-aversary.

"Or," he started again, hoping she chose to ignore his bread offer, "We can pick something up?" And then he could nonchalantly lead her to the flea markets, which had quickly become one of his favorite places in the city, and only one of the reasons why was that he could afford to buy more than just one thing at a time there. Was there a traditional gift to give one's wife after being married for one month? Why hadn't he planned ahead any better than this?

It probably didn't help that the only other married couple he was close with was his parents, and he had never really looked up to them as the model of perfection that he needed to know just what the hell he was doing. He raised an eyebrow as he watched her, still amazed that he even needed to consider what an appropriate gift for this occasion was. What had he even been doing with his life before her? It was crazy that he thought he could be a writer before he had found his muse, as there was a clear difference in the quality of his work pre- and post-Florence.

"This was all I had planned," he admitted, gulping at the water in the vase in his hand, reasoning that the flower didn't need it any more. "We could just walk around?" It's what they usually ended up doing, wandering aimlessly around the city, hand in hand, and it had yet to be the wrong decision. The more obvious decision would be to stay in bed all day, but there would be plenty of time for that later. They always made time for that. No, the Paris wandering option was a good one. He was still getting acquainted with it, after all, and there was only so much time in one day to sample every every bar they came across.

Florence was grinning like a loon on loon tablets. She just couldn't help it. Arkadiy made her so happy with his disastrous breakfast and his heart printed shorts and his flowers. "Thank you," she said cheerily as she took the cup, taking her time to blow on the hot liquid as he warned her before taking a small sip. It was bitter and that was just how she liked it. She'd gone through a phase of drinking green tea and eating half a grapefruit for breakfast until she realised it was making her miserable.

Scooting across the mattress, she leaned into Arkasha's frame for a quick cuddle whilst she drunk her coffee. The tall blonde offered another dimpled grin that wrinkled the tip of her nose. "I would have eaten that toast, you know," she said casually, alternating sips of coffee and butterfly kisses on her husband's jaw line. That was one of the things she liked most about him. He was kind and smart and thoughtful, most certainly, but his jaw and cheekbones could cut glass and she often squealed about them when he wasn't looking.

"Ooh," she gushed with wide eyes as she sat her coffee cup down. "Great idea. Let's do that." She was slowly teaching Arkasha about French cuisine. They'd had a lot in Cannes but that was all superfood shit that no one actually wanted. They'd had a lot of seafood, too, but not true Parisian fayre. Warm and flaky buttery croissants, thick black coffee, pungent cheeses and pastries. Her stomach gave a loud grumble which she promptly ignored.

She and her husband came from different worlds but that didn't mean they weren't trying to integrate them both. For example, Florence had cooked borscht and he hadn't thrown up. In fact, he'd been rather complementary. She also wore her wedding ring on her right hand, as per to the Russian tradition.

Watching him drink the water from the vase made her giggle as she brushed her hair back and nodded. "That sounds great," she told him. "And it's a beautiful day. Just let me get ready." With that, she leaned across and kissed him on the tip of his nose before skipping to the bathroom. Florence didn't need a lot of upkeep, she was happy the way she was. With her hair piled on top of her head in a messy topknot, she left the bathroom door open as she hopped into the shower.

Washing quickly and brushing her teeth in the shower at the same time, she gave a shriek of surprise. "Ow!" She called from the steaming shower as she recoiled. "We'll have to sort out this plumbing later on," she called out to him. The apartment building they were in was ancient but grand and it ran on Victorian plumbing. As a result, showers sometimes went from scalding hot to freezing cold, usually mid-shampoo. Grumbling under her breath, she wrapped a lime green towel around her and dried off, emerging five minutes later.

Dressed in a cute little sundress, she pulled a brush through her mane of curls before smooshing them beneath a hat and deftly applying a flick of cat eye eyeliner. The smooth skin across her shoulder blades was red from the heat but rapidly fading as she scowled at the shower curtain before picking up a well worn leather bag that she'd had for years.

