We were married in June 2007 and Paris was the place I dared to request, holding my breath, after my impossibly handsome husband-to-be asked where I would like to spend our honeymoon.  I have always been a hopeless, incurable romantic.  Once I even took a test and scored a 100 on a scale for romance.  It did not particularly surprise me, as I had teethed myself on historical romance novels from at least the age of 10.  I could not have known how I would love Paris so.  We were also fortunate enough to have gone to Venice.  What could possibly be a more romantic honeymoon?!  But I would immediately discover my heart was with France.  On the occasion of our tenth wedding anniversary this past summer; our fourth trip to Paris together, I had the unmitigated pleasure of watching my beloved fall in love with her just as he would with another woman — only I held no jealousy.  To the contrary, I was thrilled and my heart was bursting with joy.  I had known the language but saw how eager my beloved was to know it as well.  I watched him view the city with the same dawning endearment which I had learned within myself a decade earlier.  This was not someone merely obliging another on a trip; this was the great love of my life whom I saw truly delighting in the city I love with every fiber of my soul.  It is something which cannnot adequately be put into words.  We both love history, but that could have been Rome.  Yet with each trip I watched him increasingly absorbing and learning the history and culture that was my greatest passion.  I adore Mexico, and Mariachi music remains my favorite … but Paris is a special lady which stands on her own.  This would mark the beginning of ten glorious days in the most romantic city in the world:  Paris — mon amour.