Francis-Bonnefoy-FC

“Mm.” Francis rolled over in the bed and opened his eyes to find her face only a few millimeters from his. And even in his half-asleep haze, his first thought was: si belle. With the noon light streaming through her lacy curtains, lighting up the room, she looked luminous—almost as though fireflies were dancing on her skin. Her pink lips were parted just slightly, letting out small puffs of air as she breathed slowly, still in a deep slumber. It was a Saturday afternoon, the perfect time to laze around and bask in the warm summer weather. They’d had plans today, he recalled, to have a picnic at the park, but he felt