Leaving the bed unmade, she slipped her fingers into Arkadiy's and pulled him to his feet. Their apartment did have an elevator but that too was often uncooperative. Down the wrought iron spiral staircase they went and out of the front door, the sun was already baking the cracked pavements outside. "Do you want to head to Les Puces?" Florence asked. The Fleas was the local term for the huge flea market that happened not far from them at the weekends. She used to go a lot when she was younger but it was so much better to see it through someone else's eyes. Slipping on her sunglasses, she comfortably slipped her fingers into Arkasha's. She'd always liked his hands. It seemed odd to think but they were large and sinewy but the fingers were slender; he had a pianist's hands.

Around them, Paris was waking up. They crossed a cobbled street after a car trundled past. There were a million bakeries, some better than others. "I could murder a croissant," she told him gently as she wandered down a nondescript side street. "What do you fancy?" She asked him brightly as they continued to walk, taking a left to bring them to one of the main shopping streets that was still sleepy. Pausing, she sniffed the air like a bloodhound. "Oh yum!" Florence enthused, squeezing his hands. "I smell cinnamon, let's go!"

"Of course," he smiled as she kissed his nose, before watching her skip off towards the shower. He immediately regretted their decision to not stay in and that only morphed into regret for not finding an apartment with a larger shower. They had tried a few times to share the space, given it quite the valiant effort, but it was a bust. The size of the shower was hardly well suited for one small person, let alone two regular sized ones.

He figured he had about five or ten minutes before it was his turn; he looked around the room, lazily getting up and pulling out something to wear that was a little less obnoxious than his current ensemble. A pair of light tan slacks and crisp, white button down, a pair of square-toe, white leather loafers, and a fresh cup of coffee later, Arkasha joined Florence in the bathroom. He inspected his face in the mirror as she finished up in the shower, deciding that the stubble along his jawline and above his lip was the perfect level of carefully curated nonchalance that he was going for.

They traded places after a quick kiss, Arkasha moving swiftly through the motions of showering before the water could turn on him. He was done, out, and dressed just as Florence was putting on her finishing touches. He loved the outfits that came along with summer weather, even more so now that he could look at his wife in a sundress whenever he pleased. He settled down on the edge of the bed, finishing off his cup of coffee, positively entranced by the little things that Flo was doing: the way she slipped on her shoes, her effortless coolness, the way she could pull of a large hat like it was nobody's business.

He let her help him up, taking her hand in his, missing his last chance to change his mind about going out as they headed down the stairs and outside. "Yes, les Puces," he agreed with a grin, amazed that she could suggest the exact thing he had been planning to surprise her with. Really, he shouldn't be surprised that they were that much in sync, considering they were married, but still.

He for once didn't flinch as she declared that she could murder a croissant; the first first few times she had phrased something like that, he had started planning just how, exactly, he could help her get away with the murder before realizing that wasn't quite what she meant. "Whatever you want, mon cœur," he answered honestly, giving her hand a light squeeze, perfectly content to just drink coffee for breakfast. He hadn't picked up any cooking skills once he was responsible for his own meals, usually getting by on porridge for breakfast or just skipping it altogether. He was still getting used to all the new options that Paris was affording him, perfectly willing to try whatever Florence decided to have that day.

Arkasha watched his wife with an amused look on his face as she stopped to lift her nose in the air. He looked around when she did, returned the squeeze of her hand, and followed after her excitedly as she pulled him along to their next destination. They stopped in front of a very typical bakery, sweet smells emanating from it, cakes and pastries and cookies already filling the windows. He spotted a large pile of fresh arlettes and pointed to them excitedly. "It's not too early for dessert, is it?" He had already decided that the answer was 'of course not' but he still needed Flo's opinion all the same.

They ducked into the bakery and back out again, Arkasha already eating one of their purchases before getting more than a few feet away from the door. "Les Puces?" he inquired about their next stop, his cheeks still full of arlette. He still wanted to go, to buy something to show how much he cared, but he had absolutely no idea how to get there. He had never been one to get somewhere intentionally by walking, preferring not to waste time by apparating, but once walking somewhere with Florence was an option, all bets were off.

Florence knew it was true love.

How did she know? Because Arkasha wore shoes without socks and she didn't have the urge to vomit. She had a little dippy grin on her face as she walked alongside him. As a Russian native, he'd taken to the French way of life like a duck to water. He made her feel like a lovestruck teenager all over again. She liked that other women looked at him as they passed. In fact, it took all of her strength not to pull tongues at them.

A flash of pleasure tingled down her spine as he used a French term of affection for her. It was so overwhelming, she wanted to cry and then maybe do some stuff that was inappropriate during daylight hours.

