“I need you,” she whispered, arching her hips and offering her body to me. “Please.”
I’d never been very good at saying no to her, so I gave her what she wanted, what we needed, until our bodies joined and she was crying out my name.
###
I got the investment banking job. And news of Fleur’s miscarriage didn’t come out. Natasha had her hands full with the investigation after Fleur turned over all of her proof to the administration, so I figured she didn’t want to press her luck. No one wanted to get expelled with a semester to go until graduation.
Fleur didn’t seem to care.
We both focused on exams, cramming in the library. We presented our fashion app in Project Finance and received an A. Fleur joked that it was the first A she’d ever received in school.
We’d get our final grades in the rest of our classes next semester, but she was no longer worried about graduating and had even managed to line up an interview in January for an internship.
At the end of the semester, I took her to St. Pancras to board the Eurostar to Paris. I was headed back to Chicago for Christmas break and Fleur was going home, too. I’d been worried about her spending the holidays by herself, but Samir and Maggie decided to go to Paris, as well, so at least she would have them to keep her company. They were taking a later train after Samir finished his exams at SOAS.
Fleur held my hand at the station, her other arm wrapped around my waist while we waited for her train. It was only a month, and still it felt like four weeks too long.
“I’m going to miss you.”
She kissed me, cuddling closer. “Me, too.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Promise. I have my first therapy appointment set up for Monday.”
“Okay. You know if you need to talk while you’re there, I’m just a phone call away. We can Skype. And e-mail. And chat.”
She grinned. “We’ll talk everyday. And I promise I’ll be okay. Just enjoy being home and don’t worry about me.”
Not likely, but I gave her what she wanted.
“Okay.”
An announcement came over the loudspeakers calling for first class to start boarding. My girl traveled in style.
“That’s you.”
I looped my arms around her waist, leaning down to capture her mouth. She threw her arms around my neck, putting everything she had into the kiss. Her mouth opened, her tongue teasing mine, and then the kiss exploded.
It wasn’t the kind of kiss you’d typically have in public, but Fleur wasn’t typical. She kissed like she did everything else—exactly the way she wanted it, not giving a shit if anyone saw.
We broke apart when the announcer came on the loudspeaker again.
I groaned. “You can’t kiss me like that and then go away for a month.”
She gave me an arch look and a knowing smile. “Just making sure no American girl stands a chance.”
I cracked up, pulling her back into my arms. “Never.”
I couldn’t resist the opportunity to kiss her again, making her mouth mine just like she’d done to me.
She leaned back, breathless, staring up at me with wide eyes.
“Just making sure you stay away from guys named Pierre or Jacques,” I teased.
She grinned. “I love you.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand, pulling it to my heart. “I love you, too.”
I let her go, standing on the platform, watching as she did “the walk,” the one that had driven me crazy for years. Her stride lengthened, her mile-long legs eating up the pavement. Her hips swayed, her long brown hair flipping over her shoulders in a tumble of curls and silk. She walked like she knew everyone in the train station’s eyes were on her, wanting her, wishing they had her. And then she turned, and our gazes connected across the platform, and I knew . . .
She did the walk for me.
I watched my dream girl walk away, carrying my heart with me, a smile on my face.
Because this time I knew she’d be back. And she was mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Fleur
“How are you feeling today?”
I shifted on the couch, tearing my attention away from the window and the snow falling on the ground, to the elderly woman sitting at the desk across from me.
I’d been home for three weeks now, and this was my sixth therapy appointment. In the beginning it had been awkward, but I was surprised at how easy it had become to talk to her. She was quiet for the most part, occasionally asking me questions about how I was doing. She let me lead the conversations, and little by little, I’d started opening up to her.
“I’m doing pretty well. It gets a bit easier each day. The pain is always there; I think I’ll always feel it, always think about the baby, but now I feel like I can live with it whereas before I felt like it was killing me.”
She nodded. “You’re dealing with it. And the guilt?”
I didn’t know how to explain it, and I knew it probably sounded crazy, but I’d lived with the pain for so long, through all of my stupid decisions, that I think it had become a part of me. And on some level I’d thought I deserved what happened. That my parents were right.
That was the hardest part: learning to forgive myself.
Or more importantly, perhaps, learning that there was nothing to forgive.
“I understand now. Maybe I held on to it for so long because it was all I had. But I don’t want to be that girl anymore. I don’t want to screw up the good things I have in my life.”
My friends. Max. My future.
“I’m taking it a day at a time, but I feel better. I feel like I can breathe.”
She smiled. “Good. The holidays can be difficult. Do you have plans with your family?”
“I’m spending Christmas with my cousin and his girlfriend—my best friends.”
“Wonderful. And your parents?”
We’d already talked about how I wasn’t close to them, so I knew she wouldn’t be surprised by my answer.
“They decided to go to St. Barts. I didn’t feel like it, so I stayed behind.”
