Margaux waved her off. “Détends-toi. J’approuve. On n’a juste pas beaucoup de mystères par ici.” Then to me, “I’m Margaux. Welcome to the circus.”
I was going to have to ask Rachel for a translation later, but she was already gone—pulled into a rapid-fire conversation in French where I caught maybe one word in twelve. Maybe. I recognized deadlines and another about lights. Then the rest was pretty much French to me.
I stood there for a second, coffee in hand, feeling strangely like a guest in someone else’s dream. At the same time, this was exactly where I wanted to be.
Margaux pointed me toward Rachel’s desk with a look that was half permission, half amusement, and I settled against it, trying not to look like I was trespassing in sacred territory.
A few people glanced over. Some openly curious. One woman whispered something in French to another and both of them looked me up and down like I’d wandered into the wrong movie.
Margaux said something else under her breath—also in French—but I caught Rachel’s name and the wordintéressant. That earned her a raised brow from me and a smirk in return.
Apparently, I was being reviewed.
And somehow, I didn’t mind at all.
I let myself just… exist there. Not hiding. Not hovering. Just being Rachel’s, in a room full of people who clearly knew her better than they knew me—and maybe found that interesting.
So immersed in her conversations and tasks, Rachel disappeared and reappeared several times. She didn’t check on me or apologize for leaving me standing there, and I was oddly grateful for that. This wasn’t a performance for my benefit. This was simply her life, unfolding at full speed.
I spent the next hour watching her move in and out of meetings, laughing with people, frowning at screens, gesturing wildly as she explained something I couldn’t hear.
She was brilliant.
She was alive.
And she was running.
When she finally reappeared—hair slightly more chaotic than before, sweater half-slid off one shoulder—she looked genuinely surprised to see me still there.
“You didn’t leave.”
“I said I wouldn’t.”
She smiled, but there was a crack in it. “I’m sorry. I just—today’s one of those days.”
“I know,” I said gently. “I can see it.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to get lunch and bring it back here. You eat when you can.”
For a second she just stared at me, like I’d offered her something in a foreign language. Then she nodded, slow and grateful.
“I’d like that.”
Feeling useful for the first time all day, I straightened. “Any preferences?”
She thought about it, then shrugged. “Surprise me?”
“Dangerous answer.” I reached for her hand, then paused. “Public displays of affection acceptable in this institution?”
She caught my hand before I could pull back and brushed a quick kiss to my mouth, soft but unmistakably deliberate.
“Absolutely.”
A few people definitely saw. Margaux definitely did.
I didn’t care.
Savoring the contact, I headed out into the street with a stupid smile on my face and the very clear, very satisfyingknowledge that for at least a few hours, I belonged to this version of her life.
When I came back with food, the atmosphere around Rachel’s desk had changed.