"Absolutely not," came the swift reply with wide eyes before she cracked a dimpled grin and followed him in. She blew through the place like a whirlwind. Florence collected warm croissants, a muffin, some toast and a selection of pastries. She'd already eaten one as she suffered the withering glare of the sales assistant, which she promptly ignored. Clutching two paper bags which were stuffed to the brim, she stepped back out into the warm sun-soaked street.

"Are they good?" She asked with a smile. "Can I try?" Even though they were married, she was still very respectful and always asked. She was determined not to be one of those annoying girlfriends who ordered a garden salad in a restaurant and then proceeded to steal her partner's food from across the table. With her hands full, she shuffled closer and opened her mouth, suggesting Arkasha just shove one right in there. "Umff," she moaned as she rolled her eyes and chewed, the thin flaky pasty melting on her tongue.

"Would you like some muffin?" Florence asked as they meandered down the street. Her pale fingers extracted a half eaten muffin which she kindly held out to him. She had no qualms sharing anything; food, bath water, toothbrushes, it was all good.

"Yes!" She exclaimed as she continued to snaffle through her bags, alternating between sweet pastries and bread and with no desire to slow down. "Did you bring small notes and coins like I told you?" She asked Arkadiy. Some dealers didn't like large notes and it was often easier to negotiate when a person already had pocket change. Stall holders were more likely to want to make a deal. Florence had a lot of Muggle money. In fact, that was how she made her money, other than selling her paintings to the gallery in Chatoeil. She'd just become too lazy to change it back into magical currency. "If not, I've got some."

On they walked, crossing roads and following the Seine, finding relief in the shade offered by low hanging trees in full bloom. As they neared the inner city, she stuffed the empty paper bags into a nearby bin. "Stay close," she told her husband, turning just in time to kiss him briefly as she pulled him in behind her. The place was vast and sprawling, with art spilling out into the pavements. Losing him here would be trying to find him like a needle in a haystack. He was still fairly new to the city and she didn't want him to be completely terrified. She didn't want a repeat of her visit to Moscow. They'd become separated on a tour. Arkasha had found her half an hour later, crying in Red Square, being consoled by a very nice Russian man who was patting her from arms' length away. It was awkward.

She neatly pulled him aside, avoiding a stream of people who had just exited a train from Porte de Clignancourt, the nearest metro station to the market. It was second nature to her, it might take Arkasha a little longer to get on board with the faster paced life here.

She flashed him a grin over her shoulder. "Here we go." With that, she stepped forward. The sprawling market was a rush of colour and sound and smells. It was noisy and already busy despite the early hour of the morning. People were selling cheeses and cloths, laughing and joking. Tourists stuck out like sore thumbs, dressed in their backpacks and sensible shoes, completely confused by the rapid French being spoken at them, not to them.

She guided Arkasha forward, through the throngs of people and past the racks of faux leather handbags. Deeper they went, away from the overpriced tat and towards the back. The market was dissected by a number of alleyways, some covered, some not. The sunlight caught chandeliers and jewellery, making it twinkle and glitter in the light. Florence could actually use a new pair of earrings. They also needed some more kitchenware. At the moment, they only had two mugs and that was about it.

Florence was a practiced professional. She saw a stall full of beautiful, mismatched plates and saucers. Gently, she flipped one of them over and scoffed as she saw the price tag. Twenty Euros! For a plate. She took Arkasha's hand again in an effort to move him along when they stall holder seemed to want to talk. "Non," she said firmly with a shake of her head. "C'est trop cher," she said, explaining that it was too expensive for one plate, even though it was beautiful. "Five," she told him clearly, causing him to squeak in outrage. She shrugged, seemingly disinterested as she walked on, only for him to call her back.

The plates were gorgeous and she was being unreasonable and she knew it but that was the trick, that was how people here worked. She offended them with a horribly low price and then she talked them round. After a flurry of fast French and eye rolls, she managed to pick up a total of six plates for the original asking price. "Merci," she said with a cheery grin as the stall holder scowled and wrapped them up for her as she turned back to Arkadiy. "What can I say? You just can't say no to me~" She joked. "It's my mum's birthday soon. Let's go to the jewellery quarter."

