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Henri’s hands go to my shoulders and he starts pulling me behind him, which means, no doubt, that he’s anticipating a fight. Madame Fournier and her assistant peek around the corner at us.
“Stop,” I hiss, locking myself tight so Henri can’t move me easily. “Both of you. We’re making a scene.”
Their gazes flicker toward Madame Fournier, but I get the feeling neither of them cares all that much at this precise moment.
“I should go,” I say to Luc, slipping my hand from his. “Thank you for your concern.” I turn away, all but shoving Henri in the opposite direction. We haven’t bought anything we needed, but I sense an explosion coming—his or mine, I’m not sure—and it can’t happen here.
I march back toward the farm and he’s on my heels.
“Is that why you were so eager to shop?” he asks, the words hissed more than spoken. “Your secret meeting with Luc?”
“Secret meeting?” I demand. “Are you kidding me?”
I walk ahead as fast as I can and don’t say another word until we’re just outside of the village and on the quiet road to the farm. “I spoke to him for all of a minute before you steamrolled over us both.”
“He held your hand!” he shouts. “Don’t pretend for a moment you were merely talking!”
“Did I fuck him?” I demand. “Because until I have, I still won’t have caught up with you.”
He pulls me off the side of the road, into the grass. “Is that what it’s going to come down to?” he asks, gripping my shoulders. “Will you need to punish me for it before we can move forward? Do you need to go be with Luc so things are even? Fine. Do it. Just stop throwing it in my face again and again when there’s absolutely nothing I can do to fix it!”
“So, you want me to sleep with Luc.”
“Of course I don’t want you to sleep with him!” he cries. “I want you back. I want you to stop hating me for what I did, and if this is what it will take, then I’ll learn to live with it. You’re mad, and you have every right to be. But I’m mad too, Sarah.”
My jaw drops. “You’re mad? About what?”
“I begged you not to go. My God, I begged, and you didn’t listen. What I wanted was meaningless, and you will always be able to disregard my opinion, won’t you? You will always be able to leave for a year and return, buffed to perfection after a trip to your own time, talking about some musician you were with.”
“I didn’t leave you,” I tell him, and now the tears are rolling down my face whether I want them to or not. “You left me and you’ll leave me again if she comes back.” My chest aches as I say the words. This fear has been knife-sharp all along, the thing I can’t get past, the reason I don’t want to trust him.
His arms come around me. “Is that really what you think?” he asks. His voice breaks. He sounds devastated. His lips press to the top of my head, to my temples, to my eyes. “Sarah, I could barely make myself stay when she hadn’t left. There’s not a chance I’d take her back now.”
“What if she threatens to take Cecelia?”
His lips move over my cheeks, slick with tears. “She won’t take you, or my daughter, and God help her if she tries to do either one.”
I stare at his chest, tucking my chin to keep the wobble out of my voice. “I don’t want you comparing me to her…not with that.”
He looks truly dumbfounded. “Are you talking about sex? How could I possibly compare the two of you when I can’t remember ever being with her in the first place?”
“She said you couldn’t keep your hands off her.”
He sighs. “And you believed her? She was petty and cruel and jealous. Why would you believe a word that came out of her mouth?”
“When we were together,” I say, finally glancing up at him. “The things you said at the end…” I shake my head.
He raises a brow. “You seemed to like the things I was saying well enough at the time.”
“Yes,” I cry, “until I realized you weren’t even thinking of me when you said them! That was nothing you ever did with me. And if you’re going to be pretending I’m her, I’d rather just leave.”
He pulls my face to his. “The way I was with you last time, Sarah…it’s because I was desperate. It’s because I’d thought of nothing but you for a year, and because I’d fantasized, and because I hadn’t had sex I was sober enough to remember once since you left.”
He holds my face in his hands as if nothing has ever been more precious to him and he kisses me. An apology, a plea. His mouth moving slowly over mine as if relearning its every dip and curve. My mouth opens and he steps in closer, his tongue gently making me forget where we are and what we were discussing. My coin purse falls to the ground and his palm slides to my ass as he pulls me toward the trees on the side of the road.
I arch against him, seeking friction, and his mouth moves over my neck. He undoes my first two buttons and, when it’s still not enough to reach my bra, he leans over and pulls at my nipple with his teeth through the fabric of the dress. I reach for his belt.
“Please,” I beg him. “I need more.”
