All the wrong places prologue

🌼ALL THE WRONG PLACES🌼
🌻PROLUGE🌻

Julianne Arabella Sanders walked the streets of the city
she loved the most—Paris.
Her family owned a glass factory here and her father
often came. Sometimes, he took them with him. And every
time she went, she would fall in love with the city over and
over again.
But this particular visit to Paris was special. This time
she was all by herself. She was free to be who she wanted to
be and do whatever she wanted.
She only had two weeks left of life as she knew it. She
could have an adventure, assume a different identity, make
mistakes, fall in love and make her dreams come true.
But once her time was up, she would no longer be free
to decide her own fate. She would pledge all her days, all
her tomorrows—her present and her future—to a man she
had only met twice, and didn’t really like. She would follow
her stupid family tradition of arranged marriages and be
miserable for all eternity.
She tried to fight her fate, but her father had always
been known to be a stubborn man. When he made up his
mind, that was it. No turning back, no reasoning with him,
no changing his mind. Not even her twin brother, Gian, heir
of their business empire and future head of the family could
do anything about it.
This vacation was the most that Gian could do for her.
He had a long discussion with their father and he managed
to bargain for her temporary freedom.
She remembered the day before she left for her
vacation. She received a strange and annoying phone call
from Patrick McAllister, her would-be fiancé.
“I don’t really agree with this adventure of yours,” he
told her.

“Well, unfortunately, you have no say in the matter,”
she replied dryly.
“Yet,” he emphasized.
‘This guy has some nerve,’ she thought angrily, but
she managed to keep her voice cool.
“Is there a real purpose for this call?”
“Well, yes,” he replied. “I called to say that while
you’re on this little adventure of yours, you must mind your
actions.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“I mean, you always have to remember that you will
soon be a McAllister. Whatever you do in this little trip of
yours may catch up with you in the future. And whatever
happens to you affects me and my name. Whatever affects
my name, affects my family. I think you know where I’m
going with this.”
“I think I do. Luckily, I’m still my own person. And I will
do whatever I want. Because as far as I know, I’m still
Julianne Sanders. Not Julianne McAllister.”
“Whatever. Just make sure that you do not drag my
name through the mud if you screw up. Or better yet, think
about your family name too. I order you to use a different
name, assume a different identity. As any other person
you’re free to do whatever you want. As Julianne Sanders
and soon to be Julianne McAllister, you know the society has
rules, darling. Be mindful of who you are and who you are
about to marry. I hope I’m making myself clear.”
“Well, you don’t…”
He hung up before she could even finish that sentence.

“What a despicable creature!” She fumed.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine how the rest of
her life was going to be, married to that man. But no matter
how much she hated that Patrick McAllister was already dictating her life, she still did as he asked. When she
travelled, she used a different name.
Arabella Adams.
In a way, using a different name and assuming a
different identity had an appeal to it. For the next three
months, she could be whoever she wanted to be. She was
truly free.
But sadly, all good things must come to an end. She
was now at the end of her journey and she intended to
make the most of the last two weeks of her freedom.
She walked the streets of Paris without a particular
destination in mind. She smiled at the people who walked
past, saying ‘Bon jour,’ which was one of the only ten French
phrases she knew. People must think she was overly
friendly, or a little bit cuckoo, but she didn’t care.
She passed by a small shop that sold trinkets and
souvenirs.
“Bon jour,” she greeted the lady in the counter, who
looked up at her from head to feet, as if judging if she was a
potential shoplifter.
The cashier muttered something in French, which was
too fast for her to understand.
“Um, I’m just going to look around,” she mumbled.
Her eyes drifted to the shelf with mouth-blown glass
perfume bottles. They were handmade, with excellent
craftsmansh¡p.
“Holy cow!” she breathed in excitement.
She had been collecting handmade glass perfume
bottles since she was in high school. She was so fascinated
by the intricacies of their design, particularly those with
wirings and colorful stones. During her trip, she had
collected at least two from each city she went to. Someday,
each one would remind her of her adventure.
She found porcelain glass bottles, as well as beaded
ones. There were antiques as well. She gathered eight
bottles with the best designs. One was a blue bottle with intricate silver wirings and crystals shaped to form a
crucifix. It looked ancient and special and she knew exactly
where to put it on her collection shelf.
When she went to the counter, the lady started
speaking to her in French.
“What?”
The lady took the bottle with the crucifix design and set it aside.

