**A PARIS VALENTINE **

**Chapter Two: The Valentine’s Spark**

The morning of Valentine’s Day arrived crisp and brilliant, the Paris sky stretching wide above the city, its rooftops glinting in the winter sun. Moniq tightened her red satin dress around her waist for the hundredth time, her fingers trembling with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Today was unlike anything she had ever experienced — decorating the Dubois mansion for a Valentine’s celebration so grand it seemed to belong to a different world.

Camille nudged her gently, eyes sparkling. “Don’t let them intimidate you, Moniq. Focus on your work. You’ve got this. Talent like yours can’t be hidden.”

Moniq drew in a deep breath, thinking of her father. No love until twenty-two. Focus. Shine. Work hard, and one day, the Eiffel Tower will witness my kiss. Her chest tightened at the memory of his final words: Make me proud, honey. I love you.

Outside, the bus waited, ready to ferry the decorators to the mansion. Moniq clutched her kit tightly, its weight grounding her. She had spent years learning — her mother teaching her everything from basic academics to gardening, decorating, and patience. Now, all that knowledge, all that skill, would be tested.

The ride through Paris was lively, the bus filled with decorators from wealthy families, chattering about dresses, dates, and trivial things Moniq had never cared to know. Their conversation made her blush and curl her fingers tighter around her kit.

“Paris,” Camille said softly, “you’ll get used to this. Don’t let them distract you.”

Moniq let her eyes wander to the city outside. Every street, every corner seemed alive with possibility. And there it was in the distance, shimmering against the sky — the Eiffel Tower. Moniq smiled faintly to herself. One day… one day, I’ll stand there, and I’ll have my kiss. But not yet.

The Dubois mansion came into view, a vast structure that made Moniq’s heart flutter. Its back alone gleamed in the sunlight, a palace of marble and glass, radiating wealth that seemed otherworldly. She swallowed hard, gripping her kit as she stepped off the bus.

Inside, the chaos of preparation buzzed in the air. Staff hustled, decorations awaited placement, and the scent of roses mingled with the faint tang of polished marble. Moniq’s nerves steadied as she set her kit down, rolling up her sleeves.

The little devils were already watching her. Three girls with sharp eyes and sharper tongues whispered behind their fans.

“She thinks she belongs here?” one sneered.

“Country girl… cheap, fragile. She’ll embarrass herself,” another hissed.

Moniq ignored them, centering herself. She had survived worse: poverty, grief, and heartbreak. This was just another challenge.

The hall slowly filled with guests, the music gentle and enchanting, the atmosphere alive with laughter and expectation. Moniq moved quickly, placing flowers, adjusting ribbons, and arranging candles. Every detail mattered; every choice reflected her creativity.

Then, one of the little devils approached with a flourish, smiling falsely. “Here, senora,” she said, handing Moniq a classic, jewel-encrusted mask. “You’ll look more elegant. It’s… for propriety.”

Moniq raised an eyebrow but accepted it, sliding it carefully over her face. She did not suspect their motive — to hide her extraordinary beauty from Jean Dubois himself.

The decorations were nearly complete when disaster struck. A tray of glasses was knocked over, and Moniq reacted instinctively, lunging to protect a small child who had wandered too close. The child — Jean’s seven-year-old sister — wobbled dangerously. Moniq pushed her out of the way, but her own momentum sent her stumbling into a nearby centerpiece. Flowers, ribbons, and candles tumbled across the floor. Gasps echoed throughout the hall.

Her cheeks burned crimson, but she didn’t hesitate. Kneeling, she gathered the scattered decorations, whispering soothingly to the little girl. “You’re safe. Don’t worry.”

The child clung to her, eyes wide and grateful. “Merci… thank you,” she whispered. “You’re my friend now.”

Moniq smiled faintly, helping her back to her seat. Even in embarrassment, courage counts, she reminded herself.

The hall had fallen silent. All eyes were now on Juliette Dubois, who glided toward the center with unmatched grace. Moniq froze as the matriarch’s gaze swept across the room, resting briefly on her. Juliette’s expression softened ever so slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Welcome, everyone,” Juliette’s voice rang clearly. “This Valentine’s celebration is… unique. The decorations here are remarkable, a vision of creativity and elegance.”

The boss, normally quick to take credit, cleared his throat. “Yes, Lady Juliette, we—”

“This young lady,” Juliette interrupted, pointing gracefully at Moniq, “is the one whose idea transformed these tables and centerpieces. She deserves recognition for her talent.”

Moniq’s heart raced. Juliette Dubois — the woman who had caused her parents so much pain — was publicly praising her. She bowed politely, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” though inside, her mind swirled with disbelief.

Just as Moniq regained her composure, murmurs swept through the crowd: “Jean Dubois has arrived!”

The tall, striking figure entered, his presence commanding without effort. Cameras flashed, heads turned, and every eye followed him. Guests whispered his name like a spell: “He’s here… Jean Dubois!”

Even with the mask concealing part of her face, Moniq felt her chest tighten. Jean’s gaze swept the room and lingered briefly on her, sharp, intense, curious. Something about her presence — the way she had recovered from her stumble, the courage in her actions — caught his attention.

The little devils, seeing his gaze, smirked, believing their trick had worked. The mask will hide her beauty… at least for now.

Jean moved through the crowd, tall and impossibly handsome, his blue eyes scanning quietly, noting Moniq’s subtle confidence and grace despite her flustered state. He said nothing, merely observed, and Moniq felt a strange thrill at the intensity of his attention.

After the initial shock, the room’s energy returned. Guests mingled, the music resumed, and Moniq continued her work, carefully adjusting the final touches of the decorations. Her heart still fluttered with every glance Jean cast her way, each silent observation igniting a spark she could not ignore.

Camille leaned close. “See? Nothing can stop you. That wasn’t embarrassment — that was brilliance.”

Moniq pressed her hands to her chest, whispering softly: One day… Eiffel Tower kiss. But not yet. First, I must shine. Paris is my chance.

The little girl peeked at her from behind a chair, shyly tugging at her sleeve. “You saved me,” she whispered. “You’re my friend now.”

Moniq knelt to meet her eyes. “We’ll be friends, always. Don’t worry.”

Outside, the Eiffel Tower glimmered faintly in the winter sun, a silent witness to the start of something extraordinary. Inside, Jean Dubois’s gaze lingered on Moniq, subtle yet unmistakable. The mask had hidden her beauty for now, but he sensed a depth, courage, and elegance beneath it — a spark he could not ignore.

Valentine’s Day had always been a day of grief and sorrow for Moniq. But here, in this grand hall, surrounded by elegance, music, and the thrill of new beginnings, it had become a day of courage, intrigue, and the faintest glimmer of love.