Bitter Sweet In Paris
Draft
Paris smelled of roasted beans and rain that afternoon, the kind of weather that begged for a quiet café and a sketchbook. Illona Wayne had claimed her favorite corner table by the window, balancing a mug of tea beside her open notebook. Pencil in hand, she was lost in the lines of a street scene—an old man feeding pigeons, a young couple laughing by the Seine.
The scrape of a chair jolted her concentration. She looked up, frowning.
A tall blond boy—no, not just any boy. Him.
Adrian Agreste.
The face from every billboard, fashion spread, and glossy perfume ad. Paris’s golden boy. Illona had seen him a hundred times—too perfect, too polished. The last person she expected to see in her quiet refuge.
He didn’t notice her—or pretended not to—as he set down a cappuccino and lowered himself into the chair directly opposite hers.
Illona’s brow knit. Of all the empty tables…
She opened her mouth to object, but before she could, his elbow caught the edge of her sketchbook. A slosh of cappuccino tipped over, dripping across the page she had spent the last hour perfecting.
Adrian agreste
"Ah sorry!"he cursed softly, fumbling with napkins. “I’m so sorry.”
Illona shot to her feet, clutching the book. The ink bled across the paper like a wound.
Ilona wayne
“Do you always destroy art in your spare time?” she snapped.
He glanced up at her, startled—and then his lips curved into a smile. The kind of smile that probably made fans swoon, but only sharpened her irritation.
Adrian agreste
“Only masterpieces,” he said lightly, blotting the page with a napkin.
Ilona wayne
Illona yanked it back. “Don’t touch it.”
Adrian agreste
“Hey, I said I was sorry".
Ilona wayne
“Sorry doesn’t un-ruin it.” She folded her arms. “You couldn’t pick literally any other table?.
Adrian agreste
He tilted his head, studying her with infuriating calm. “This one had the best light.”
Ilona wayne
Her jaw tightened. “You mean the best view.”
Adrian agreste
His grin widened. “Well, you are sitting here.”
Ilona wayne
Illona’s cheeks warmed against her will. “Unbelievable.” She sat back down, flipping to a blank page, determined to ignore him.
But he didn’t leave. Instead, he sipped his coffee and leaned an elbow on the table, watching her sketch.
Adrian agreste
“You’re good,” he said after a moment.
Ilona wayne
She froze mid-line. “Don’t.”
Adrian agreste
“Don’t what?”
Ilona wayne
“Don’t do the whole celebrity compliments the commoner routine. I don’t need your approval.”
For a second, his polished mask slipped. Something flickered in his green eyes—surprise, maybe even amusement.
Draft
Adrian agreste
“Most people would kill for it,” he said, softer this time.
Ilona wayne
Illona didn’t look up. “Then go find ‘most people.’”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward, but he said nothing.
The silence stretched, heavy with irritation on her side and—annoyingly—something like intrigue on his.
When Illona finally glanced up, she caught him studying her sketch again, his expression unreadable.
Ilona wayne
She snapped the book shut. “Don’t you have a photoshoot to be at?”
Adrian agreste
He smirked, gathering his things. “Maybe. But this was more interesting.”
And just like that, he stood and left—leaving Illona staring at the smeared ink of her ruined page, furious at him, furious at herself… and more unsettled than she cared to admit.
And that was our first encounter, and I am definitely not looking forward to a second one!
Paris had a strange sense of humor. Illona learned that the following week when she ducked into the small independent bookstore near Rue Saint-Antoine. It was her sanctuary—the scent of old paper, the creak of wooden shelves, the way time slowed between pages.
She tucked herself into the poetry aisle, crouching low to pull out a worn edition of Baudelaire. Her sketchbook slipped under her arm, her pencil still tucked behind her ear.
Then a voice—smooth, familiar—broke the calm.
“Excuse me—”
Illona froze, then straightened slowly, clutching the book to her chest.
Ilona wayne
“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
Adrian Agreste stood at the other end of the aisle, holding a slim novel like he actually belonged there. His smile was faintly apologetic, faintly amused.
Adrian agreste
“Small city,”
Ilona wayne
“It’s not small enough,” Illona shot back.
Adrian agreste
He raised his brows. “Do you always greet people like that, or am I special?”
Ilona wayne
“You’re definitely something,” she muttered, sliding the book under her arm and brushing past him.
But Adrian, apparently incapable of taking a hint, followed her toward the counter.
Adrian agreste
“So,” he said conversationally, “what does an artist read?”
Draft
Ilona wayne
Illona didn’t bother looking at him. “Books.”
Adrian agreste
“Sharp. Let me guess—romance novels?”
Ilona wayne
She turned on him so fast he nearly collided with her. “Do I look like the kind of girl who drools over clichés?”
Adrian agreste
He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “No. More like… tragic poetry. Or maybe angry essays about how the world doesn’t understand you.”
Ilona wayne
Illona blinked. “…Are you psychic, or just annoying?”
Adrian agreste
He grinned. “Both.”
She paid for her book in silence, determined to walk away. But as she stepped into the chilly Paris air, she realized he was right beside her, his hands in his pockets, matching her stride.
Ilona wayne
“Do you follow all strangers,” she asked sharply, “or just the ones whose lives you ruin?”
Adrian agreste
“Only the ones who make insults sound like compliments,” he replied, his tone maddeningly calm.
Ilona wayne
Illona stopped walking. “What do you want, Agreste?”
Adrian agreste
For the first time, his smirk softened into something else—something quieter. “I just wanted to say… about the other day. I really am sorry. For the sketchbook.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. The sincerity in his voice disarmed her more than she wanted to admit.
Ilona wayne
She turned away quickly. “Apology not accepted.”
But as she strode off down the street, she couldn’t ignore the sound of him chuckling softly behind her.
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