The next few days slipped by like a dream. Paris was warm, the air heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine that drifted through the open windows of the White family's Paris manor. Cars passed faintly in the distance, blending with the occasional cry of a hawker on the street. Inside, however, the atmosphere was entirely different—soft and romantic, laced with warmth, laughter, and the unmistakably wild noises of love echoing from certain newly joined couples deep into the night.
During this time, Isabella and Emma grew inseparable. They had always been close since the day they met each other, but now they moved as though their lives were permanently entwined. By the second evening, Eira noticed they no longer retired to separate rooms. Their laughter—quiet, private, almost conspiratorial—came from the same doorway now. At night, muffled sounds sometimes floated into the hall, the kind of sounds that spoke of passionate love making rather than conversation.
Fleur, ever quick to tease, would nudge Eira whenever she caught the faint noises.
"One day," she whispered with a grin that made Eira's stomach flip, "strange noises will come from our room too."
The thought left Eira pink-faced and flustered. She tried to brush it aside, but the words lingered in her mind far longer than she cared to admit.
Later that evening, she mentioned it to Emma in her usual blunt fashion. "Next time," she said casually, "you should put up a soundproofing charm when you're… being inappropriate with each other."
Emma froze mid-step, her fair skin turning crimson as she realized exactly what Eira meant. She stammered, "I—I'm so sorry, my lady. I didn't mean to disturb you. I won't repeat it again."
Eira waved it off with a small smile. "Don't worry. You're a couple—you can do whatever you wish. I only reminded you. Don't restrain yourself because of me. Just use the spell so nothing escapes the room. Then you can go wild."
Emma's eyes widened, and her cheeks glowed so hotly that even Isabella, overhearing from the doorway, smirked.
"O-of course, my lady," Emma mumbled, lowering her head, too shy to meet her gaze.
Eira, amused by her reaction, added one more playful jab. "Tomorrow, we'll return to Britain—to the ancestral manor. It's a vast place, with rooms already enchanted. You and Isabella can choose whichever you like. Prepare yourself, because the day after tomorrow I have a hearing to attend."
Emma nodded quickly, grateful for the shift in topic. "Of course, my lady. I'll prepare everything. And I'll set up the Portkey as well."
"Good. And tell your wife to gather her belongings too."
The teasing lilt in her voice made Emma's head snap up, her whole face aflame. She muttered something incoherent and hurried from the room, her steps almost tripping over themselves.
Moments later, the door opened again, and Fleur entered. She had just stepped from her bath, her damp silver hair clinging to her shoulders, and a towel was wrapped carelessly around her body. The fabric barely clung to her chest, and droplets of water slid down her collarbone like pearls. In her hands was a folded French newspaper. Without hesitation, she crossed the room and sank onto the bed beside Eira.
"Why was Emma blushing like that?" Fleur asked, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Nothing," Eira said lightly. "She was just embarrassed when she realized we'd overheard her… nightly activities."
Fleur's lips curved mischievously. She murmured under her breath, "How lucky she is… to experience that."
Eira leaned in before she could say more and captured her lips in a kiss. Fleur blinked at the suddenness, but then softened into it, her lips tasting faintly of rosewater from her bath.
When they parted, Eira asked, "What are you reading, love?"
Fleur glanced at the newspaper. "Apparently, Ireland beat Peru in the Quidditch World Cup. They've qualified for the finals. The next semifinal will be between Japan and Bulgaria."
Eira raised her brows. "And the English? Or the French?"
Fleur shook her head, half amused, half disappointed. "Neither. They played miserably. Out of thirteen countries, England placed eighth, France eleventh."
Eira clicked her tongue in mock annoyance. "Honestly, Britain is filled with Quidditch fanatics. You'd think they could manage at least a competent team. France I can understand—Quidditch isn't exactly beloved here. But England?" She sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "I even donated to their program once. Waste of Galleons, clearly. Tsk."
Her eyes flicked back to Fleur. "Anyway. Want to see Japan versus Bulgaria?"
Fleur wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Non. It's boring."
Eira's lips twitched. "Then tell me, what isn't boring? So I'll know what to do for you instead."
Fleur tilted her head, her damp hair sliding over her shoulder like spun silver. Her gaze softened into something warmer, something that made Eira's chest ache. "I want to hug you. Just… stay here, in bed, all day."
Eira's heart gave a small, inexplicable lurch. She smiled and drew Fleur into her arms, pulling her close until their bodies pressed together. Fleur let out a soft, involuntary sound that sent heat rushing through Eira's cheeks. They tumbled gently back onto the bed, their breaths mingling in the hush of the room.
"Like this?" Eira whispered, her lips brushing Fleur's temple. "Then we'll do exactly that. All day. I'll be your hugging pillow."
Fleur answered not with words but with a kiss—gentle, lingering, as though she wanted to capture the moment forever. Then she tucked herself against Eira's chest, her fingers curling lightly into her nightgown. Eira stroked her damp hair, the strands soft beneath her fingertips.
The world grew quiet. Outside, Paris moved on—cars passing by, voices echoing through the streets—but within the room there was only the steady rise and fall of Fleur's breathing. Her heartbeat pressed against Eira's chest , strong and steady, the sweetest melody she had ever heard.
Fleur purred, a soft, catlike sound of contentment that made Eira laugh quietly. She pressed a kiss to her hair and whispered, "Mon trésor…"
And so they stayed—wrapped in each other's warmth, the hours slipping away like that in peace, intimate kisses and hugs.