Reunited with Her Parisian Surgeon

by Annie O'Neil

  “Keep it.” He gave her hand a squeeze, doing his best to ignore the flinch that followed in its wake. “I want you to have it.”

  “Terrific.” She gave the handkerchief a wry smile, and as her brother opened the car door for her she muttered, “Something to remind me of the best and worst birthday I’ve ever had.”

  * * *

  “Why are we going in the back way? Where’s Dad? You haven’t put him in your slingshot to get him here, have you?”

  Maggie knew she was being irritable because things were being yanked out of her control again now that she was back home.

  Little sister mode.

  Doing what she was told.

  Correction.

  Doing what was expected of her.

  Which was following in her nutty big brothers’ wake and then, most likely, cleaning up the inevitable mess.

  Despite her determination to stay grouchy, her heart softened as she followed her brothers into the hotel. There were the usual shout-outs to the lads, all of whom played locally for an Aussie Rules footie team. Of course. The “When in the blue blazes are you going to get my car fixed?” questions were followed by a friendly laugh and a promise to buy them a drink if they went to the bar.

  And there were a few other comments Maggie didn’t quite understand.

  “When do you want us to have the bits and pieces in place?”

  “Are you sure you got the right music?”

  And, the most disconcerting of all, “I’ve told the wife to bring her camera. This is going to be legendary.”

  That one she couldn’t let go.

  She skipped-ran to catch up to Nate, aiming for casual but landing on high-pitched panic. “Nate, my dear big brother, if this is some strange thing like being hit by thirty cream pies in front of the whole of Broken Hill, I am out.”

  Raphael caught up with them, but met no one’s eye. He had reverted straight back to being the brooding, mysteriously enigmatic man who had met her at the Sydney Botanical Gardens all those weeks ago. The one she wasn’t entirely sure she knew anymore.

  Well, now she knew a lot more than she’d bargained for.

  Yes, he was an incredible doctor. And he had suffered a deep loss. It seemed to have made a permanent mark on him—one that wouldn’t allow full access to his heart. Unless he was able to forgive himself...

  She tried to swallow the frustration building in her throat.

  Why hadn’t she been enough?

  This was buyer’s remorse at its cruelest.

  He might have made sweet, intimate love to her. He might have whispered his innermost feelings. But there hadn’t been any promises. Only some ridiculously unsubtle back-pedaling the second he’d got an eyeful of the real Maggie Louis.

  Just what a girl needed on her thirtieth. Not that she’d forewarned him of that. Becoming an official spinster was traumatizing enough. She’d thought she’d cracked it on the eve of her birthday... Cinderella Syndrome, indeed. Only this time the handsome Prince had figured out that Cinders wasn’t really all that and was going to hightail it back to his castle. Sooner rather than later if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

  “All right, Mags.” Billy turned around when they reached one of the lounges that were usually used for private parties. “Can you just wait here with Raphael for a minute?”

  She nodded.

  Billy threw a couple of looks between the pair of them, then leaned in and whispered, “He’s not the jealous type, right? You’re just mates?”

  Less than twelve hours ago she knew her smile would have been from ear to ear. She would have told her brother that she was off the market, that her heart was Raphael’s and his was hers.

  What a difference a road trip could make.

  She nodded her head and reluctantly whispered back, “Just mates.”

  “Good. Hey, mate...” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a couple of notes and handed them to Raphael. “You wouldn’t mind going to the bar and getting a round, would you?”

  Raphael said of course he wouldn’t mind, but refused the money saying this one was on him. He was polite and sophisticated and perfect. He asked them all what they wanted, told Maggie he’d find her something with bubbles in it, then disappeared around the corner.

  Would he even bother coming back?

  Eddie rejoined them and gave his brother a discreet nod. Not so subtle that she didn’t catch it. And, even though she felt her guts launch into Kid Sister Attack Mode, there was a comforting familiarity about it. They all knew their roles. They all played their parts. It was an upside to coming home that she hadn’t really considered before. Even if it did most likely mean she’d be back in her pinafore and acting the spinster sister and housekeeper until she was an old, shriveled, apple-faced lady. Wrinkled. Hunch-backed, no doubt. Miserable. Alone.

  “Cheer up, Dags. It’s your party!”

  Eddie tried to tickle her and she batted at his hands, reluctantly succumbing to the giggles until he stopped.

  “What are you boys cooking up? You haven’t got Dad jumping out of a birthday cake or anything, have you?”

  Nate shook his head and laughed. “Nah. But I wish we had thought of that.” He crossed his arms, swayed back on his heels and gave her a cheeky grin. “I think you’re going to like what we’ve got planned for you. It’s one of our best ideas ever.”

  She gave him a wary look. “You mean like slingshotting our father across a vacant lot? Yes. What a terrific idea that was. Making us orphans on my birthday.”

  “Easy, there, little bear cub.” Nate gave her shoulder a gentle rub. “Your brothers are looking out for you as you launch into womanhood.”

  “What, precisely, do you think I have been in these last ten years?”

  They laughed. “Mags! Your twenties are just a warm-up for the big stuff. Trust us.”