“Excuse me, I want that,” Julianne protested.
The lady started muttering something. She raised her
voice and she looked aggravated, but Julianne could not
understand a word coming out of her mouth.
“I’m sorry. I. Don’t. Understand. What. You. Mean,”
Julianne said as slowly as possible. “Please. Speak. English.”
The lady snapped at her, or it seemed like she did.
Her expression was so cross, she looked like she would call
the police on her any moment.
“Hey, I just want to buy those. I cannot understand
you.”
The lady was waving her hand in front of her now.
Julianne was getting frustrated. She wanted to walk out of
the shop now, but that particular glass bottle seemed so
much worth the trouble.
Just then, another customer stood beside her and
started speaking to the lady in French. He sounded like he
was intervening for her.
They discussed for a few minutes, and finally, the lady
started to calmed down. She packed the glass bottles and
the crucifix one separately. She turned to Julianne and spoke
in French. Julianne raised a brow.
“One hundred twenty dollars,” the guy told her in
English.
Julianne quickly handed her the bills. The lady raised a
brow at the guy beside her. He said something to her in
French before she finally handed the bags over to Julianne.
Julianne turned to the stranger beside her. She didn’t
know what he and the cashier talked about and why she
seemed aggravated, but she was thankful for the help she
got.
“Thank. You. I. Don’t. Know. What. Would. Have.
Happened. If. You. Didn’t. Intervene.” She didn’t know how
much English this guy knew, but she needed to thank him.
He stared at her as if she was out of her mind. He
didn’t speak at first and Julianne was afraid that his English
was limited to numbers and a few phrases.
Then suddenly, he laughed and said, “No worries. My
English is just fine, thank you very much.” He spoke English
quite fluently and Julianne noticed that his French accent
was not as heavy as it was when he first spoke to her. In
fact, he sounded like he spoke English frequently.
“Oh my God, thank you so much,” Julianne breathed
in relief. “I don’t know what happened back there, but I’m
glad you assisted me. I understood zero from what she said,
and I’m pretty sure she felt the same about me.”
“You’re welcome. She doesn’t speak English at all.”
“Why did she seem angry?”
“Well, that bottle that you got was not supposed to be
there. I think it’s somewhat rare… somewhat old.”
“How… how old?”
The guy shrugged. “Really old. Anyway, I told her that
if it wasn’t for sale then she should not have placed it there.
In the end, she decided to let it go.”
“It must be more expensive than the other bottles.
How much was it?”
The guy shrugged. “I’m sure your payment pretty
much covered it.”
“Oh, are you sure? I can give her more money for it.”
The guy shook his head. “She agreed already, that
should be enough.”
“Oh, thanks.” She turned to the lady in the counter.

“Merci beaucoup.”
But the lady raised her brow and muttered something
in French again and then pointed her fingers at the guy
beside her.
“What did she say?”
“Ah, she said… you should ah, thank me for putting up
a good argument.” The guy turned to the cashier and said
something to her. Then to Julianne’s surprise he pulled her
by the elbow gently and led her to the exit. “Come, before
she changes her mind.”
Outside the shop, Julianne turned to the guy once
again and thanked him for intervening. Only then was she
able to get a good look at him and realized how gorgeous he
was.
Dark copper brown hair and striking blue green eyes,
which was pretty rare. He was more than a foot taller than
her, maybe a few inches taller than her twin brother. He had
a slight cleft on his chin and when he talked, dimples on
both sides of his l-ips appeared.
It took Julianne a while to realize that he was staring
at her too, probably doing the same thing she was doing to
him—studying his features.
She shook herself back to reality before she drooled.
“Um… again, thank you. It was really nice of you to help.”
“Pleasure was all mine,” he said, giving her a crooked
smile.
“Okay, I’ll go. Thanks again.” She gave him one last
smile before she turned around and walked away.
He didn’t say anything more. And Julianne thought it
would be the last she’d see of him.
She spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the
city. Towards the evening, she passed by Pont des Arts, and
took a selfie along the padlocks. She spent some time
reading out some names and the hopeless rom-ntic in her
couldn’t help wondering that if her life had been different, if
she had not been Julianne Sanders, then maybe someday,she could be here, writing her name on one of these
padlocks with the man she’s hopelessly in love with.
“Are you looking for your name?” Somebody behind
her asked.
She turned away from the locks and towards the
source of the voice. She found herself face to face with the
guy she had met earlier at the souvenir shop.
“Oh, hi,” she greeted him with a shy smile.
He motioned towards the locks. “Were you looking for
yours?”
She shook her head. “Oh no, no. I haven’t done this
before. But I’m happy for those who have. What about you?
How many of these have you placed in here?”
He smiled at her. “Nah. Nothing.”
“You sound like you don’t believe this could
immortalize a love story?”
He shrugged. “I don’t believe that love could be
immortal at all.”
“Wow. That’s quite cynical and… very honest of you,”
she said. “Most guys would do anything to give the
impression that they’re in for happily ever afters.”
“Well, I don’t believe in happily ever afters. Or haven’t
met somebody who would change my opinion about it. Have
you?”
She shook her head. “No. And I’m afraid I don’t have
the luxury to do that.”

“Why?”
She shook her head slightly and looked at the
padlocks again. “I believe in seizing the day and making the
most out of the present, rather than making promises for
the future.”
He stared at her for a moment. Then he said, “That’s
quite honest of you. Most girls would give the impression
that they’re looking for a Prince Charming and they expect a
ring on their fingers after the tenth date.”
She laughed. “Most girls. But maybe I don’t have ten
dates to give away.”
It was true. She said that, hoping he didn’t detect the
sadness in her voice.
“Well, maybe I’d be happy with just one,” he said. His
voice was sober and when she looked up him, she realized
that he was seriously waiting for her answer.
“You don’t even know my name,” she said.
“Maybe I haven’t earned it yet,” he countered.
“Indeed, you haven’t.”
“Perhaps after our first date, I would.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “If fate would allow us to have a
first date in the first place.”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“Maybe it’s time you do.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m
the girl sent to change your mind about it.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Tomorrow,” she said, her heart pounding wildly in her
ribcage. “At sunset, I will be sitting in a coffee shop reading
a book, waiting for my date to arrive. Assuming, fate will
allow us to have that date.”
“What do you mean?”
“I won’t tell you exactly what time or where. But I will
be in a coffee shop. And if fate agrees with us, you will be in
that coffee shop too.”
“There must be about a hundred coffee shops in
Paris,” he protested.
“Yes. A hundred chances to get it wrong. And only one
chance to get it right,” she smiled at him. “If of all the wrong
places you could be, you end up in the same place I am…
then that’s Fate smiling down upon you. And maybe you’ll
start believing.”
With that, she gave him one last smile and turned
away to leave.