“With the holidays, this will be our last formal session before you go back to London, but I want you to know that I’m happy to counsel you over the phone if you’d like. Or if you’d prefer, I can help find someone for you to speak with in London.”
“Thank you. Maybe we could try the phone consultations and see how that goes?”
She smiled. “I think that would be an excellent plan.”
I nodded.
In the beginning, I’d been really skeptical about how this would work, but it was helping. The pain was still there, but she’d taught me how to handle it better. I no longer felt like my emotions were out of control, but instead like I had a chance at learning how to deal with this.
I felt hope.
“Do you feel ready to go back to London? You must be excited to get back to your friends and your young man.”
God, I missed Max. I thought about him constantly, even though we talked every day. Things would happen and I’d find myself wanting to tell him. Sometimes it would be the middle of the night with the time difference, and I’d have to wait to get a chance to talk to him. He was the best part of my day.
“I am.”
We talked for a bit longer about things I could do when I started to feel depressed or stressed. Coping mechanisms.
She glanced up at the clock. “Well, I’m afraid our session is almost over.”
I nodded. “Thank you so much for everything.”
“It was my pleasure, Fleur. Really. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come. You’re a very strong young woman, and you’ve made so much progress in the short time we’ve worked together.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled at me. “And I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.”
“You too.”
###
I curled up in bed, flipping through the TV channels looking fo
r something to watch.
It was Christmas Eve and every station seemed to be playing a holiday movie. I wasn’t a holiday person. Even when I was younger, the holidays hadn’t been great. My parents were rarely in the same place, so I could probably count on one hand the number of Christmases we’d spent together.
I was used to being on my own. Last year I’d gotten drunk and spent all day reading fashion magazines, judging celebrity outfit choices. This year Maggie had thrown herself into planning a traditional Christmas for Samir and me. I think she was a little horrified at our festive indifference.
Tonight they’d gone out to listen to carolers, and I’d put my foot down. The fact that she’d forced Samir and the image of him listening to a bunch of carolers was too bizarre for words.
I’d gone along with the giant tree in the entryway and agreed to help her cook. I’d gone shopping—not exactly a hardship—and wrapped gifts, and we were all going to church at Notre Dame tomorrow. But no carolers. I had to draw the line somewhere.
My phone went off and I grabbed it, expecting a text from Max.
Maggie’s name flashed instead.
We’re going out for crepes. Come join us.
I groaned. It was snowing outside, not heavily, but still. Crepes were good, but I wasn’t sure they were worth ruining my hair over.
No.
My phone pinged a minute later.
Yes.
God, she could be stubborn when she wanted to be.
It’s freezing out.
Throw on a coat, she replied.
It was almost nine p.m., and maybe I was getting old, but the last thing I wanted to do was trudge out in the snow for a fucking crepe.
My phone pinged again.
Come on, it’s Christmas Eve. We let you out of caroling, but we’re supposed to be spending the holiday together.
My phone pinged again.
Samir says you owe him for Thanksgiving.
Way to guilt trip. He had been good about coming over for Thanksgiving dinner even though he’d totally thought I was crazy when I’d invited him. I groaned, burrowing farther under the covers. Yeah, there was no way I was getting out of this.
Fine. Where are you?
She texted me the location and I groaned. My cousin was turning into such a sap. They had a thing about this crepe stand by the Eiffel Tower since they’d gone there when they were falling for each other Maggie’s freshman year. The crepes were good, but it was literally the most touristy part of the city.
The worst part about spending the holiday away from the guy you loved and instead with a couple who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, was that it was tough to not feel like the third wheel. Even when that couple happened to be comprised of your best friends. I had zero desire to be around a bunch of couples taking pictures of themselves kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower on Christmas Eve.
The things I did for my friends.
###
I trudged over to the Eiffel Tower, muttering curse words under my breath. The streets were full of people, and I was suddenly longing for last year when I’d spent my holiday judging ugly dresses and drinking a bottle of Cristal.
I found them in front of the crepe stand, Maggie’s cheeks pink, Samir’s arms wrapped around her. Snow was falling down, sprinkled through her hair, a flake settling on her nose. It was really fucking cold.
“I’m here,” I announced crossly.
Samir grinned. “ Happy Christmas Eve to you, too.”
I flipped him off.
His grin deepened. “Someone’s in a bad mood.”
I groaned. “Did you drag me here to torture me, or are you going to feed me?”
“What do you want?”
“Chocolat.”
He nodded and ordered for me while I waited with Maggie.
I sighed. “Sorry, I’m being such a bitch. Maybe you guys should just do your own thing. Have a nice romantic Christmas without me ruining it.”
“You aren’t ruining it.”
“I am. I’m not a big holiday person, and I miss Max. I wouldn’t want to be around me tonight, either. You guys go off on your own. Seriously. I really appreciate you wanting to make this Christmas special for me, but I’m just not in the mood.”
