Deep in Desire - Page 25

“What’s your most treasured memory?” Holly asked, her eyes softening.

Deborah smiled wistfully. “I think it’s a tie between the day I got married?—”

“Don’t make me jealous now,” Holly teased, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity in her eyes.

“No need. We all know how that ended.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“And the day I graduated. Both were moments of immense pride and happiness.”

Holly nodded. “For me, it’s probably the day I got my first art exhibit. In Australia. Seeing my work appreciated by others was incredibly fulfilling.”

“What? I knew nothing about any of this. Are you an artist? I had you down as the sporty type. I thought you worked in a surfboard shop or something?”

“Sure, the surf shop, a few bars… whatever I could get. But I paint—oils, portraits.”

“Wow. This makes you even hotter.”

As the night went on, they moved to more intimate questions, their connection deepening with every answer.

“What do you value most in a friendship or a relationship?” Holly asked, her eyes searching Deborah’s.

“Loyalty and trust,” Deborah replied withouthesitation. “Having someone who’s always there for you, no matter what. It’s got to be that, right?”

“I feel the same way. That’s why I cherish what we have, Deborah.

Deborah felt a surge of emotion. “Oh, Holly. Me too. More than anything. You have no idea.”

They continued talking late into the night, exploring each other’s dreams, fears and hopes for the future. By the time they finally fell asleep, curled up in each other’s arms, Deborah felt such a real sense of peace and happiness that she hadn’t felt in years.

The following day, they woke up early and decided to visit Montmartre. Walking through the charming, cobbled streets, they stumbled upon a small art studio.

“Let’s go in,” Holly suggested. “This place looks incredible.”

The studio was filled with beautiful oil paintings, sketches, murals, and sculptures. Holly’s entire face lit up as she admired the artwork, and Deborah couldn’t help but feel a deep admiration for her passion.

“This place is like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Holly said, turning to Deborah. “I could spend hours here. I wonder if these are all local artists. God, the French sure know what they’re doing. I’d kill for talent like this.”

Deborah squeezed her by the shoulders. “I love seeing you this happy. And I can’t wait to see your work. You will show me when we get home, won’t you?”

Holly leaned in and kissed her gently. “Of course I will. I’ll paint you. In the nude. Like one of the French girls. Thank you for bringing me here, Deborah. For everything.”

Deborah’s heart skipped a beat. “No, thank you, Holly. You’ve taught me something about taking risks. I can’t believe I met you when I did.”

They spent the rest of the day exploring, visiting the Sacré-Cœur, and enjoying the stunning views of Paris. That evening, they returned to their hotel, exhausted but happy.

As they sat on the balcony, looking out over the twinkling lights of Paris, Deborah felt a profound sense of contentment. She turned to Holly, her heart full.

“I love you, Holly,” she said softly.

Holly’s eyes filled with tears. “I love you too, Deborah.”

“Let’s make a promise,” Deborah said, taking Holly’s hand. “No matter what happens, we’ll always be honest with each other and face everything together.”

Holly nodded, a smile spreading across her face. “I promise.”

Deborah felt at peace. She had finally found the courage to embrace her feelings for Holly. She knew back home it would be more complex, but lost in the romance in France, she could shut the real world away.