Her Doctor's Christmas Proposal

by Louisa George

  ‘And that’s why you offered to work?’

  She nodded. Her mouth about to crumple. ‘Yep. I always work this time of year.’

  ‘Oh, God, Isabel.’ He pulled her close again, trying to protect her from something he couldn’t stop. ‘You spend every Christmas thinking about him? You must hate it.’

  She let go of the railing and curled into his arms, her head shaking against his chest. ‘No. Because it means I can think about him more. But…well, yes. I hate it.’

  His chest constricted. She’d carried this for too long on her own. ‘Okay. Let’s do this.’

  She nodded. Hauled in another breath; this one was stuttered as if her lungs were blocked. ‘Okay. I’m ready.’

  He lifted his fist to attach the lock to the tiny speck of space they’d found amongst the other locks bearing the love of thousands of people from around the world. All that love right here in this one place, all those promises, all that uplifting belief—he didn’t know if he had it in him, but he’d damned well try.

  But her hand closed over his, making him stop. ‘Wait, Sean, look, there’s a sign there saying the people of Paris don’t want us to do this. It’s damaging the bridge and the water, apparently. There’s a picture of the railings collapsing under too much weight, of fish being poisoned by the toxins from the metal.’

  Below them a pleasure boat chugged along, splaying dark water from either side, a commentary in French coming from speakers. When it had gone and the water smoothed out a little Sean peered as close as he could. There were no signs of any keys. No sign of damage. But he knew that you couldn’t always see the damage. That nature had a habit of keeping that kind of thing locked deep, the harm seeping out slowly and steadily over the years, poisoning everything. Like his life. Like hers.

  Not any more.

  Rapidly blinking, she gave him a brave smile. ‘I don’t want to add to any more destruction. Can we do something else?’

  He gazed down at the lock, at the names written there, and the sharp pain in his chest intensified. ‘It’s just a symbol, that’s all.’

  ‘Exactly. So… I suppose we should…just go.’ She seemed deflated.

  ‘Okay. I have an idea. Stay here.’ He dashed back to the gap-toothed man and bought another lock—a different one with a different set of keys. Then he walked back to where she was shivering. After writing the names in the same configuration he gave her the keys to his lock. ‘Take these. Now, give me the keys to your lock.’

  He wrapped her fist tight around his keys. ‘You have the keys to my lock—I can never open it without you. Keep them safe. These are a symbol of what we had. Who we had. What we lost. All that love, Isabel. It was there, it was ours. We can’t deny it or forget it, but we can honour it. And him. I want to honour him. Joshua.’

  Still no tears, but her bottom lip quivered. How she held it all in was beyond him—not once had he seen her truly cry. As if it was some kind of weakness, he presumed, she wouldn’t let herself break down. She took the keys and put them on a chain round her neck. ‘Here. Take these keys, Sean. These are the keys to my lock. These are a symbol of what we shared. Of Joshua. Take them and keep them safe.’

  ‘Always.’ He fixed them to his key ring and put them in his inside top coat pocket.

  ‘Next to your heart.’ She pressed her palm against the pocket and he took the moment to shield her tight from the wind. From the snow that had continued to fall. From the past.

  Now he had the keys to her lock, and, despite what he’d promised himself over the years, she had the keys to his heart again.

  But then, the simple shocking truth was she’d always had them, hadn’t she?

  *

  ‘Okay. No more of this. We have to get moving before we freeze our socks off.’ He straightened up and gave her the first smile she’d seen from him in hours. It was gentle and honest and trusting. And with such intention Isabel watched Sean cast away the pain and the fear and the past. It was the right thing to do and yet somehow she couldn’t quite let it all go. Almost all…but there was still a part of her, a tiny corner of her heart that clung to that long-ago night as if determined not to forget.

  She took another huge breath and blew it out. Like cigarette smoke it plumed in the air, then was gone. The lump in her throat still lodged there though, but with every smile of Sean’s it lessened just a little bit more.

