Three hours later, we are back in the middle of Paris, having just left the Eiffel Tower, we've found a little market. I'm a sucker for a good market, so I drag Rhodes through the stalls looking for nothing in particular. I find a stand that I like very much; a young father and son are selling their watercolor paintings of the many views of Paris. It's attracted a couple of other people's attention as well, so I quietly flick my way through the small paintings while Rhodes stands outside the stall waiting for me.
The young man appears next to me after I've selected a few pieces and begins to speak to me in French. I can't lie, he's quite gorgeous. He's tall with jet black hair and a smile almost too big for his face. I'm immediately embarrassed; he thinks I'm French, and he's waiting for my answer.
"I, um, I don't speak French. Sorry," I mumble quietly before he nods his head, the smile not slipping from his face.
"Sorry, madame, did you need any help?" he says in a thick French accent, leaning against the table of art I had been flicking through. I'm about to tell him that I'm okay when I feel Rhodes's presence next to me, an arm is slung over my shoulder and a kiss is pressed against my cheek. Rhodes takes the art out of my hands and hands it to the young man before speaking quietly in French and taking out his wallet. The young man nods and takes the money from Rhodes's hand and places the art into a brown carrier bag. He hands it to me without a look or a word before Rhodes quickly ushers me out of the stall.
"Seems I can't leave you alone for five minutes without someone hitting on you," Rhodes mumbles as he guides me through the rows of stalls. My hand finds his, and I lace my fingers in between his and tug on them, slowing his speed down so I can walk next to him.
"He wasn't hitting on me," I tell him quietly, a soft smile across my lips. Rhodes nods.
"He said to you, 'how can I assist the most beautiful woman in Paris?' I don't know what you'd call that, but I'd say it's a little flirty." My playful Rhodes is gone at this point; this one is jealous and steaming mad. We find the exit, and I pull him to a stop and reach my free hand upwards to run it through his hair, hoping it will calm him down.
"Well, he seemed to figure out I was with you towards the end," I tell him with a grin. A ghost of a smile crosses his lips as my hand brushes gently through his curls. His smile becomes a smirk as he shrugs his shoulders.