by Paige Elwood
He approached her, deliberately crunching the small stones beneath his feet so as not to startle her. At the sound, she turned her head and opened her eyes, throwing him one of her beautiful smiles. Oh, but that smile! He wished he could change his mind and just spend the rest of his life secretly making it up to her. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Still, he thought, I could have one more hour with her. Just until the sun sets, I can pretend nothing is amiss. He swallowed the trepidation threatening to choke him and lifted her, swinging her in his arms as he had done in Notre Dame.
She laughed as he spun around and around. He’d never heard a sweeter sound, and likely never would again. He forced that errant thought from his mind, placing her back on her feet with gentle hands. She caught some sign of his conflict in his face and reached up to touch his cheek.
“Are you well?” she asked, concern darkening those beautiful brown eyes.
He gave her his best smile. “I am very well. All the better for seeing you this evening.”
She pushed his shoulder playfully. “You’re such a charmer!”
“Only for you,” he said. “Always you.”
He held her gaze, and she tilted her face upwards, her lips brushing against his as delicately as a butterfly’s wings. Her kiss could be the making or undoing of him. He was powerless against it, and she wielded it with such innocence, unaware of the immense control she held over him.
They kissed a long while, until he had to break away to preserve both of their modesty and reputations. He took her hand, and they walked together in the most perfect silence, her slender hand encased in his own and both enjoying being in the other’s presence.
As the sun began its downward journey, the young lovers sat together on a patch of grass, her head resting on his shoulder. They watched the sun as it set across the horizon, throwing a pinkish glow across the world. He wondered if he’d have the stomach to watch another sunset ever again.
When the sun was down, he turned to her and took her delicate hands in his. “Sophie,” he began. She looked up at him, in anticipation of what he might say, and the pure love and innocence shining from her eyes pierced him straight through the heart. He could barely get the words out past a tight knot of guilt and shame in his throat, but he forced them through anyway.
“There is something I must speak to you about, that I must confess,” he said, his voice tight.
“Oh?” Apprehension clouded her features now, and he had to force himself to push on.
“I want you to know that I love you. That the love I feel for you is the purest and truest love I have ever known. That anyone has ever known,” he began. She smiled, but apprehension still lingered. He braced himself for the next part.
“You were right all along. I engineered giving you the ring. I brought you here on purpose. I needed you to break the curse. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I lied to you, that I tore you from your own time.” The words tumbled from his lips like a waterfall of shame.
It took her a heart-wrenching moment to comprehend. He held his breath and watched a range of emotions play out in her eyes. Her lips moved slowly when she spoke, as though unsure. “Curse?” she choked out. “What do you mean?”
“The story you told me on our picnic of the nobleman cursed not to know joy until he found his true love… that was me.”
“You’re… You’re lying,” she said. “You’re joking? Tell me you’re joking?” Her hands flew to her throat as though the words pained her.
Guilt twisted in his gut. She had no idea how right she was about everything from the start. His next words stuck in his throat, and he forced them out. They tasted bitter on his tongue.
“I am sorry,” he said, bowing his head and staring at the grass. He focused on one single blade, not daring to blink, lest the tears he was fighting spilled over and did not stop falling. “It is not a joke. It is the truth.”
She turned away sharply. Bitter sobs escaped her throat. Her shoulders shook with the effort of holding them back. He turned her around and pulled her into his arms. “You're cold.”
His hands roamed her back, trying to soothe and comfort her. She stiffened under his touch, and it nearly shattered him into tiny pieces.
“Don't cry, Sophie,” he whispered into her ear. “It doesn’t change our love. That is real.” He pulled her as close as he could to him.
She pushed him back forcefully. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
His heart hammered so hard he felt like it would beat through his chest. He grasped her hands again, squeezing them tight. “Isn't it obvious? I haven’t always been a good man, Sophie. You make me want to be a good man, and I see now that I must do the right thing, the honorable thing.”