  “Not ruddy likely,” she grumbled, but they told her to stay put, wait for her drink and they’d come and get her in a few minutes.

  She peeked round the corner and saw Raphael, waiting politely for his turn at the bar. Looking completely gorgeous. Of course.

  She dug around in her handbag for some lip gloss. Might as well at least remind him of what he was missing.

  Her fingers made contact with some paper.

  The envelope.

  Her heart cinched tight.

  Sinking into a nearby chair, she decided to take advantage of the few minutes she had alone and read the note her mother had written to her all those years ago.

  The back of her throat grew scratchy at the sight of the handwriting. When she lifted the letter to her nose to smell it hot tears fell in splatters on her skirt.

  Forcing herself to take a deep breath and focus, she opened the letter and read.

  My darling Maggie-moo,

  By the time you get this letter I will have been unable to say goodbye in person. Don’t let a single solitary second pass with you thinking I didn’t love you with every cell in my body. You are my beautiful green-eyed, red-haired dream come true, and it was my mission in life to help you reach your goals. Or at least give you a nudge in the right direction.

  Dry your eyes, love. I know it was a selfish decision not to tell you, but as well as being a dreamer you’re also a realist. If you’d known... Well, it was time for your brothers to help out around the house a bit, and for you to go out there and see the world. A bit of it, at least. The bit that I hoped would inspire you the most.

  Your letters were like a window to Paris. Through you I was able to go to the Louvre. Have ice-cream by the Seine. Climb the Eiffel Tower. Especially the Eiffel Tower! I felt as if I was right there beside you. The icing on my cake.

  Your father once even made us crêpes based on the recipe you sent. They were awful. But he tried. And that’s what I am going to ask you to do.

  Please
try and let those moments—the “icing” moments—be your lasting memories of our time together. An adventure. And never let anything stand in the way of following your beautiful heart. Wherever it wants to take you, near or far, your family will always be with you, no matter how many kilometers lie between you.

  I love you so very much, my little Maggie-moo.

  Always think of me as being with you, in your heart, for you will always live in mine.

  Don’t let your brothers boss you around too much. They’re protective. They love you, even if they lack the ability to buy socks. Keeping you near to them is the only way they know how to keep you safe. But I know you’re strong. You’ll do just fine on your own.

  Bisous, my darling.

  Love, Mum

  Maggie’s hands dropped to her lap and she looked up to the ceiling, physically opening herself up to the waves of emotion hitting her.

  Bittersweet relief at having the letter, seeing her mother’s writing again, being able to cherish her scent.

  This letter was the link—the farewell she’d never had.

  Most of all she felt love—unconditional love—for her brothers. Sure, they lacked finesse, but they tried. Their campaign to get her to move home had never abated. Not once...until now.

  That thought unleashed sorrow. All the frustration and sadness that had gone with the initial loss. Dreams unfulfilled, ambitions unrealized. Had she lost or gained more in the years following her mother’s death?

  It was something she’d never know.

  She looked up, sensing someone approaching.

  “Maggie, are you all right?”

  Raphael quickly slid the tray of drinks onto a nearby table, tugged a small pile of serviettes from the tray and sat beside her, his hand halfway to wiping away her tears when she stopped him.

  He was an unrealized dream. She needed to take this letter as a sign that it was time to move on. Some dreams came true—some didn’t.

  Her brothers appeared at the end of the corridor, bursting with excitement.

  She grabbed the serviettes and scrubbed them across her face, almost relishing the scratchy pain that accompanied them. It was a marked contrast to Raphael’s soft handkerchief and the love she had thought she had felt.

  Well, she wouldn’t rely on him anymore. Or on his love. It was her birthday, and she was going to ruddy well enjoy herself. She had her brothers here. Family—who, despite everything, had been there for her all along.

  “C’mon.” She spoke in a low voice so her approaching brothers couldn’t hear. “They’ve gone to a lot of effort. We should at least try to look happy.”

  * * *

  Against his better judgment, Raphael picked up the tray of drinks and pasted on what he hoped passed as a smile.

  When Maggie’s brothers led them down the corridor and flung open the double doors of a private lounge any hint of happiness dropped from his lips.

  In front of him was a huge banner.

  Broken Hill Bachelors Got Talent! Who Will Win Our Maggie’s Heart?

  Her brothers kept looking at the banner, at the pre-lit stage area, and back to Maggie for signs of delight.

  She laughed. Punched them in the arm. Then threw Raphael a look that said, It could’ve been you, grabbed her glass of Aussie fizz from his tray and followed her brothers to the throne-like chair they had set up in front of the stage.

  What followed was the most painful hour of Raphael’s life.

  And not just because of the ample talents of the men of Broken Hill.

  The Maggie who had opened herself up to him less than twenty-four hours earlier had all but disappeared.

  Whether she was the real one or the one protecting herself from the world’s most idiotic Frenchman was tough to tell at this point. He’d lost his perspective.

  The one thing he was certain of, he decided, between a live chainsaw juggling act and a fairly impressive bit of “condiment art”, inspiration courtesy of legendary local artist Pro Hart, was that until he went home and made peace with his own “family” he would never settle. Never be able to offer Maggie everything she so richly deserved.