  ‘Okay.’ He was right; it was time to move on. She took his hand and walked the length of the bridge, and onto the other side of the river, the lights from the old sandstone buildings reflected in the dark water. Paris. ‘Yes. No more of this…we’re in Paris for some fun and extracurriculars. Can I say, I particularly like the extracurriculars.’

  His eyes glittered. ‘Me too. Phil from Hastings does have a point. As did Jacob—this entente cordiale is good for the soul.’ The hurt had gone; now all she could see as she looked at him was light and fun and teasing. His hand crept close to her bottom. ‘I intend to fully indulge myself in beaucoup d’entente cordiale.’

  ‘I am fully aware of your intentions, Dr Anderson. That poor lift. Those poor people waiting on the ground floor.’ She grinned, remembering exactly why the lift had been halted. Dangerous. Exciting. Sex. ‘So where to now, maestro?’

  ‘The Latin Quarter,’ Sean told her, filled with resolve. ‘Full of quirky shops, decent cafés. There’s a second-hand English bookshop along here you might like, too. Or we could stop and get your portrait done. There will be lots of opportunity between here and the Louvre.’

  Never. ‘My God, you’re going full-out tourist.’

  ‘I thought you might like a memento of your visit.’

  She didn’t need one. She had every memory of this day engraved on her heart, and it was wide open for more. ‘Not if it means staring at my ugly mug for ever more.’

  At her frown he grinned. ‘Okay, okay, no portrait. So it takes us about half an hour to walk to the Louvre. Of course, that depends on how many chocolats chauds you have between here and there. Or there’s always cognac to chase away the chill. Chocolate and cognac, how’s that for a combination?’

  ‘Now you’re talking.’

  The afternoon was, indeed, filled with chocolate and cognac and a little red wine and a lot of kissing and many, many shops. By the time they took another taxi and did the rounds of the sparkling Christmas village at the Champs-Élysées Isabel’s cheeks were pink, her legs tired and her arms filled with Christmas gifts, decorations and festive food. What a day, filled with extremes, some heart-wrenching lows and adrenalin-pumping highs. Some very, very highs.

  ‘Okay, smile.’ Sean snapped a selfie of them with nothing but dark sky and stars around them. It wasn’t hard to smile; they were sitting at the top of a huge Ferris wheel—the central cog lit up like a shining Christmas star, or snowflake, Isabel hadn’t quite decided—bright white in an inky-black night. Below them the streets of Paris stretched out in all directions, long straight roads of lights, a thin layer of snow on the rooftops as if someone had dusted the city with icing sugar. The tinny sound of a mechanical organ played the tune of ‘O’ Come All Ye Faithful’ somewhere below them. And even though Isabel knew her nose was probably running she couldn’t feel it because she was so very, very cold, and she didn’t rightly care. She was high above the most beautiful city she’d ever visited, with a gorgeous sexy man at her side. For the first time in a long time she felt light and free and she had a sudden urge to scream out her joy, to release all the emotion knotted in her chest.

  But she didn’t, of course.

  ‘That down there is the Tuileries Garden.’ Sean pointed to the left, his voice raised because the breeze up here was quite strong…like being jabbed with tiny icicles down underneath her collar, on the tips of her ears, onto her cheeks. ‘When I was here before we brought a picnic of baguette and cheese and some pretty rough red wine and ate down there. We had a packet of playing cards and spent hours playing blackjack and watching the world go by. Pretty cool. Mind you, it was Ju
ly, so the temperature was a little different.’

  She realised, then, that he hadn’t talked much about those long intervening years. The focus of their conversations recently had been so much on their dark shared past and the now, but not on his life. The wheel jerked downwards and she was able to breathe a bit more evenly as the wind dipped. ‘Where did you stay when you were here?’

  ‘In a pretty scuddy backpackers’ hostel in the fifth arrondissement. We couldn’t afford much else. We did the cut-down tour of Paris, actually of Europe—mainly exploring cities on foot and on a very strict budget—so we never managed to go in to any of the tourist attractions, we just looked at them from the outside. Basic doesn’t describe it. We spent a lot of time sleeping rough at train stations and during train journeys, to save money…which we spent, mostly, on beer.’

