Love In Three Countries: France (A Billionaire Travel Erotic Romance) by Bella Blue
Authors: Bella Blue
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As soon as I stepped off the plane, I felt like I was breathing in the air of romance and adventure. After a year of saving up and working hard, I'm finally able to take my long trip. Well, as long as a week can be.
Three different countries. France, Italy, and Brazil before I'm back home to the states. Finally landing in Charles de Gaulle International Airport forced all my anxiety and work worries off my shoulders and deep into the back of my mind. I'm free! For a while, at least.
Walking past the red carpet where new passengers sit, waiting for their planes while browsing the internet on an almost infinite number of cell phones and tablets, I quickly go to bag pickup to await my luggage. I'm not ashamed to say I might have over packed, with two large suitcases and my carry on. A girl needs her clothes and shoes!
A half an hour waiting and waiting for my purple suitcases to come around the bend of the luggage carrier, the little machine whirring a couple dozen bags around and around. Mine are nearly the last ones to come out, but I grab them quick.
My next stop is to board the RER train and head into central Paris. I feel like jumping up and down with excitement, ready now more than ever for this adventure to begin. I pass a group of schoolgirls who had shared my plane with me, high schoolers from an advanced French language class who gossiped the whole flight about boys and television shows. One girl cried for a few minutes, explaining that she missed her mom. The teacher escorting them, a handsome man with a sprinkling of grey in his otherwise jet black hair, reminded her they would only be gone a week. She is all smiles now as she sits waiting for the rest of her class to pick up their bags.
My hotel is La Maison Favart, a quirky building that I'm told gives the artsy feel one should have while staying in Paris. I board my train with the help of a few kind men who help carry my luggage onto the train and then out to the street again before hailing a taxi for me. God, I love France.
The taxi driver, a nice man who only knows a small amount of broken English, sings French pop music as he drives me to my destination. I thank him, tipping him much more than I would have tipped a driver in America, and leave his car. Again, the kind man helps me with my luggage up to the door of the hotel where two men grab my luggage and lead me inside.
The lobby overwhelms me as I step in- paintings and a large, ornate mirror on the wall facing a room full of seating. Some chairs, a few white couches, and a plush carpet beneath them all, separated from reception desk by large white columns.
“ Bonjour, manquer.”
I turn and am greeted by a smiling woman. She looks to be about 50, with stylish blonde hair. Though not thin, she still has a sexy body even for her age, and I find myself admiring her for longer than is appropriate.
“ Bonjour. Je ne parle pas beaucoup Français, I'm sorry!” Hoping she understands, I shrug a little in consolation.
“ That's alright, I know enough English,” she replies.
“ Oh, good! How lucky for me. My name is Olivia Valentine, I have reservations for 2 days.” Stepping up to the counter, where the men left my bags, I show her my passport and credit card. With slim fingers, painted a beautiful shade of red, she types on her computer to find me.
“ Ah, you are in room 36. It's a beautiful room. I'll have someone bring your heavy bags up, here is your key card.”
“ Thank you!” I bow a bit, taking the card and turning toward the stairs. Heading up the flights to my room, I check behind and see that two men are following me with my bags. I hurry the rest of the way so that they don't have to struggle with my heavy luggage longer than necessary.
Unlocking the door to room 36, I press the handle down and step into the room. It smells very slightly of a floral perfume. The walls are a golden yellow, and from the door I can see a
Three different countries. France, Italy, and Brazil before I'm back home to the states. Finally landing in Charles de Gaulle International Airport forced all my anxiety and work worries off my shoulders and deep into the back of my mind. I'm free! For a while, at least.
Walking past the red carpet where new passengers sit, waiting for their planes while browsing the internet on an almost infinite number of cell phones and tablets, I quickly go to bag pickup to await my luggage. I'm not ashamed to say I might have over packed, with two large suitcases and my carry on. A girl needs her clothes and shoes!
A half an hour waiting and waiting for my purple suitcases to come around the bend of the luggage carrier, the little machine whirring a couple dozen bags around and around. Mine are nearly the last ones to come out, but I grab them quick.
My next stop is to board the RER train and head into central Paris. I feel like jumping up and down with excitement, ready now more than ever for this adventure to begin. I pass a group of schoolgirls who had shared my plane with me, high schoolers from an advanced French language class who gossiped the whole flight about boys and television shows. One girl cried for a few minutes, explaining that she missed her mom. The teacher escorting them, a handsome man with a sprinkling of grey in his otherwise jet black hair, reminded her they would only be gone a week. She is all smiles now as she sits waiting for the rest of her class to pick up their bags.
My hotel is La Maison Favart, a quirky building that I'm told gives the artsy feel one should have while staying in Paris. I board my train with the help of a few kind men who help carry my luggage onto the train and then out to the street again before hailing a taxi for me. God, I love France.
The taxi driver, a nice man who only knows a small amount of broken English, sings French pop music as he drives me to my destination. I thank him, tipping him much more than I would have tipped a driver in America, and leave his car. Again, the kind man helps me with my luggage up to the door of the hotel where two men grab my luggage and lead me inside.
The lobby overwhelms me as I step in- paintings and a large, ornate mirror on the wall facing a room full of seating. Some chairs, a few white couches, and a plush carpet beneath them all, separated from reception desk by large white columns.
“ Bonjour, manquer.”
I turn and am greeted by a smiling woman. She looks to be about 50, with stylish blonde hair. Though not thin, she still has a sexy body even for her age, and I find myself admiring her for longer than is appropriate.
“ Bonjour. Je ne parle pas beaucoup Français, I'm sorry!” Hoping she understands, I shrug a little in consolation.
“ That's alright, I know enough English,” she replies.
“ Oh, good! How lucky for me. My name is Olivia Valentine, I have reservations for 2 days.” Stepping up to the counter, where the men left my bags, I show her my passport and credit card. With slim fingers, painted a beautiful shade of red, she types on her computer to find me.
“ Ah, you are in room 36. It's a beautiful room. I'll have someone bring your heavy bags up, here is your key card.”
“ Thank you!” I bow a bit, taking the card and turning toward the stairs. Heading up the flights to my room, I check behind and see that two men are following me with my bags. I hurry the rest of the way so that they don't have to struggle with my heavy luggage longer than necessary.
Unlocking the door to room 36, I press the handle down and step into the room. It smells very slightly of a floral perfume. The walls are a golden yellow, and from the door I can see a
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