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Julia was fully prepared this time. She closed her eyes and let the sensation wash over her. Luc’s kiss now was different from the one this morning in the loft. He held her gently, his lips moving softly, as if asking permission. Permission she willingly gave.
She slid her hand up his arm, letting her fingers rest on his neck, and kissed him back. Luc’s arms were strong around her, his whiskers scratchy against her cheek, and his kiss deepened. She held him tighter, not wanting the moment to end, not wanting to face the reality that in the morning she would leave Provence, leave him. The thought brought with it an ache that made her gasp.
Luc pulled back, his brows drawn together in concern. “Juliette?”
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She held on to him tightly, pressing her face into the hollow beneath his shoulder. And though she tried to hold it back, a sob slipped out.
Luc held her tightly. He rubbed a hand up and down her back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “I didn’t mean...” She pulled back, wiping away her tears. “I am sad to leave Rivulet. Not sad that you kissed me.”
Luc raised his brows.
Julia turned back to watch the ducklings, setting her hands on the railing to look over the side, but the ducks were no longer beneath the bridge. “I just wanted you to know—in case you were wondering,” she added. Her cheeks burned.
“That is indeed a relief.” Luc stood beside her. He laid his hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
After their quiet picnic, they walked back toward Gabi’s slowly, as if hoping their dawdling footsteps would delay the inevitable farewell. The evening was growing dark, but it was still light enough for them to see their way.
When they neared Gabi’s garden, Luc stopped. He glanced toward the nursery. “I need to bring the pots inside.”
“I should like to see Honey and her babies tonight,” Julia said, glad that he would be occupied while she went to speak with Mathieu. In order for her plan to work, she needed his help.
Luc kissed her cheek. He set the quilt and basket beside the garden wall. “I will see you at dinner, then.”
***
Gabi made a delicious meal for Julia’s last dinner in Provence: baked ham with herbs and scalloped potatoes accompanied by thick chewy bread and, of course, chèvre. Though Gabi tried to keep up their spirits with gossip and funny stories, the mood was somber.
Julia picked at her food, dropping the occasional bite to the cats.
Luc hardly spoke a word.
When the dishes were cleaned, Julia excused herself, explaining that she needed to rise early the following morning to catch her train.
“I’ll drive you to the station at six?” Luc asked.
“No need,” Julia said, trying to keep her voice light. “Mathieu has agreed to take me. He has to be at the station anyway.” She couldn’t look Luc in the eye, knowing his feelings would be hurt. But riding in Mathieu’s wagon was essential to her plan.
She went up to the Lavender Room, sitting on the bed and trying to imprint everything about it into her mind. She couldn’t remember what other room had felt so much like her own. Certainly not the sleeping quarters in the boarding school that she shared with three other teachers, nor the bedroom in her grand-mère’s house, where she was a guest for only a few weeks at a time. But here... She smiled, remembering the incident with the scorpion. Here, she felt at home.
The ache returned, but she did not allow herself to weep, not when there was work to do. She watched through the window, seeing the moon rise higher. She would be glad for the light, but it would also expose her should anyone look out the window. She would need to be completely sure that everyone was asleep, and then... then she would make certain Luc didn’t give up on his dream. And pray for his forgiveness.
Chapter Seventeen
One week later
At last it was Julia’sturn to ride the Grande Roue. Her father had promised her every day since she’d arrived from Paris, and since he, naturally, would not hear of her riding the grand wheel alone, today was the first time he had the opportunity to join her.
Colonel Weston paid the two francs for a first-class car, and he and his daughter climbed inside. An attendant made certain the safety gate was secure, and a moment later, they were lifted into the air.
“One hundred and ten meters,” her father told her. “That is how high we are traveling.” The ascent took nearly half an hour as the cars beneath were emptied and filled, but Julia didn’t mind at all. The sight of the World’s Fair from this vantage point was awe-inspiring. She could see the Globe Céleste, where she and her father had viewed a presentation on the constellations the night before. Beyond was the aquarium and, farther on, the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais, both filled with fine art. Between the buildings and displays, moving walkways took visitors to the various exhibits. Above it all, the Eiffel Tower stood proudly, painted magnificently yellow for the occasion.
The Rue des Nations featured pavilions sponsored by various countries, and each had apparently tried to outdo the others. Julia’s favorites had been the reproductions of the Chinese Imperial Palace and the enormous Turkish pavilion designed in the Ottoman style with Islamic architecture and beautiful Mosque minarets. She had eaten cuisine from a different land every evening for supper.
When they reached the highest point, she leaned forward. “The view is magnificent, isn’t it?”
Her father’s hand, unsurprisingly, clamped her shoulder to keep her from falling. “It is, my dear. Well worth the hour-long wait.”