  ‘I bet it was fun, though.’ Intriguing. Carefree. A stab of envy ripped through her gut. ‘Daddy always insisted on luxury travel so I’ve never done anything like that.’ This trip had been safeguarded by a job—but now she felt as if she wanted to spread her wings a little, to live a little bit more, to move away from that very safe comfort zone she’d erected alongside the emotional walls. She wanted to breathe deeply, to fill her lungs with exotic air.

  And then there was the question that had been forming on her lips for the last couple of minutes. ‘We?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yeah. I travelled around with a friend.’

  ‘Girl?’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Er…romantic friend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was silly to be jealous, and she wasn’t really; after all she’d had her share of liaisons. None of them serious, she’d made sure of it…but she’d dabbled. And she couldn’t help wanting to learn a little more about Sean’s past. How much dabbling had he done? ‘What happened to her?’ To your relationship. Your heart.

  ‘She went back to Brisbane. She’s a GP now up on the Sunshine Coast.’

  ‘Was it serious?’

  He turned to look fully at her. ‘Whoa, so many questions, Isabel. We broke up, a long time ago. So no, clearly it wasn’t serious.’

  ‘What happened?’

  He looked away then, out over Paris, and she wanted so much to ask him again. What happened to her? To you? But then he turned back. ‘Apparently I don’t trust enough. Or commit…or something.’

  ‘Because of me, what I did to you?’ She waved that thought away. Too self-absorbed to think she’d be the reason his relationship had broken up. ‘No, forget I said that, way too silly. I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘You really want to know?’ His eyes blazed. ‘Okay. Stacey—my ex—reckoned there was a part of me that was always looking backwards, comparing everyone to you. All that first love angst…yada-yada…’

  ‘Oh. Wow. Really?’

  His hand was on her arm now, which he squeezed, almost playfully. ‘Of course, that’s a whole lot of crock, so don’t get any ideas of grandeur. Things just didn’t work out. Now, after the day we’ve had, after what we’ve just done on the bridge, on a night like this—with the snow and the lights and the laughter everywhere—we are not going to talk about my old doomed relationships.’ He shook his head and laughed, but Isabel got the feeling that there was a lot of truth in what he’d said and he was making light of it. That he had been affected by what had happened. Had she really ruined him for any other woman? ‘Unless you want me to ask about your past lovers too? A pity fest?’

  He had a point. Even though he was making a joke, what they’d shared all those years ago had been very real and raw and if she was honest she had been searching for that connectedness and never found it since. ‘No, you really do not need to hear about my shabby love life.’

  ‘Good.’ The Ferris-wheel attendant opened the gate and let them out. Once on terra firma Sean shivered and stamped his feet. ‘Okay, I’m hungry. You want to find something to eat?’

  Isabel indicated the food in her brown paper sacks. ‘We could have a picnic?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s probably just about hit zero degrees Celsius. There’s no way I’m having a picnic out here. The food will likely freeze, if we don’t first.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about outside, you idiot. I was talking about in my room. It’s warm and dry and there’s wine in the cupboard, Cognac in my bag.’

  He took hold of the bags in one hand and wrapped his other round her waist. ‘I like your thinking. Mine has a view of the Eiffel Tower. From the main room. Straight across.’

  ‘Yours it is, then. But, Sean…’ She rose on her tiptoes.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t think for a minute that I’m going to pretend that all those years haven’t gone by. I want to know what you did. I want to know what you like. I want to know who you are now and what shaped you. I want to know everything.’ Instead of creating a reality in her head that clearly wasn’t true.

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Everything.’

  His grip on her waist tightened as he crushed her against him. She could feel his heat and his strength and she wanted to feel more of it. Preferably naked. His voice was rough with desire. ‘I can tell you what I like if that helps? Actually…I can show you.’

  If he meant what she thought he meant, they needed a taxi, and quick. ‘That works for me.’

  Within half an hour they were in Sean’s room. The view was indeed breathtaking, but she’d come to realise that every view of Paris took her breath away—it was that kind of place: stunning buildings, amazing artworks, sophisticated people. Was any of it rubbing off on her? Was she becoming that nonchalant Frenchwoman she’d tried to be? She sorely doubted it. But at least some of who she’d been had been stripped away a little. She was starting to feel new, different.

