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With slumped shoulders, he walked around the crumbling stone house where Céline waited in the car. He didn’t feel like being with her, but she’d insisted on coming.
Even though Amy’s leaving without even writing him a note or saying goodbye was his fault, he felt as small and lost as he had the day he’d learned the comte hated him because he was Sando Montoya’s bastard.
Remy got in the car and jammed his key in the ignition. But instead of starting the car, he just sat there.
“Why don’t you start the car?” Céline whispered.
“We’ve got to end this thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This. Us. Whatever the hell you’re doing. Your surprise visits. Your sudden coziness with my mother.”
“But I thought—”
“I thought I made myself clear.”
“But you said in a month…”
“It hasn’t been a month. Not that that matters.”
“But she’s gone.”
“I’m sorry, Céline.”
“I thought that when she left, maybe you and I…”
“I’m sorry.”
“But if she’s not coming back…”
“Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. I’ve got to find her and make her understand that I was wrong, so wrong about everything.”
“You love her?”
“I’ve never been in love before, so I’ve behaved rather stupidly. But, yes, I guess I am in love.”
“Oh, Remy, then I’ve done something truly terrible, so terrible I don’t know if you can ever forgive me.”
He looked at her. “I’ve done terrible things and have needed forgiveness and compassion myself. Why don’t you try me?”
“It’s about Amy….”
Geography. Songs. Scents. These are the things that transport you in time and bring old memories so acutely into focus that they hurt again. Thus, London, with its black cabs and double-decker red buses and cool, humid air made Amy long too keenly for Remy as she walked toward Carol’s flat after a long day of shopping.The straps of her heavy shopping bags cut into her arms. Her feet ached, but she stopped at the exact spot where Remy had bumped into her and knocked her bags to the ground.
For a long moment she held her breath. Everything was the same, but nothing was. Loss filled her. How long would it take before she wasn’t haunted every minute of every hour by his absence? If only she could make a wish and turn the clock back and have him here.
She bit her lips. Visiting Carol had seemed like such a good idea, just the thing to help her get over Remy, just as shopping today at Camden Market had seemed like a good idea after her mother had faxed a list of things for her to shop for. But she’d thought of Remy all day, and there had been no fun in any of her purchases.
Carol was coming into the city to take her to dinner, and she needed to get ready. But she dreaded Carol’s questioning and advice. Glancing at her watch, Amy realized she’d better hurry. Perfect Carol was always on time.
Just as she was about to resume walking, a tall, dark man with lithe, long-legged strides dashed across the street straight toward her.
When she turned, he slowed his pace. Even before she really looked at him, her skin began to prickle with excitement. Her breathing became very fast and shallow, and her legs suddenly felt like spaghetti.
A lock of black hair fell over his brow and he pushed it back, and the gesture was so familiar her breath caught.
“Have you been out buying see-through knickers again?”
“Remy? Remy!”
Then her bags were falling from her hands, their contents spilling everywhere. But she was running and yelling his name over and over again, too happy to care.
“I love you,” he said as he folded her into his arms. “I love you. I hope I’m not too late.”
“All that matters is that you’re here now.”
“And I’ll be here forever if you’ll have me. I need a wife, not a mistress. Will you marry me?”
All the love in her heart flew to him. She wanted to say yes, yes, yes, but she was so filled with emotion, the words caught in her throat, so she kissed him, instead, long and steadily. Forever.
She was going to be his comtesse. That would take some getting used to for a lot of people, like his mother and his sisters. And maybe her own mother, too.
Or maybe it wouldn’t.
“My mother always told me that fairy tales were real. She used to promise me that someday I’d grow up and be a princess.”
“I’m afraid you’ll only be a comtesse.”
“Being your comtesse is way better than being an ordinary princess,” she said. “Will we live in your château?”