I expected her to agree with me, but instead she just smiled. “Eat your crepe.”
Samir came over to me and handed me the chocolate crepe and a hot chocolate. “This will warm you up.”
My eyes narrowed. “Are you guys trying to boss me around now?”
Maggie laughed. “Yes. Wonder who we learned that from?”
“I’m not bossy,” I muttered. I took a bite of the crepe. Fine, it was kind of amazing. I practically devoured it.
“Okay, we’ve had crepes. Can we go back to the flat now? We can even watch a Christmas movie if you want.”
Was it my imagination or did a look of pain cross Samir’s face? I grinned. I guessed he’d hit his limit after the caroling.
Maggie shook her head. “I want to watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle. It’s almost time. Then we can go.”
Samir just stood there, a smile on his face.
My eyes narrowed. This was not the Maggie I knew. Maggie was always easygoing. Now she sounded . . . well, like me.
“We’re standing here, waiting for the Eiffel Tower to sparkle?” I looked at Samir for help.
He just stared back at me with that same knowing smile.
Maggie nodded.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets, struggling to ward off the cold, the snow beginning to fall heavier now. This was insane.
And then I heard it . . . the sound of “La Vie en Rose” playing nearby. I closed my eyes, remembering that night on the boat, how Max had been so romantic and sweet with me. And how it had given me the courage to tell him I loved him.
I missed him so much it hurt.
I opened my eyes, ready to make some excuse so I didn’t have to stand here, having this romantic moment completely by myself. I turned away from the Eiffel Tower, shining in the dark Paris sky, trying to block the song out, when Maggie hugged me.
“We didn’t know what to get you for Christmas, but we knew we wanted it to be special. It was hard to know what to get the girl who has everything,” she teased, “so I figured we’d just get you the thing you wanted most.”
I pulled back, staring down at her, confusion filling me.
“What?”
Samir leaned over, kissing my cheek. “Turn around.”
Awareness slowly dawned as I turned, my body in shock, everything around me feeling like it was in slow motion.
The song burst through first, taking me back to the night on the Bateaux Mouche, and then it registered that the Eiffel Tower was indeed sparkling as Maggie had described it, the lights twinkling like a giant Christmas tree in the night sky, snow falling down around us. And then I looked—really looked—and saw the beauty around me, breathed in the magic of the moment.
Because I saw him, the shape of a boy walking toward me—Max—and then I was in his arms, and my lips were on his, and the rest of the world disappeared, the faint sounds of my friends cheering, and “La Vie en Rose” playing, lingering in the background.
And just like that, I finally got my happy ending.
EPILOGUE
Three years later . . .
Fleur
“Can I look yet?”
I shook my head, grabbing the veil from the back of the chair. “Give me another minute. Almost perfect.”
I slid the veil into her dark-brown hair, adjusting the lace around her flowing curls. The material was a long, sheer panel of lace that trailed down to the floor. It fit into her hair with a comb adorned with crystals and pearls. Mya handed me a few bobby pins and I used them to hold the comb in place, sectioning off Maggie’s hair so it wouldn’t move during the ceremony or the reception.
Mya and I worked together while she put the finishing touches on Maggie’s makeup. Mya had flown in last night from Nigeria for the w
edding. She was working for a clean-water initiative in Lagos and was in the middle of a huge project, so she couldn’t get away until the last minute.
I’d come over from London early in the week to help Maggie with the final preparations. I’d loved having the opportunity to be part of the wedding details.
“Can I look now?” Maggie asked, her tone impatient.
My gaze narrowed as I studied her appearance—her hair and makeup were flawless, her gown an elegant lace sheath with a small train that we’d found at a little vintage shop in Paris. She wore the necklace Samir had given her on her their first anniversary in London and a pair of my diamond chandelier earrings. Her bracelet had been her grandmother’s. She wore the cushion-cut diamond Samir had put on her ring finger last year.
My eyes welled up at the sight of her. It felt like just yesterday that I’d watched them fall in love at the International School. They’d moved in together the spring of my senior year and had been living together ever since. Samir had proposed in Hyde Park at Christmas, halfway through her master’s at the London School of Economics. They’d both called me, so excited, Maggie asking if I’d be her maid of honor.
A year later, here we were.
I grabbed a tissue from the vanity, dabbing at my eyes before my mascara began to run. Part of it was seeing Maggie like this, part of it was how emotional I’d been lately.
I squeezed Maggie’s hand. “Okay. You can look.”
She stood up, turning toward the mirror and froze midstep. Oh god, I was going to cry again.
“Samir is going to have a fit when he sees you walk down the aisle,” I predicted, my voice thick with unshed tears. “You look like a princess.”
Mya grinned. “You really do.”
Maggie turned back to face us, her eyes shining, her expression dazed.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening. Can’t believe this is my wedding day.”
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