The low hum of the morning playlist floated through their suite—soft jazz with a sultry tempo—matching the slow rhythm of the sunlight streaming across the marble floor. Selene stood by the mirror, slipping on the final piece of her outfit: a sheer mocha corset cinched delicately over a bodycon dress that hugged her silhouette like it had been poured onto her.
Antonio leaned against the doorway, dressed in a crisp white shirt layered under a black t-shirt and tailored black joggers. His dark eyes followed every line of her with reverence—and a spark of trouble.
"You sure we're going to Annecy?" he drawled. "Because the way you look right now, I might just park us somewhere quiet and never make it out of Paris."
Selene turned, her expression playful beneath her light-tinted sunglasses. "Down, monsieur. The trip's barely started."
"I'm just preparing myself. You walk into Annecy dressed like that, we might start a revolution."
She smirked, slipping her sketchbook and corset lace samples into her travel tote. "Let's just hope you drive better than you flirt."
The Drive – BMW M5 Elegance
The BMW M5 glided through the Parisian outskirts with the kind of finesse only Antonio could demand from a machine—sleek, black, powerful. The engine purred like a panther under control, yet ready to leap.
Antonio rested one hand on the wheel, the other slipping to Selene's thigh. She crossed her legs, dress fabric rising just enough to leave his knuckles dangerously close to temptation.
"You're going to distract me the whole drive," he murmured.
"I hope so," she said sweetly, flipping through her sketchbook. "I brought ideas for next season's line… maybe I'll draw on the way."
He grinned, eyes on the road. "Draw your husband-to-be speechless. You're good at that."
The world outside shifted into a scenic dream—rolling hills, sunlit vineyards, tiny village cafés where locals waved from striped awnings. Selene leaned against the window, taking photos of old chateaus and charming pastel cottages.
Arrival – Lake Annecy
Annecy shimmered ahead like something from a romantic film—cobblestone streets winding into flower-laced balconies, gondolas gliding across canals, and the lake glowing beneath the falling sun.
Antonio pulled into the boutique hotel's private parking courtyard, tossing the keys to the valet as the staff greeted them like royalty. Their suite had a balcony draped in ivy and a view of the canal where swans glided past in pairs.
Selene turned in place, eyes wide, smile blooming. "This feels like a painting."
Antonio came behind her, slipping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her neck. "No… you look like a painting."
She leaned into him, whispering, "You keep this up and we're not unpacking till tomorrow."