Florence never ceased to amaze him. The way that a visit to a bakery could make her so happy, the way that she was so polite to ask before taking his food, the way she needed him to help her eat an arlette because her hands were too full of croissants. She was everything he never knew he wanted. He was happy to oblige her request and pulled off a small piece of the pastry, brushing a stray crumb from her chin before removing his hand.

Arkasha had just spent the majority of his money at the bakery, still not completely grasping how easy it was to blow through it in France, especially in Paris. “I do not,” he answered sheepishly, hoping he wasn’t disappointing her. But his smile returned to his face just as quickly as he had lost it once he learned that she had some of her own. Of course, asking to borrow money in order to buy a gift for her wasn’t his ideal situation, but he could find a workaround.

He took the caution to stay close to heart, placing his hands on either side of her waist as he followed behind like a baby duckling in its mama’s wake. Even if there was no risk of getting separated, he would have wanted to stay close, still completely in awe that he was in her presence at all. It was hard not to stare at something for too long, only to realize that he had stopped walking once the fabric of Florence’s dress wasn’t beneath his fingers any longer, only just catching up before she had been swallowed up by the crowd.

After getting distracted for the fourth time, Arkasha readjusted his position, coming up along the side of his wife and slipping an arm around her waist. He caught sight of their reflection as they walked past a mirror, and he couldn’t help but puff out his chest a bit. He was well aware that they made a gorgeous couple, Florence bearing the brunt of that responsibility, but he was still amazed every time he remembered it. He still had no idea how he had managed to land such a wonderful woman, but he wasn’t about to question it. He pulled Florence closer to him, giving her waist a little squeeze as he did.

They slowed to a stop at a stall full of plates and cups and enough silverware to feed an army, though Arkasha wasn’t too fussed about anything he was looking at. He didn’t really understand the need to have nice looking plates, especially since the food went on top and obscured whatever design there was to be seen. But of course, he wanted what Florence wanted, and he found himself getting quite caught up in the haggling going on.

But he got lost fairly quickly. The French was flying back and forth, much too fast for him to keep up. He had had a great French teacher, but he still needed people to repeat themselves a bit slower from time to time to catch all the syllables. But there was no point now, as he watched the volley between his wife and the vendor, his eyes flicking back and forth between them like he was watching a very fast quaffle being passed around the quidditch pitch. It wasn't until Florence was thanking the man that he knew any transaction had taken place, but he couldn't help but return her grin with a toothy one of his own, like he had known all along what was going on.

He took the wrapped parcel of plates and tucked it under his arm, ignoring Florence's protest for carrying things for her. Instead, Arkasha tucked his free arm around her waist and said, "Yes, jewelry," knowing full well that he would be looking for something for his wife while she shopped for her mother. He was still figuring out what she liked, slowly coming to terms with the fact that just because something was sparkly and he liked it, that didn't mean that she did.

But of course, once he saw something shiny, he was on it like a niffler, pointing and oohing and ahhing at various rings and bracelets. They weren't obviously fake diamonds, not to Arkasha's untrained eye, and he couldn't help but picture Florence draped in every single one. And then maybe only these and nothing else. He couldn't find the harm in running the idea by her, anyway.

Then a simple, white gold band caught his eye. It wasn’t quite as nice as the wedding band he had bought for Florence, which also a simple, white gold band with a few small diamonds, but seeing it gave him his second best idea, second only to his idea of getting married. “How about this,” he pointed at it and asked Florence in careful French, before switching to Russian for the rest of his question. “For your other hand in marriage?” He knew she was wearing her ring on her right hand, just like he was, but he was far too aware that wasn’t how things were in France and that was exactly where they were.

Despite it being baking hot, she loved being close to him. Their apartment was dinky and often stuffy but she found herself trying to sleep on top of him and whether he hated it or not, he seemed to sit there and take it. As Arkadiy's arm came around her, she reciprocated, sneakily sliding her hand into one of the back pockets of his trousers, giving a very faint squeeze. Florence wasn't marking her territory per se but he was a catch. She trusted him implicitly, but she knew how ruthless French women could be.

Parting her lips to argue as her husband kindly carried her plates, she offered a dimpled grin. "I'll teach you," she told Arkasha, misinterpreting his confused looks to mean that he didn't know how to haggle, not that he had trouble keeping up. "I don't think I've ever paid full price for anything," she went on breezily, leaning into his side for warmth as she rested her cheek on the side of his shoulder blade.