“Now I understand why they say, ‘what you don’t know can’t hurt you,’” she said, a single tear falling from her eyes.
Edouard had not the faintest idea who she was referring to, but he nodded at the sentiment. “Truth is honor, and I want to honor you, Sophie. To keep a secret is the same as to lie, and I won’t lie to you ever again.” He squeezed her hands tightly.
“I spent so long agonizing.” Sophie said. “Either I give up my old life and family, or I give up my one chance for love. There was no perfect answer, no easy choice. Or, at least, there wasn't. I chose you.”
She looked up at him and there was a glimmer of hatred in her eyes. It was like a shard of ice through his heart. What had he done? “Until I found out how you tricked me,” she said, her words bitter and dripping with resentment.
She ground at her damp eyes with the heels of her hands. “I loved you, and I thought that was what mattered, that we had a future. I was staying for you. For us.”
His words came out choked. “I know. You have taught me what it means to truly love. I needed to tell you the truth because I love you so much. I will never stop loving you even if you can’t love me in return.”
A breathless laugh escaped her, and she wrenched her hands from his. “I did love you. Maybe I still do. But I can't stay here now that I see what you're capable of. How you lied to me.”
His gaze softened. “I never meant to hurt you.”
He saw the raw doubt and hurt in her eyes, and it made his heart ache with guilt and regret. How could she not doubt his true intentions, especially after what he had done?
“I can’t trust you,” she said, jumping to her feet and stepping back, the tears streaming down her cheeks. He wanted to grab her and kiss the tears away, but he’d been the one to cause them, and it pained him more than anything had before.
“You tricked me to get me here! You lied to me. All this time. Like this is some kind of game for you! It’s no wonder you are cursed!” Her eyes were wild now, and the tears had stopped, replaced by pure outrage.
“I can’t stay here,” she said. “I was right, I don’t belong here. I was stupid to believe that I did.” She looked him squarely in the eyes. “You’re a manipulative liar, the worst kind of liar. You let me trust you, let me think I was crazy for not trusting you in the beginning. I should have listened to my instincts, and I never should have taken that ring.”
He fell to his knees in front of her. “Sophie, please. You do belong here. I love you, I love you so much that I don’t know how it’s possible. I never knew I could feel this deeply, and the fact that you can return my love in the same way I love you is a miracle that most people will never know.”
She shook her head, and her eyes were wide. It was as though she were seeing him for the first time, and he were a beast.
“You’re a monster. That’s why you were cursed, you’re an actual monster!”
She wrenched the ring off her hand and threw it at him. It bounced off his shoulder, landing in the grass between them. He took a deep, juddering breath and brought his eyes to hers, those warm brown eyes that held the promise of love. He was fixated, staring into the same spot long after she’d faded to mist and drifted back into the sands of time. Back where she belonge
d.
Madame Petellier found him there over an hour later, the night now chill, but the cold didn’t trouble him. Nothing could be colder than the void that had opened up in him the moment Sophie vanished. He didn’t know how he could fill that gaping chasm. He was certain it wasn’t possible. If he thought his life was joyless during the curse, then he didn’t truly understand what that meant.
Chapter 30
Disoriented, Sophie looked around the room. She blinked at the hazy sunlight filtering through the sheers on her windows. No four-poster bed. No tapestries. No mansion. Nothing but her hotel bedroom and her cellphone ringing. She rejected the call and climbed groggily out of bed. She needed a shower to clear her head, which was full of cobwebs. What a very strange dream she'd had.
Sliding open the glass door, Sophie stepped out of the shower stall and reached for a towel. She used an edge of the white cloth to wipe steam from the mirror above the sink. Her gaze immediately fell on her finger, bare now with no ring.
It hit her with the force of a slap in the face. A dream, it had all been a dream. She'd found love, thought she'd found love. Then lost it. It had felt so real. In her mind she could see him, feel him, standing on the other side of time. Her eyes fixed on the empty space where the ring had been, her thoughts on the man that had given it to her in the dream.
