His shoulder ached. Puddles were soaking into his jeans and the helmet had saved him for the second time. He had the fleeting thought that, if this were an American film, he might discover that he’d gone three weeks back in time and had the chance to relive it all over and over again until he got it right.
One day would have done the trick.
Concerned faces appeared in his vision and he hauled himself into a sitting position. His jeans were torn at the knee and a graze was oozing a little blood. The pain in his shoulder was throbbing, but not debilitating. There were twinges in his wrist and ankle. He was okay – but he was also screwed.
He batted away concerned hands and scrambled to his feet, searching the intersection in case fate had been kind and Bilel had seen something and stopped. But the car must be long gone. Sacha’s bike was mangled once more, but he still had his legs. He took off on foot for the Gare du Nord, hobbling and grunting in pain.
The station concourse was busy – and slippery – as the milling crowd tracked in the icy sleet from outside. Sacha was disoriented by all the people and the noise, the announcements that echoed up to the vast glass-and-steel ceiling high above and the Christmas lights dazzling him. But mostly, he was dismayed by how badly he’d handled everything.
You should have told her.
He found a sign for the Eurostar and followed it, his eyes crossing as he scanned the crowd for a familiar redhead. God, he missed her! And he was only beginning to realise how much he was going to miss her if he didn’t find the words – and find her.
He went as far as he could through the Eurostar departures zone, but he couldn’t see Ren. It would be just his luck if there was a first-class queue that was invisible to the common people. He stopped at the partition, unable to follow without a ticket and a passport. He beat a fist against the glass in frustration, but clutched his hand as the action sent pain shooting down his arm.
His phone rang, startling him, but Nadia’s name flashed up and he refused the call with bitter disappointment. He had nothing to report, anyway.
Ren was leaving, going back to her real life. Perhaps nothing he said could have changed that, but could he live with not knowing? Some things in his history he’d been forced to accept. Would the end of this dream be one of them?
Nadia called again and this time he answered with a grumbled snarl.
She ignored him. ‘How quickly can you get home?’
‘Qu’est-ce qui se passe? What’s happened? Is it Joseph? He should be resting. You should take him home! Don’t wait for me, if he needs to go. I’ll be shitty company, anyway.’
‘Nothing new, there. Joseph is fine. He’s even sitting down. But—’
‘Then what could you possibly need?’
‘You haven’t found her, have you?’ Nadia said drily.
‘Of course I haven’t,’ he muttered. ‘But I don’t want to give up, yet.’
‘Where are you? I thought you were going to the Ritz.’
‘It’s a long story. I’m at the Gare du Nord. I think she’s gone, but…’ He glanced up at the mezzanine floor above, where passengers were hurrying in the direction of the platforms. Might she see him if he yelled at the top of his lungs? ‘I can’t leave until I’m sure. If there’s a chance…’ Nadia laughed. ‘What?’ he snapped.
‘What are you planning? If you get arrested for real, I’m not going to bail you out.’
‘I’m not going to—’
‘Calme-toi, frérot,’ she said with a snort. ‘And bring your butt back here. You’re keeping her waiting.’
‘Keeping her… quoi?’
‘Guess who arrived on your doorstep ten minutes ago?’
He reeled, and he tripped on someone’s suitcase and stumbled.
‘Putain de sa mère!’ He froze and pulled the phone from his ear to apologise profusely to the mother of the young child staring at him in horror.
‘Are you still there? Or have you seen the light and you’re on your way?’ Nadia continued.
He took off for the métro. ‘Oui, but I wrecked my bike again, so I might be a while. Don’t let her leave!’
‘Give me strength, Sacha! What were you doing?’
He hobbled across the concourse, gasping at the pain in his ankle he’d ignored until that point. ‘Following her! I thought she was…’ He realised what had happened with a choked laugh. ‘She was going to my apartment. I thought she was—’
‘Leaving you without saying goodbye? I hope you’ve learned to have a bit of faith, brother, in time to make it up to her.’
A wild grin stretched on his face, attracting odd looks. Or perhaps they were staring at his ripped clothes, his limp – or even the fact that he was still wearing his helmet. ‘Thanks, Nadi,’ he said, staggering in the direction of the escalators. ‘I’ve learned.’
Ren wrenched the door open at the first scrabble of the key in the lock, making him stumble over the threshold, stubbing his toe.
‘Aïe,’ he cried, flailing for balance. She grasped his shoulders to steady him, but her hands slipped, seemingly of their own accord, and then her fingers were in his damp hair. He caught himself with one hand on the wall and his other arm closed around her. How had she missed him so much when it had only been a day?
Everything was suddenly right with the world, with his face so close and his gaze locked on hers. Ren brushed her fingers over his face – the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the grooves on his brow, his kissable lips. She breathed out for what felt like the first time since Christmas Eve.
He was smiling – as much as he could beneath a furrowed brow – but her own smile faded when she caught sight of the spots of blood pricking through a graze on his cheek.
‘What happened?’
‘It’s not important.’
She looked him up and down, noticing the smear of mud on his other cheek, the rip in his jeans and the way he was standing to favour one leg.
‘I—’
‘You’re soaked!’ She dragged him all the way inside and slipped off his coat. The front of his sweater was wet, too, so she pulled up the hem to slip it off, but she caught him in the face with her knuckles and he stumbled back a step, biting back a groan.