That much was true. While the couple weren't exactly starving artists, they weren't flush with cash. She loved their apartment but the area wasn't cheap so when Arkasha's back was turned, she confunded the person who was selling. While Arkadiy had promised to love her in sickness and in health, she wasn't sure if the vows covered blackmail and being rude. But still. Their little love nest was theirs and at a quarter of the price that the man was asking for.

Like a kid in a sweet shop, Florence attacked the jewellery section like a  bull in a china shop. Kissing the corner of his mouth softly, she disappeared in a cloud of coconut scented perfume, only to remerge almost instantly with hands full of various things. She knew her mother was pretty traditional which always made her giggle, considering she'd raised such an unorthodox daughter. Her mum liked pearls and cameos, vintage but glamorous. Eagerly, she dug through the boxes around her, chatting amicably with the stall holders until she discovered a beautiful pink cameo brooch. Holding it up to the sunlight, she saw that it wasn't perfect. It was once glorious and expensive but now slightly tarnished with the pin slightly bent. But to Florence, it made her love it even more.

Paying for it, she placed the tissue wrapped object safely in her bag and wandered over to her husband. Florence was now sporting a pair of brightly coloured and garish drop earrings. They were heavy and made from odd shaped pieces of cut glass that reflected the sun, making little rainbows appear on her face. "What do you think?" She asked Arkasha with a grin, wiggling her eyebrows and tilting her head from side to side, causing her earrings to clink. On anyone else, the earrings would look loud and gaudy but on her, they looked adorable. Snorting with laughter, she carefully took them out of her ear lobes and laid them on the table.

Florence tended to like light and dainty necklaces of varying lengths that she could layer without it becoming too crazy. Delicate rings, understated studs, anything flowy, fiddly and ethereal. Coming up behind Arkadiy, she placed her chin on his shoulder and her arms around his waist, giving him a squeeze in a backwards hug. "Whatcha looking at?" She asked him calmly, peering over his shoulder with interest.

"It's pretty," she told him honestly with a smile as she let him go, stepping around him to get a closer look at what had caught his eye. Jewellery, like flowers, was such a minefield and almost impossible to get right. But her boy done good. Blinking, she let the words sink in before she cracked into a wide grin. It was like he was marrying her all over again and she couldn't be more pleased. Her heart swelled in her chest as she nodded early, this time holding out her left hand for him to slide the ring on to. "Da," she said with another wide grin, switching back to his native language. "Navsegda," With that, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.

Around her, a few people stopped. Some laughed, a few applauded and she was dimly aware that one person had told him to get down on one knee and do it properly. To the outside world, it looked like a proposal. Laughing, she shook her head and shooed them away, wiping a tear from her eye and suddenly overcome with emotion. The ring caught the sun in the most magical way and while it was less extravagant than her wedding ring, it wasn't any less beautiful.

Extending her fingers, she wondered what the history of the ring was. Had it been used in a marriage before? Had it been long? Happy? Glorious? Trouble free? "I love it," she told Arkasha with a grin, both mesmerised touched and at his want to incorporate both of their cultures in a seamless way.

"Hold on," she told him, leaning up and kissing his nose briefly before dashing away, hands above her head as she rummaged through some more boxes. The rings were all ladies rings but it didn't make a dent in her enthusiasm. She didn't like Arkasha in a tie, it seemed too uptight and not his easy going self so that seemed silly. Ties were kinda lame, too. There was a lot of tat in this place, she noticed. Bracelets, bangles, necklaces, all of which wouldn't suit. Always distracted, her mind was drawn to a pretty little delicately gold necklace with a pendant of a pineapple. She grinned. It reminded her of the summer in Cannes.

Next to the necklace, was a lapel pin of a palm tree. It wasn't anything fancy but she picked it up. Florence wandered back to Arkadiy and leaned up, pinning it to his shirt front. It was no where near as beautiful as the ring but she hoped he'd see the symbolism. They spent many an afternoon hiding beneath the trees for shade. With another smile, she slid her hands down his shirt front gently as she offered him a dippy smile. "Happy one month-aversary."