Her phone started ringing again. She dropped the towel on the counter and dashed into the bedroom. It was Claire. Relief washed through her. She picked up the phone, the feeling strange after her dream. It really felt like it had been weeks since she picked up a phone.
“Hey! I got your message, sorry I didn’t answer—I was asleep!” Claire said.
“Message?” Sophie asked.
“Yes…” Claire said, clearly confused at Sophie’s memory lapse. “About the creepy old guy? Are you alright?”
It came flooding back to her then. Last night, yes! The old man at the Quai, the ring. She looked down at her hand. She’d slept wearing the ring, surely. So why wasn’t it there?
“Sophie…?”
“Sorry, I was just… thinking. I’m fine,” she added hastily. “I think the old guy really creeped me out. I had such a weird dream, but I honestly feel fine now.”
“You know, my twin sense is tingling. I don’t think you’re fine.”
“Honestly, I am. I’m going to get dressed and walk around Paris and meet some nice guys.” she said. They won’t be Edouard though, she thought. “I was just jetlagged yesterday, it made me a bit on edge. I’m a lot better now.”
“Well, call me if you need anything,” her sister said.
They said their goodbyes, and Sophie got dressed. It was a strange joy to slip on a pair of jeans and a sweater and be pretty much done. No dress with a girdle, no need to put her hair up in anything more complex than a ponytail, a much better choice of shoes. Even if it had only been a dream, it had certainly taught her to appreciate the comforts of this century.
It didn’t feel like a dream, though. It was too real, and so very long. And she couldn’t recall ever having dreams before where she dreamt that she slept and had other dreams. Dreams of dreams. Now that’s weird.
She hurried down to breakfast, pausing to see if Helene was on reception. She wasn’t—there was a tall, thin, dour-faced man behind the counter this morning, checking in guests painfully slowly. She was glad it had been Helene on the desk when she arrived; being checked in by this man would have made her already bad day even worse!
She hurried through to the dining room, following her nose to the smell of freshly cooked pastries and the sound of cutlery clinking against plates. She was thrilled to see there was a full continental selection, including croissants, pain au chocolat, and a variety of breads, jams, meats and cheeses. There were colorful boxes of breakfast cereal lined up on the counter, too.
She’d missed cereal! Or, at least, she thought she had. It had seemed so real, she thought again. Even down to the texture of food in her mouth, it had been so vivid. She put a couple of pain au chocolats onto a plate and grabbed a coffee.
She sipped the coffee slowly, savoring every sip. Another thing that perhaps she hadn’t truly appreciated before. She finished her mug and got herself another one. She watched the other guests in the dining room as she ate slowly and purposefully, enjoying every mouthful.
Like the airport, other than business visitors, she seemed to be the only lone person staying at the hotel. The rest were couples of various ages, and one or two families. She still felt so strange. It must have been those sleeping pills. She would make it her mission today to try and arrange a date with a nice French guy. Or perhaps a tourist. As long as they were attractive and kind it didn’t really matter.
A pair of amber eyes framed with dark lashes, and a sexy voice with a heavy French accent popped into her head. Edouard, she thought. Would she find anyone as suited to her as her literal dream man? Although even her subconscious couldn’t allow her to win true love in the end. Even her dream man had turned out to be a liar.
The raw emotion of his betrayal still lingered, like sandpaper against her heart. You’re crazy, she thought. An imaginary man broke your heart and you’re feeling actual emotional pain over it. This was worse than the time she developed a teenage crush on Ian Somerhalder. At least he actually existed, even if he was unattainable. She drained the last of her second cup of coffee and grabbed her purse.
The street outside the hotel was noisy and crowded in comparison to the Paris in her dream. Notre Dame was visible, but not quite so dominant. It seemed a little smaller in real life than it had been in her dream. She stood in the middle of the street in front of her hotel and gazed at the cathedral for a while, the crowd streaming past her, groups parting like a river around a rock.
