POV Victoria

France captivates me. Everything about this unfamiliar place has drawn me in, giving me a thrill like no other.

I drone out the noise of my classmates and stare out the bus window. The people riding their bikes, the cute cafés in the streets, and the beautiful architecture all rush by in a blur.

In the distance, the Eiffel Tower is visible for what seems like miles.

I remain transfixed by the Haussmann-style architecture.

"Beautiful," I breathe.

"It is, isn't it?" Mrs. Ross says. I turn to her and notice the bus has stopped moving, and we are the only ones left inside. "You were daydreaming. I had to make sure you got off the bus."

"Sorry," I say, my face turning warm with embarrassment.

"It's okay," she assures me, and we exit the charter bus and head toward the hotel.

"Wow..." I crane my neck to marvel at the thirty stories of classic French architecture.

The pastel blue roof shingles blend in with the sky, and thick green vines drape down the hotel like rain.

When Mrs. Ross opens the glass doors of the hotel, the smell of sandalwood fills my senses.

I admire the Greek-themed interior of the hotel and find my cousin sitting on a couch with our friend Becca.

I sit beside Sofia, waiting for our teacher to give us our room key.

Not long after, Mrs. Ross calls my name, and I walk toward her with Sofia, Becca, and a girl named Elizabeth, who we met on the bus.

I take the dainty gold key, and we make our way toward the elevator with our suitcases rolling close behind us.

"What are we doing first?" Becca asks as we make our way into the room.

Sofia pulls out the itinerary we got on the bus.

"We're going to get some brunch." She purses her lips as she brings the paper closer to her eyes. "Then we're doing a Paris city walk tour to visit Île de la Cité, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Latin Quarter." Sofia grins when she pronounces the items on the list in a decent French accent.

I make my way toward the window in the room to check out the view, and once again, I'm in awe.

"I never want to leave," I say, while looking at the Eiffel Tower. Sofia and Becca agree.

I notice Elizabeth in the corner of the room, hunched over with her knotted fingers resting on her lap. When she looks up, I send her a friendly smile. Her shoulders relax, and she smiles in return.

"Mrs. Ross wants us to meet her in the lobby," Becca says, putting her phone back in her purse.

I nod, going to my purse to make sure I have everything I need. While rummaging through my bag, I see my passport, and I'm reminded of my mom's warning about pickpockets in certain areas of Paris.

With this in mind, I hide my passport in my suitcase.

"A heads up to take your passport out of your bags and don't bring too much money," I let the girls know, before the three of us make our way downstairs.

While we wait for the rest of our classmates, I text my family to let them know we have made it to France when suddenly a loud voice startles me, and I almost drop my phone.

"Who's ready to go on an adventure?" says a middle-aged man in jeans and a white polo shirt. We all blink at the stranger, and he smiles agreeably. "I'm Nico, your tour guide."

We nod in acknowledgment and wave at the thin man with graying black hair.

He seems nice, and his dark-colored eyes hold a sense of comfort and friendliness.

"Welcome to France, my American friends!" He claps his hands together and motions for us to follow him. Mrs. Ross and Mrs. Jane, the second teacher chaperoning us, talk with him as he leads us to the bus.

***

"My feet are killing me!" Sofia whines for the tenth time in the last half-hour.

"Sofia, stop complaining. We're about to rest at dinner." I pull her along to keep up with the group.

The last thing we need is to get lost in an unfamiliar city where we don't know how to speak the language.

Nico turns to the group, his everlasting smile still present.

"Why is he so happy? Is he not tired?" Sofia retorts, and some students turn to her in amusement. I elbow Sofia and cast her a warning look.

A tired Sofia is not a Sofia you want to be next to, especially when you add hunger to the equation.

She whines, rubbing her side.

I ignore her and turn my attention back to Nico, who speaks with fondness about the City of Love, as he calls it.

After a while of walking, we stop in front of a restaurant, and Sofia lets out a sigh of relief.

"We'll be eating a typical meal here in France called Confit de Canard," Nico says, leading us inside.

"Bonjour," the server by the door greets, as we enter the dimly lit restaurant. The rich aroma of wine, steak, ham, and vegetables wafts around me, making my stomach growl.

From beside me, my cousin and Becca are gawking at something from afar. I can practically see the drool on the corner of their mouths.

Sofia turns toward me and motions with her eyes to a table in the distance where three handsome men sit.

"Check out those hotties." I roll my eyes at her overt dirty thoughts, not the slightest bit taken aback. Sofia's always been a flirt, and she made it clear to me she only came to France for the 'hot European men.'

My attention falls on the men who have captivated Sofia's attention, and much to my dismay, I find myself entranced by their youthful good looks.

They look to be in their early to mid-twenties and they wear expensive Armani suits. The rich cashmere wool hugs their muscular bodies in all the right places.

The man at the head of the table speaks to the other two in a demanding manner. He has a woman with dark hair on his lap, and she flinches each time he yells.

This man has a glowing tan and black hair which is slick back.

From where I stand, I can tell he has a symmetrical nose to go with his other chiseled features. His five o'clock shadow gives him a rough, sexy look.

A shiver crawls down my spine from his arrogant, ruthless face, and although I know nothing about him, he appears to be rough both on the inside and on the outside. The power surges out of him in strong frequencies.

My gaze trails to the brown-haired man on his left. This man also has a brawny physique, and his hair is in an undercut hairstyle.

He's apathetic as he sits, sipping on his bronze liquor, looking bored out of his mind.

In contrast to the brown-haired man, the last man has dark blond hair, and he listens to every word the raven-haired man says. His pink lips roll into his mouth, and he nods.

As if sensing my gaze, his eyes dart toward me, and the artic blue shade brings tightness to my throat.

I turn away, my face swelling with warmth from being caught staring at them. With hurried steps, I follow close behind my classmates, wanting to get as far away from them as possible.

We take our seats, and I try to focus on my conversation with Sofia, but it's impossible, as I'm too distracted by my thoughts about the three men.

They have sparked my curiosity, and not because of their good looks.

I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself when I peer over at them one more time.

Their conversation has finished, and they are preparing to leave. The blond man whispers something to the man with black hair, who nods in agreement.

I don't get to see what happens next because there's a hand waving in front of me.

I blink, looking at my cousin.

"Are you okay?" Her right brow rises, and I give her a sheepish smile, pretending I'm listening to her.

A few minutes later, the three men pass our table, and my shoulders become tense.

I let out a small gasp when the woman with them bumps into my chair.

My bag falls to the ground with a loud clatter.

I glance at the woman, who mumbles a silent apology, and I notice her bottom lip is quivering.

Worry rises inside me when I see the bruises on her arms. I'm about to ask her if she's okay when the man with black hair jerks her back and leans in close to her ear to whisper harshly. The girl nods at what he says, while biting her trembling lip. My stomach turns with unease as she gets into the black BMW with him.

The guy with brown hair picks my purse from the ground and hands it to me with a devilish grin. He doesn't break eye contact, and his dark eyes make me feel exposed.

I mumble a silent thank you and grab my bag from his hands. He winks at me and saunters out of the restaurant.

My stare moves to the blond man. The three lines on his forehead suggest he's in deep thought. We lock eyes, and he gives a slight bow to the head before following his friends.

When all three disappear, I exhale. The tension surrounding me diminishes, and my mind continues to run with questions about the three men and the woman.

There's no denying their good looks, but something about the men didn't sit right with me. I can't put my finger on it.