Arkasha's heartbeat was quick in his chest as he waited for an answer, even though he knew she would have to say yes. They were already married, how could she possibly not want to marry him again? He could have melted when she responded in Russian, holding her hand out for him to slide the ring on. He did as requested, a goofy grin on his face as she made him the happiest man in France and quite possibly the world. Again. Seriously, how did he manage to get so lucky?

He almost wished she wouldn't shoo the passerbys away, wanting everyone to be able to be a part of their anniversary, for everyone to see what a perfect couple looked like, for everyone to go home knowing that their own lives would never be as great as the lives of these two random strangers they had seen at Les Puces that morning. But he loved her, and would be fine with any decision she made.

But most of all, he loved how the ring looked on her hand, and the fact that she now had rings scaring away any other would-be suitors on both her hands. She was doubly his, forever, and another forever after that. "I love you," he replied swiftly as she admired the jewelry. His face fell as she left him, but he followed her with his gaze and quickly turned that frown upside down. She was clearly searching for something for him, and, not wanting to ruin the surprise, he turned away, doing everything in his abilities to resist the urge to turn and watch her again.

She startled him as she returned, but made up for it completely as she drew him closer, pinning something to his chest. "Perfect," he said, chin dipped down as he admired his new pin, glancing at it momentarily before turning his attentions upwards, Florence's face now at the perfect distance to lean in and deliver a deep kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, wanting nothing more than to be alone with her and suddenly regretting their decision to leave their apartment at all that morning. He heard a wolf whistle somewhere in the distance, and while he was fairly sure that it was solely for his wife, he liked to think that he was also some object of affection for them. He took a breath and smiled, saying "Perfect," once more, this time admiring the woman in his arms.

He leaned down again, this time dipping his head to whisper in her ear in quick Russian. "How would you feel about running to that alcove over there and then disapparating out of here?" He straightened up and pointed over her shoulder in the direction behind her, his mouth in a toothy grin that could be mistaken for a grin of giddiness rather than mischief. He wasn't completely sure where he got the idea, but something told him that Florence would be completely on board with it.

He didn't wait for any more confirmation than her returned grin. He unwrapped his arms from around her and turned her around by her shoulders, quickly stepping to her side. With a grab of her hand with his own, they were speeding off through the crowd, instant and angry French shouts following them as they sidestepped carts, hopped over a low display of carpets, and fell laughing into the alcove. But the shouts were following them as the people around them caught on, and Arkasha pushed Florence as lightly as he could around the next corner, getting a tight grip on her wrist before giving her a nod that said 'I've got this,' and turning on the spot to get them the hell out of dodge.

They reappeared in the alleyway next to their building, obscured from sight from the main street by a haphazard pile of bins and crates. He didn't waste any time before pulling Florence close once again, as close as he could get her, nearly lifting her off the ground as he pulled her in for another kiss.

"I love you too," Florence replied softly with a grin that dimpled her left cheek. At first, her mother wasn't too on board with the idea of her getting married to a "man she barely knew" but it hadn't even crossed her mind to reject him. She'd spent many a night trying to reason with her mother but she wasn't stupid and she knew how stubborn her daughter could be. Arkadiy was a good man, a kind man and he treated her like a princess and she'd never been more happy in her life. Her dad, on the other hand, cried like a baby and adored her husband.

Arkasha's kiss stifled the giggle she gave as she leaned up on to her tiptoes to kiss him back,  her hands on his hips and sliding slowly around the small of his back. She smiled against his lips as she heard the whistle but rather than breaking the kiss, Florence simply lifted her left hand and extended her middle finger, causing a roar of laughter somewhere in the distance.

"Mm," came the soft reply as she wobbled a little, taking a breath. Every kiss he gave her felt like the first. She felt butterflies and she saw fireworks. She also forgot to breathe and her he left her continually dazed. His warm breath in her ear caused goose bumps to raise on her exposed flesh and she tilted her chin up to look at him, mainly to see if he was being serious. When she discovered that he was, there was no hesitation in her agreement. Swiftly, she took off her sunglasses and placed them in her bag, zipping it up securely and draping it across her chest for better security. Anyone would think that she'd done this before.

"Go!"