Dream or not, the sight of Notre Dame stirred up too much in her. She turned her back and walked in the opposite direction, where the crowds were slightly thinner but there were still lots of shops, cafes, and interesting things to see. She figured she could take the Metro or the Batobus to a different part of Paris if she didn’t find much to do in this direction. She could go see the Eiffel Tower, perhaps, anything as long as she wasn’t too close to Notre Dame.
She made her way through the crowded streets, pausing occasionally to peer into a shop window and admire the array of goods on show. There were boutiques, jewelers, shoe stores, cafés, bookstores—the list of stores was endless. She treated herself to a pair of buttery soft leather ankle boots—new shoes always made her feel better—and took a seat in a small café to buy some lunch.
She chose a sausage cassoulet from the menu, and when it arrived, the thick stew of beans and sausage reminded her so much of the food from her dream that the edges of reality seemed to blur. She’d never had cassoulet before, hadn’t even seen it, so how had she dreamed exactly the right thing?
She must have had it before and not remembered. Or perhaps she had seen somebody else eating it somewhere. She lifted her spoon to her mouth, tasting the thick, fragrant stew, and it was just as she remembered it from her dream. Her heart pounded, and she sipped her wine. Come on now, you can’t have an anxiety episode over a bowl of stew, she thought.
Sophie couldn’t bring herself to eat more than a few mouthfuls before asking for the check. She settled the bill, slung her Coach purse over her shoulder, and set off down the street, wondering what to do next and where she might find a Metro station to take her to the other parts of Paris.
“Excusez-Moi,” she heard someone calling, but she didn’t turn around, assuming they were calling after somebody else. Why would someone be yelling after her?
The rhythmic sound of heavy feet pounding on the pavement behind her had her turning, startled, and she saw a tall, dark-haired man with amber-colored eyes running towards her. Her heart leaped for a moment, and then she saw it wasn’t him. Of course it’s not, Edouard’s not real, she thought. The man was definitely shouting at her, though.
The tall, dark, and very handsome stranger held out a h
and with the bag containing her new boots. “You forgot these at the café,” he said, flashing her a brilliant smile with white, even teeth that would have been the envy of any Hollywood superstar. He was certainly as handsome as a Hollywood actor, although he didn’t stir the usual reaction in her that being chased by such an attractive man normally should.
She returned his smile with a genuine one of her own, pleased that she hadn’t lost her new ankle boots. That would have been a tragedy. “Thank you so much. How can I repay you?”
He grinned. “You could let me buy you dinner this evening?” His eyes sparkled hopefully, awaiting her answer.
She blinked, unsure what to do. But then, wasn’t this exactly why she’d come to Paris in the first place? Why was she not jumping at the chance? He was handsome, he seemed very nice, he’d even rescued her shoes! What more could a woman want? Her mind answered that last question by presenting her with an image of Edouard and her, locked in an embrace inside Notre Dame. Heat suffused her cheeks at the memory.
She pushed the image of Edouard out of her mind and nodded at the real, live person in front of her. “That would be lovely. Where shall I meet you?”
“The café?” he indicated the same café she’d left her shoes. “Seven thirty?”
“Sure, ok.” She smiled. “I will see you at seven thirty, then.”
“Bien, I am Jacques,” he said, holding out his hand and flashing her another of those million-watt smiles that should have made her knees go weak.
“Sophie,” she said, holding out her own hand. Instead of the handshake she expected, he turned her hand over and pressed his lips to the back of it. She gasped audibly, the action reminding her yet again of her dream.
Jacques looked up at her and grinned, obviously mistaking her gasp for an appreciation of his European charms. His eyes met hers, and she thought again that he was definitely attractive but there was no real connection there. You’ve only just met, of course it’s not a strong connection, she thought. You’re here for a fling, and a fling you shall have!