No one but myself to blame

The oak door opened and in he walked. My messiah, my god.

He wore Ralph Lauren, looking as though the clothing was made for him, holding himself with such grace and flair that everyone else paled in comparison. He had jet-black hair, a complete contrast to the stark white scene though the window behind him.

I was in Paris France, in a little café surveying the Eiffel Tower. It was mid-winter and snow was falling gently outside. The roaring fireplace completed the idyllic setting, a perfect spot for lovers.

But my mind was far from my depressing solo status, as I stood to get a cup of coffee from the counter. My mind wasn’t even on where I was going, my eyes fixated on this picture of perfection.

Unfortunately, my multi-tasking capabilities are not of standard. (A/N: Soph!) This fact was reiterated as I tripped over a wayward chair and fell ungracefully to the ground, drawing the attention of the entire café.

I flushed crimson, closing my eyes in hope that he didn’t see me. My prayers were not answered. As the café returned to its usual hub-bub, I felt a concerned presence kneeling down beside me. I opened my eyes and my gaze met a brilliant emerald green view.

It was Him.

Any previous thoughts of embarrassment, any misgivings flew from my mind like paper from fan. He looked as surprised as I and, in my dazed state, I could have sworn that he muttered to himself,

“Vous avez des beaux yeux” [You have beautiful eyes]

Now, although this may seem odd, I only speak rudimentary French and, as such, I only knew that he mentioned eyes. I blinked confusedly causing him to visibly shake himself and instead he asked me,

“Êtes-vous bien ?” [Are you alright?]

I just stared, entranced by his beauty.

“Parlez-vous français, monsieur ?” [Do you speak French, sir?]

‘What do you think you are doing?!’ my mind screamed. ‘SAY something!’ Shaking my head I tried to remember what little French I knew.

“Je parle seulement un peu du français. Désolé.” [I only speak a little bit of French. Sorry]

He smiled and replied.

“Je m’appelle Jacques. Vous aiment une main vers le haut?” [My name is Jacques. Would you like a hand up?]

He held out his hand to illustrate his point. It was soft and strong, lightly calloused. Taking it, my knees felt weak; I was actually touching this god!

“Merci,” I muttered, blushing profusely. “Je m’appelle Alex.” [Thankyou. My name is Alex.]

He grinned broadly at my red face.

“Vous êtes si mignon!” [You are so cute!]

Oblivious, I just smiled.

“Combien de temps êtes-vous ici pour?” [How long are you here for?] he continued.

Now that was one of the only phrases I knew.

“J'irai de nouveau à Londres demain.” [I am going back to London tomorrow]

My dream mans grin slipped slightly.

“Oh. Le puits ont un bon temps alors.” [Oh. Well have a good time then] he said after a moment, grin returning.

“Oui.” [Yes]

He smiled broadly and reached his hand out to touch mine. It lingered there a few seconds too long to be completely innocent. Sighing, he withdrew his warm hand.

“Voyez-vous plus tard.” [See you later]

And with that, he turned tail and started to walk to towards the door. So stunned was I that I didn’t do anything to stop him.

Maybe I was afraid that I got the wrong impression. Maybe I was overwhelmed by his beauty. Maybe I just didn’t believe at that point that he was The One. Whatever the case, he literally walked out of my life without a backward glance.

The oak door closed, emitting a frosty breeze and discharging everything I had ever wanted. I was, once again, alone with no one but myself to blame.

///

I’m really sorry if I got any of the French wrong. I don’t actually speak it. Please review!