There are two kinds of Paris elopements.
There is the kind that fits the postcard — Eiffel-framed kiss, white linen, every cliché brought back from the dead because they are clichés for a reason. There is also the other kind, which makes the postcard accidentally on its way somewhere else.
The day we made these pictures was the second kind. A walk through the seventh. Wisteria coming over the railing of the Seine. A reflection in a puddle that nobody planned. The Tower, when it appeared, almost behaved like the supporting actor it never gets to be in Paris.
A small ceremony. No witnesses but a city. A wedding day on a Tuesday.
If you are reading this and wondering whether to elope to Paris — there is no version of that question where the answer is no.
— Stephanie