Florence followed Arkasha's lead, gripping his hand tightly as adrenaline surged through her, powering her forward with ease. It was such a rush and she couldn't help but giggle and she was thankful that she had chosen to wear her beaten up white sneakers with her sundress. Her slim legs worked doubly hard to keep up with his much longer ones as they meandered through the busy market, sending fruit spilling out onto the pavement. The commotion didn't go unnoticed and she was well aware they were being chased. Still, on they ran. She felt like she could run a marathon, as long as he was running with her.

Tripping into the alcove, she snorted with laughter. Her hair was wild and so were her eyes and she looked like was a sprightly teenager again. She listened to his movements and she reacted, willingly following him. Hell, she'd follow him into a volcano if he wanted her to. Arkasha's grip was strong and secure and the look on his face told her everything she'd ever needed to know. Soon, they were zipping through the air and she landed awkwardly near to their apartment.

Caught up in a rush of hormones and endorphins, she grabbed Arkadiy by the face and pulled her to him. She kissed him deeply, her eyes closed as she softly grabbed handfuls of his dark hair. The thin material of her dress caught on the rough and worn bricks as he lifted her and she gave a soft grunt of annoyance before the sound was swallowed up. With a dull thud, her bag hit the floor, some of the contents rolling out across the cracked pavement.

She felt as though she could fly. Her heart was hammering against her chest and the sudden surge of wayward emotions took over. Florence kissed him deeply, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and having it a sharp tug before she grinned and kissed him again, not even minding the stab of his pin as it dug into her collarbone. Her cheeks were pink and her hair was unkempt, having lost her hat somewhere in the mad dash from the market to their apartment. Not that she gave a shit or anything.

In the melee, one of her sneakers had fallen off and with a wiggle, she dropped down the wall a smidge. With one foot on the floor, her bare foot was resting gently on one of Arkadiy's shoes. As much as she loved Paris, she knew it was filthy. Loosening her grip on his hair, she slid her fingers slowly down the back of his neck, unwilling to break their intimate embrace. It was insane. The entire thing was crazy and beautiful and glorious and exciting.

Resting her hands on Arkasha's collar, she pulled back, just an inch or two so their noses were touching and she offered him another grin. "Well," Florence whispered, her voice breathy and unsteady. "That was fun," she replied, her lips ghosting across his as she smiled again. They were in an abandoned alley way, in the middle of Paris, in the early morning. It was a secret. No one would be able to see past the tangle of bin bags and boxes.

She loved Arkasha dearly. He was definitely "The One" but in that moment, she'd never fancied him more. It was like the poet had switched on some carnal urge, deep within her that sent spiralling waves of lust and wanting into the atmosphere. Florence panted, a decidedly irreligious smile curving the line of her lips as she kept him close. She liked the feeling of his weight pressed against her, keeping her halfway up the wall. The rush was so addictive and it wasn't subsiding yet. Briefly, it suddenly became clear why people got addicted to illegal substances; it was bloody fantastic.

In the warm morning sun, Florence gazed at Arkadiy as though he was some sort of super hero. Or piece of classical art. Affectionately, she raised her finger and gently traced it across his jaw line, from earlobe to chin. "You're my David," she told him softly before kissing him again, completely forgetting that he might be unfamiliar with Michelangelo's work.

So not only was she a gorgeous, leggy blonde completely out of his league, but she was also completely on board with petty theft and making out in alley ways. He pushed her up against the wall, so completely overcome with his need to have her that he stopped trying to be gentle with her. But as she bit his lip, he knew he had made the right decision, not just to pin her against the bricks or to rob a flea market (and he realized with a sudden pang that they hadn’t made it out with their actual, paid for purchase; what the hell happened to the plates?), but to ask her to marry him in the first place. The past year was just full of good decisions.

“So fun,” he agreed, smiling into their kiss. He laughed before leaning into her again, not caring that the hand behind his wife was getting scratched up against the wall. “We have to do that again,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. He would steal things for her everyday if it warranted this reaction from her. “I hope that means you like your ring.”

Arkasha smiled, not wanting to let on that he had no idea what she meant by him being her David, though he could tell it was quite the compliment. He returned her light kiss before moving his hand up and placing on hers as it rested on his own face. He picked it up, slowly brushing her fingertips with his lips as he planted light, slow kisses on them. He locked her fingers in his, bringing her hand up to rest on the wall above her head as he leaned in again.