  He’d found plates and knives in a drawer, opened a bottle of Bordeaux and sat in the middle of the bed with food on a blanket and two glasses in his hand. And with far too many clothes on.

  Just the wall lights were lit and the way they highlighted the dark curls of his hair and the ridges and shadows of his face made her want to lean in and kiss him. To run her fingers over his face, to explore the new terrain of his features. Breath left her lungs when he raised his head and his dark gaze locked with hers, his intentions very clear now. There was stark hunger in his eyes; desire, thick and tangible, filled the heavy air around them. The strength of her need shocked her. It took all of her resolve not to undress him right there. But this was a day she wanted to remember as much for the loving as the letting go—she wanted to take her time getting to know him properly.

  ‘What are you waiting for, Isabel? You know, I still can’t get used to calling you that. You’ll be my Izzy for ever.’

  Those words gave her a shiver of delight because, more than anything, she wanted to be his Izzy today.

  As he lifted his glass to his lips she saw a bare patch of skin on his forearm, a linear scar about three inches long. ‘Come sit down. I have wine.’

  ‘You have a scar there. What’s that about?’

  ‘This?’ He looked down at the place she was pointing to. ‘Geez, I can’t even remember. Maybe a sports thing? Surfing, maybe? Yeah, probably surfing. I took a bad dunking down at Portsea, which ripped a layer of skin off. Years ago now.’

  ‘You used to love surfing. Sometimes I thought there was no contest—you’d choose that board over me any day.’

  ‘Nah…it was just a teenage obsession. I haven’t done it for a while. Not since…’ He ran his hand through his hair as he stared at the scar. ‘Well, probably not since I did this.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’ll kiss it better anyway, seeing as I missed my chance when it happened.’ When her lips made contact with his skin she tasted soap and imagined the salt and sunshine taste of the beach. She imagined him wet and bedraggled. Hot and languid from exercise. At the touch of her tongue on such a tender place he groaned. She smiled and pulled his thick sweater over his head, revealing a navy-blue body-hugging T-shirt. Her fin
gers trailed down to his hand, where she slid her fingers in between his. ‘Any more injuries that need some care and attention from a very dedicated doctor?’

  ‘Hmm… I like where you’re going with his.’ He levered himself up against the headboard. ‘When I was nineteen I was playing Aussie rules footie and broke my wrist.’

  ‘Poor you.’ She picked up his left arm and kissed his wrist.

  ‘It was the other one.’

  ‘Oops.’

  ‘Aha.’ He slid his hand to the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss; he tasted of wine and promise, and hot lust coiled through her gut. Her heart was beating hard and fast and the shaking had melded into confidence and daring. His eyes still didn’t leave hers. ‘When I was twenty-two I broke two left ribs in a motorbike crash.’

  ‘Someone else’s bike? No?’ She guessed she must have looked pretty prim, with her mouth wide open at his admission, so she tried to look as if his having a death wish was the most acceptable thing in the world. ‘You had a motorbike?’

  ‘When I lived in Sydney, it was a lot cheaper to get around. I loved that motorbike.’ His hands pressed under her top, around her waist—bare skin on skin making her shiver with more need—pulling her closer. ‘Still do.’

  ‘You have it here? No, surely not.’ She crawled across him to straddle his lap; the warmth of his skin stoked her soul, spanning out from her core to her legs, arms, fingers. ‘In Cambridge? How do I not know this?’

  ‘Clearly I have a different one in Cambridge, but my old Triumph is waiting for me in Melbourne, at my parents’ house.’ He cupped her bottom and positioned her over his hardness. ‘And why would you know? This is the first time we’ve really talked about anything in between the last end and the new beginning.’

  Getting to know him all over again was very illuminating. Was there nothing about him that didn’t excite her? ‘Very dangerous. Very edgy…although most people have bicycles in Cambridge. I’d like to see you ride it. In fact, I’d very much like to see you in leathers.’