Love Wears Prada

Love Wears Prada

“The pristine snowflakes kiss the ground…..”

Louis V stops his running commentary. Perched on the rosewood table, he boasts of an enviable view of the street, now enveloped in a white blanket. The six-inch heels of Jane Choo clack in amusement, making him doubt his oratory skills. Women! Always hard to please!

“You have anything to add, mademoiselle?” he drawls, bending and bringing his long, leather strap forward in a dramatized show of respect.

Jane looks up. She takes a couple of strides towards the table, and in a swift motion, leaps upward, and makes a perfect landing. She rubs the tips of her heels delicately, whispering gently to them, as a mother singing a lullaby to rock her crying baby to sleep. They aren’t hurt. Relieved, she sits on the crocheted tablecloth. 

“Has she died or something?”

Louis gapes at her. She has lost her marbles.

Jane lets out a deep sigh. Men! Ever the incompetent lot! “I meant the old hag. She has discarded us just like that. Either she has forgotten this house belongs to her, or her private jet has crashed.”

Louis whistles. “Easy, my dear lady, easy. We shouldn’t wish death upon anybody.”

Jane stifles a yawn. “Please bore someone else with your ethics.”

Louis zips his lips. Being wise beyond his years, he knows those deadly heels can drill a hole in even Thanos’ feet, and Louis is but a gentle ex-croc. He leans back against a hardcover and prepares himself to go to sleep. Jane shifts to her side, facing him. Damn! Is she going to scrutinize me?

“Erm, lady! I was just thinking of taking a brief nap.”

“Seriously! Rest? You have practically spent a day just dangling from her shoulders. It’s I who have had to come into contact with the dirty earthlings.”

“Dirty? Oh, I would have loved to rub myself against the spotless and smooth white marble. And those red carpets. Come on, don’t lie. I could sit there all day, moaning in pleasure as the plush velvet caresses my soft leather.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “Details of your dreams do not interest me. All I am saying is that it’s not as romantic as you think it is.”

Louis says nothing. He knows she is right. She is always right. The devil. Suddenly, he perks up. “Hey, you remember our Cannes visit last month?”

Jane sits up. “Of course. How the paparazzi went berserk clicking us! They almost ignored the poor soul. Who was it again?”

“That Coco gal?” 

“Yes! That sexy one! She was damn hot though.”

“She paled in front of you, mademoiselle.”

“You were the envy of others. I remember an entire article was dedicated to you in Vogue. Not bad, darling.”

Louis grins and snuggles up to her. Jane rubs her heel against his belly. He pulls her closer towards him. She doesn’t struggle. A passing cloud greets the crescent moon, leaving behind a temporary trail of darkness-induced amour.  

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