“And you are my David,” he replied cooly. He assumed it was just one of those things that French people said, like how they say ‘J’ai le cafard,’ to mean they were sad, which Arkasha had thought positively poetic until he learned that the literal translation of that was ‘I have the cockroach.’ He had stopped trying to understand why the French said the things they did, and telling his wife she was his David was no different. He dipped his head to kiss her again, softly at first, though it took next to no time to get his heart racing again.

“There are two options now,” he paused to plant a light kiss just beneath her ear, his lips trailing down to her collarbone, little punctuations in his speech. “Go to the Louvre,” she had brought him there on more than one occasion already, and he paused for another kiss, his free hand running over her shoulder and pushing the already low strap of her dress down just a tad. “And pocket the Mona Lisa,” his voice was soft and low as he whispered into the nape of her neck as he worked his way back up. He really didn't understand the hype about that particular painting, but the amount of people always gathered around it had to mean it was important.

“Or,” he picked his head up but kept his lips close, “I take you upstairs and give you your real gift.” His hand had found the hem of her dress and worked its way under it, just barely touching the soft skin of her thigh, if only to help convince her of the correct choice.

"Okay," came the giggly response, her voice coming out in a whisper before she was soundly kissed once more. Was she down for more stealing? Hell yeah. Did she feel guilty about it? Florence assumed she would later on but as of right now, her body was filled with so many other emotions that there just wasn't any room for anything else. She was in way over her head. Arkadiy was her new obsession.

Grinning, she nodded, her nose bumping softly against his. "I love it," she went on to explain, parting her lips to kiss him back and not at all minding that things were progressing at a startling rate. Up until this point, Arkasha had always been the perfect gentleman. He treated her like a princess and held her like she was fine bone china but there was a delicious shift in his behaviour and Florence was one hundred percent on board with it. "It's the best gift I've ever been given," she said with a smile between kisses. Except for that unicorn plushie he'd given her once but the ring was a close second for sure.

Swallowing quickly, Florence's eyes darkened with desire as Arkadiy let her breathe for a second before he stole it away again. Biting down on her lower lip, the way he kissed her fingertips made something inside of her snap as her toes curled in pleasure. She'd heard Frenchmen made the best lovers but the entire country couldn't and didn't hold a candle to him. In that moment, she was complete putty in his hands. As Arkasha moved her hand, the feeling of the control being taken from her was unusual and refreshing and she arched her back, pressing her chest against his in the confined space.

She cracked a grin as he reciprocated her compliment but it soon turned into a faint whimper. It wasn't at all fair and he knew it. He exuded some sort of power over her. He was dreamy and magnetic. He was the moon and she was the tide and there was no way she could fight against it. "Mhm," came the sleepy response as he spoke, letting him know she was listening as her eyes slipped to a close. Her fingers squeezed the hand he was holding above her head, giving him nonverbal gestures to let him know this was exactly what he should be doing. And maybe to go a little bit lower.

Sucking in her breath, her  body gave an involuntary shoulder as Arkasha so casually slid the strap of her dress over her shoulder, the fabric giving way as it slid down her shoulder, forgotten. The idea of robbing a world famous museum was suddenly more appealing than chocolate cake. He might have been kidding but she sure as heck was not.

"Nah," she whispered hotly, her body responding to his expert touch as though she was on autopilot. "We can go tonight. They have extended opening hours in the summer," she gasped, her voice wavering as she was fighting to control her wayward feelings but to no avail. She thought she was doing a pretty good job until his fingers skimmed her thigh and then it was game over.

Florence's cheeks were flushed and her chest was heaving as she stared at him before she cracked a grin. "Did you finally get me that puppy?" She asked sweetly as he mentioned a gift before she snorted with laughter. The hand he wasn't holding went to his back, grabbing a fistful of his shirt after she'd collected her bag. With a grunt of impatience, she yanked Arkasha closer, their hipbones colliding roughly. Despite being less than a minute from their apartment, a minute walking was a minute wasted.

Without hesitation, she apparated and they appeared in the living room, various sketches and loose paper floating around them like a tame hurricane. Arkasha's shirt was off and on the floor before they'd touched the ground. Florence tossed her belongings aside casually, kicking off her one remaining shoe with a laugh between kisses as they went tripping backwards, pulling him closer yet again as they slammed the bedroom door behind them.



[c'est fini!]