  “Mate!” Nate appeared beside him, tickled pink with the evening’s showcase. “Isn’t this brilliant? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Maggie have more fun.”

  Together they looked across at her. She was accepting a vividly decorated rain stick from a suitor who had just performed a rain dance in the hopes of “growing a life together” with Maggie.

  She looked completely delighted. If not a little unconvinced.

  “We should’ve asked you, but as Mags said you were just mates we didn’t bother. Do you want to go up and do a jig or something? You’re looking a little bit as if the green-eyed monster has come to life inside of you.” Nate’s voice was genuinely concerned and then his eyes widened. “Wait a minute. You’re not in love with her or anything, are you?”

  Raphael just stared at him. Was he that transparent? Luckily Nate wasn’t waiting for an answer.

  “It’s unrequited love, isn’t it? Poor bloke. You flew all the way Down Under to get our Mags, only to have her turn you down?”

  Again he didn’t wait for a response, just blew out a low, Sorry, pal whistle and shook his head.

  “Rough. She’s a bit of a treasure, though. Worth fighting for. You sure you don’t have a little tune or something you could sing a capella? Dad plays the accordion if you need a bit of back-up.”

  Maggie was worth fighting for. But a song wouldn’t cover what he needed to do to win her heart.

  At the very least, he knew she would be surrounded by people who loved her if he didn’t get the answers he was hoping for in Paris.

  “I think Maggie looks very happy here.”

  Nate looked across at his sister. Her green eyes were glistening, her hair lit by the bright stage lights as yet another suitor pulled her up onto the stage only to perform a traditional Maypole jig around her—Maggie as the Maypole.

  He did want her.

  He didn’t yet deserve her.

  But he was going to do everything in his power to do just that.

  There was only one way to be worthy of the love she so openly gave him.

  Go back to Paris and prove he was the man she had once believed him to be.

  * * *

  Though she was doing her best to look entertained by the dance, Maggie’s eyes kept darting towards the dark-haired, blue-eyed man who, despite everything, still drew her like a magnet.

  Halfway through the courtship dance that felt more like an endurance contest she saw Raphael whisper something to her brother, then get up and leave.

  Her mouth went dry as tingles of fear whispered across her skin.

  History was repeating itself.

  Why did the people she loved most in life refuse to say goodbye to her face to face?

  The thought didn’t settle properly.

  Her mother had done her best. The letter had been there. It had just... Maybe it had been waiting for the perfect time to surface—to serve as a reminder of the girl she had once been. The woman she had hoped to become.

  Raphael stopped at the doorway and turned to look back at her. Every cell in her body ached to run after him, to demand an explanation, to ask why her love wasn’t enough. Why she wasn’t enough.

  Steadfastly, she held her ground. She had her mother’s faith living in her heart again. She had the knowledge that at least one person in her life had believed she was strong enough to make a go of things alone, to pursue her dreams—at least some of them—until she achieved them.

  Medical school wasn’t out of the question.

  Nor was international travel.

  It simply wouldn’t be with Raphael.

  Defiance and strength replaced fear. She didn’t need anyone by her side to confront the future. She just neede
d to believe in herself.

  She was thirty, single, and ready to dream again.

  She forced a smile back to her lips as Darren O’Toole and his steel-toed work boots continued circling around her in a proud display of peacocking. Pounding. Thumping. Clomping round her like an elephant aspiring to be a ballerina. Okay, perhaps her future wouldn’t be linked to Darren O’Toole. But there’d be someone out there.

  One day.

  She looked toward the back of the room. Her eyes connected with Raphael’s like an electric shock. There was fire in his gaze. But it was impossible to tell if the flames burnt for her.

  When he turned and walked away she knew she had her answer.

  She’d be facing the future on her own.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RAPHAEL HAD STOOD in front of this door so many times and never once hesitated. Not like this.

  He blew on his hands, chiding himself for not remembering how cold it would be in Paris. Chiding himself for even caring. There was so much more at stake than chafed skin if he didn’t take this chance.

  A family.

  A future.

  A heart that would never break again.

  He gave the door a sound knock.

  When it opened he was face to face with Jean-Luc.

  His friend’s eyes widened with disbelief as he took a half-step back...then opened his arms and pulled Raphael into a tight embrace...

  * * *

  An hour later, Raphael’s only regret was not having come sooner.

  Jean-Luc had apologized for flinging blame in Raphael’s direction. He’d been angry with the world. Now he knew, no matter how painful, that his daughter’s death had been simply an awful truth he’d had to absorb and live with. Whether Raphael had stayed or left, the end result would very likely have been the same. He saw now that Raphael had been put into an impossible scenario and he no longer felt it necessary to blame anyone.

  It had been no one’s fault.

  Just a cruel turn of events.

  “I should have stayed.” Raphael shook his head at his own folly. “Stayed with Amalie. Stayed with you. Given you a human punching bag. I just felt so responsible. When your parents said I had to give it time, give you some space—”