Written in the Stars by Ali Harris

as this.
    ‘Mmm,’ Adam murmurs as he flips me over onto my back. ‘If this is what marriage is going to be like, I’m glad I’ve signed up to it for the rest of my life . . .’
    ‘So am I,’ I smile. ‘So am I.’
    I roll up on one elbow and nuzzle Adam’s neck. His arms are stretched languorously over his head.
    ‘ Wow ,’ I breathe, looking around the room.
    Adam opens one eye, his lips curl up on one side and a line appears on his cheek like a comma, punctuating his smile. ‘That was pretty incredible, huh!’
    ‘I was talking about the room!’ He tries to grab me and I giggle as I bound out of bed and begin exploring our suite, opening doors and exclaiming as I take it all in. It isn’t a big, plush, soulless room in a staid, overpriced suite overlooking the Eiffel Tower as I expected Adam to choose. Instead we’re in a quirky boutique room that is a rainbow of vivid, wondrous colour. ‘Ooh look at this beautiful wallpaper! It feels like we’re in a garden!’ I can’t disguise my delight at the trees that shimmer with pink blossom, the green leaves and flashes of bright blue sky.
    The bathroom is small but perfectly formed with a roll-top bath and rose-pink and lime-green tiles. I gaze through the net curtains and out of the window that overlooks the little cobbled streets of Montmartre. ‘It’s perfect,’ I sigh. I peer out of the bathroom and spot Adam leaning over the bedside table to look at his phone. I put my hands on my hips and tap my foot but he doesn’t notice so instead I leap across the room and onto the bed and confiscate his phone.
    He smiles apologetically then prods me gently. ‘You thought I’d get it wrong, didn’t you? You were imagining some expensive faceless suite on the Champs-Elysées. A suite most women would probably kill to stay in, might I add . . .’ His prod turns into a tickle.
    ‘But I’m not most women,’ I reply through my giggles, wriggling away from him and then switching his phone off and putting it on my bedside table.
    ‘No, you are definitely not. And that’s exactly why I married you . . .’ Adam says as he rolls towards me. He always says the right thing. He has always accepted me for exactly who I am.
    Maybe now I’ve left Bea Bishop and my secret behind, I will too.
    Next morning, after a gorgeous breakfast, we’re excitedly exploring the glorious and glamorous Champs-Elysées. It’s all very impressive but I can’t help wishing I could kick off my pumps and go and lie in the grass.
    ‘We’re nearly here,’ Adam says now and I stop behind him, taking a moment to enjoy watching him studying the map. His head is bowed over it, blue-black hair flopping over his forehead. He glances up and grins at me as I take a photo. He looks so much younger and less stressed than usual. I glance at the sign behind him. We’re standing on the corner of a pretty, maple-tree-lined street called the avenue Franklin D. Roosevelt in the 8th arrondissement. Adam takes me by the shoulders and turns me around to face the ornate stone façade of the Grand Palais; the historic exhibition site that was built in the architectural style of the Beaux-Arts.
    ‘Inside is the science museum, the Palais de la Découverte,’ he informs me in a perfect French accent.
    ‘Great! Are we going in?’ My heart sinks a little at the thought. I can’t think of anything worse than looking around a fusty old museum right now.
    ‘We’re not going in there!’ he laughs. ‘Come on, this way.’ Adam grabs my hand and starts pulling me away. I hear his phone buzz in his pocket but he pulls it out and switches it off. The gesture sends a warm glow through me.
    ‘What’s that?’ I ask Adam, pointing at a large sculpture next to the museum. He’ll know, because he always does.
    ‘It’s of a guy called Alfred de Musset,’ Adam says.
    ‘Bless you,’ I say as if he’s just sneezed and he laughs again.
    ‘Why, what do you think of it?’ Adam asks. I panic a little. I hate