‘What have I done to you?’ she muttered in horror.
He pulled the sweater over his head himself and Ren pretended she wasn’t gazing intently at the little strip of skin at his waistband as his shirt lifted. Yep, she’d definitely missed him. A lot. Did that make up for all the injuries she’d caused him? She bloody hoped so.
‘You’ve done a lot to me,’ he murmured, taking a limping step in her direction.
‘Here, sit down. Do you need a cup of tea? Or a blanket? A towel. I’ll get you a towel.’
‘Don’t you want to hear all about what you’ve done to me?’
There was a catch in his voice that sent a shiver through her. ‘I know what I’ve done,’ she said with dismay. ‘I’ve wrecked your bike – twice, it would appear. I made you late for work. I dropped a table on your toe and forced you to attend the ballet. My ex-boyfriend insulted you. I dragged you up the Eiffel Tower and down a mountain. My family was rude to you for nothing and made you eat snails. And then, despite knowing how much it would bring back painful memories, I let the police take you away when I knew you were innocent! Is that a complete accounting of my crimes?’
Tears stung her eyes when she’d finished. It sounded so hopeless, all rattled off at once.
He shook his head slowly. ‘It’s not complete.’ He gazed at her, lifting a hand to her cheek and biting his lip as he took a moment to breathe. ‘You made me realise all my grandiose philosophising about life and love was simply hiding my fear. You made me realise what’s important to me. You made me want something for myself and fight for it. You forced me to be happy. And then you convinced me I could love someone, after all. That’s what you’ve done to me.’
The moment she heard the ‘L’ word fall from his lips, she wobbled, suddenly struggling to get enough oxygen to her brain. She lifted her face and he just looked at her, his brow low and his eyes burning.
But instead of kissing her, he asked, ‘Have you read the book I gave you for Christmas?’
‘Not yet,’ she said in confusion. ‘But I have it in my bag.’
‘Go and get it.’ She reluctantly released him to rummage in her bag for the canvas-bound volume, eying him in question. ‘Page thirty-eight. Byron.’
Intrigued, she flipped to the page and, when she saw it, she slumped against the wall. Already there, added in pencil even before Christmas, was everything she’d ever wanted to hear.
She walks in beauty, like the night,
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that’s best of dark and bright,
Meet in her aspect and her eyes,
Thus mellow’d to that tender light,
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
She’d read the poem before, but it came to life for her then. Sacha’s pencil had underlined every reference to dark and light. He’d circled the word ‘smiles’ in the third verse. The last line he’d enclosed in a box that he’d traced several times, the pencil line deep:
A heart whose love is innocent!
And in the margin, he’d scrawled:
My light, my dark, my heart. Je t’aime.
Her breath rushed back. ‘I love you, too,’ she whispered. Dropping the book to the table, she reached for him and nothing stopped them, this time. He tugged her close and said it all again in that kiss – fierce and passionate and so tender she saw stars.
‘I’m sorry I hid it in a book instead of telling you. I’m sorry I nearly let this end. Je t’aime. I love you.’ The way he said it, he sounded almost as giddy as she felt to hear the words. ‘I love you,’ he said again.
‘Oh, c’est merveilleux! J’en étais sûr!’
‘Bien joué, mon frère. It’s over, grâce à Dieu. Everyone?’ Nadia clapped her hands. ‘Time to go!’
Ren buried her face in Sacha’s neck, but peeked out at his wonderful family with a watery smile. They were the best kind of audience and she didn’t mind having shared the moment with them, since it had brought so much happiness. Sacha’s hand on the back of her neck assured her he wanted her right where she was, and she peered up at him as his family gathered their coats and shoes.
Joseph grumbled a bit, lingering to press kisses to Ren’s cheeks and exclaim in English and French. Nadia squashed her in a powerful embrace and even Raph came close enough for her to squeeze his shoulder and see his tentative smile that reminded her so much of his uncle.
When the door closed behind them, Ren and Sacha didn’t move for a long, silent moment.
‘They’ve left us… quite alone,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘Blessedly,’ she agreed.
‘Do we… need to work anything out?’
‘Did you say you love me?’
‘Several times.’
‘Did I say it back?’
‘Only once,’ he said sternly.
‘I love you,’ she repeated indulgently, pressing another slow kiss to his mouth.
‘Is your grandmother very angry with me?’
She shook her head. ‘She’s had a… change of heart. The truth about the past can do that to a person.’
‘C’est vrai?’
‘She ordered me to come here and work things out – as if I needed any further encouragement. Ziggy erased your number, otherwise I would have called you.’
‘I was afraid… En fait, I was afraid of a lot of things.’
‘I know how that feels.’
‘Did you say you lost my number for a second time? We must do something about your bad luck.’
‘Definitely not! My luck has been boundless these past three weeks! Despite everything, I found you.’
‘There are two ways to look at everything, I suppose.’
‘Exactly,’ she said. He grinned at her, his arms tight around her waist. ‘And you might have to get used to the idea of a happy ending,’ she continued.
‘I think I can watch Disney films if that’s what you want.’
She laughed, joy welling up in her chest. ‘That’s true love. But I meant for us. A happy ending for… our story. Because I’ve made us one. I’m not going back to London. I love Paris in winter, but I’d like to get to know the city in spring, too – and summer, and autumn!’
