Chapter 2 Micheal Lambert

Michael Lambart stumbled along the path by the Seine River, inebriated and lost in his thoughts. With a lowered head, he struggled to push aside his black tawny curls that obstructed his view. Frustrated, he fumbled with his shirt, searching for a cigarette, only to realize he had already smoked his last one a few minutes ago.

The night had been an absolute disaster for him. Exiting the cathedral after his grandfather's funeral, he found the entire affair tedious, excessively long, and overwhelmingly melancholic. Although he hadn't been particularly close to his grandfather, who had raised him, the significance of their relationship meant very little to him. What vexed him most was the unexpected turn of events during the post-funeral meeting with his lawyer to discuss the will.

"Tristan," he muttered quietly, unable to shake off their conversation from his mind.

"All financial assets will be withheld until the legal requirement of marriage has been fulfilled."

"Sorry, what did you say? He interrupted me?"

"Yes, until you 'settle down and marry'-those were his exact words. I suppose he thought it would be a maturing experience for you to bid farewell to bachelorhood. Clearly, you don't share the same sentiment."

"He's haunting me...even in death."

"Ah, haha. It's quite unfortunate."

"I'm glad you agree. Well then, I suppose I must find a wife, eh?"

"Seems so. Good luck."

"Ha...good luck."

Afterward, Michael found himself wandering off to get another drink. No amount of threats or restrictions on his trust funds could have led him to this moment. He hadn't expected his grandfather to sever all his financial freedoms. Yes, he indulged in street racing, vacations, women, and alcohol excessively, but that was his way of living life to the fullest. There was only one life, and he had no intention of squandering it. Regardless, he had worked diligently to reach this point, only to watch his hard-earned achievements slip away.

His grandfather had always lectured him about the importance of "pride and dignity" through hard work and knowledge, which he found ridiculous. He was French, after all, brimming with pride. And knowledge? He held a PhD in Philosophy with a minor in chemical engineering!

Yet the old man, that wretched bastard, had never been pleased or proud of him. Never! So, what was the point? There was none! Even after his death, his grandfather found a way to control his life. Find a wife, settle down, have children-always the same unappealing nonsense! He had no desire for a wife, and he doubted he ever would. He preferred lovers, various enchanting partners whose mysteries he would unravel until the magic faded away. He wasn't the type to "settle down."

Unlike most men, he never committed to relationships or bestowed titles upon his lovers. He never gave them false hope for a future together. He was a straightforward man with simple tastes. If he found a woman appealing, he would seduce her, bluntly asking if she desired to make passionate love with him. If the answer was yes, she would be captivated, and inhibitions would be shed in no time.

Marriage was out of the question. It would drain all the excitement out of life. Love, he doubted he would ever experience it. Passion, yes-endless, intoxicating passion-but not love. Perhaps his grandfather had even stripped him of that wondrous, illuminating feeling.

In his intoxicated state, Michael was thoroughly drunk, his senses dulled and his movements unsteady. As he stumbled along the walkway beside the Seine River, he found himself singing a lively French song, his slurred words melding with the night air. The melody escaped his lips, carried by the alcohol-laden breath that filled the space around him.

The quality of what he consumed was questionable at best, a cheap and potent concoction that burned its way down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. It was a far cry from the refined spirits he had once indulged in. But in his current state of despair, he cared little for the subtleties of taste and sophistication. Any liquid that could temporarily drown his sorrows sufficed, regardless of its origins or composition.

As he swayed and stumbled, his voice wavered in pitch, a mixture of incoherent babbling and occasional bursts of laughter. His once-clear enunciation was now distorted by the alcohol, turning the French lyrics into a garbled mess. Yet, he continued to sing, his voice carrying the weight of his disillusionment and heartache, blending with the sounds of the city's nightlife.

With each passing verse, his song grew louder, a desperate attempt to drown out the thoughts that haunted his mind. The rhythm of the song matched the rhythm of his unsteady steps, a discordant symphony of drunkenness. And as he sang, his voice echoed through the empty streets, a poignant testament to his state of intoxication and the emotional turmoil that consumed him., his hands nestled in his dress pants pockets, he suddenly heard a disconcerting mix of sniffles and sobs up ahead. Suppressing a scowl at the disturbing noise, he lifted his gaze to investigate the source.

He froze.

His heart raced in his chest while his knees buckled, causing him to stumble clumsily forward.

"Mon Dieu..." he whispered, his eyes widening as an overwhelming love consumed him, striking his heart with unparalleled intensity. In that moment, he couldn't recall anything about his own life prior to that encounter.

What had just occurred?

Who was she? He felt a sense of familiarity, but from where? Why was she sobbing uncontrollably, clad in a wedding dress? And most importantly, why was she standing precariously on the edge of the stone railing overlooking the Seine below?

Michael's intoxicated mind raced through these bewildering questions as he stood transfixed, gazing at her as if she were the very gateway to Heaven. Her beautiful brown upturned hair resembled rich mahogany, her petite and shapely body promised exquisite pleasure, and her soul-crushing eyes captivated him even in the dim night illuminated by streetlights. Everything about her sent bolts of lightning through his heart and lower regions.

Suddenly, he found himself questioning everything he thought he knew about himself and what he desired in life.

He had never believed in love at first sight, but there he was, smitten and awestruck by a mysterious woman perched on the ledge above the Seine. No other woman mattered in that moment. Forget the others! He wanted her. He loved her. He would willingly sacrifice his life for hers... hold on..