Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Nothing could pull me from this moment. From this man and our beginning.
EPILOGUE
“You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read.”—Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
Three years later
Winnie
Platform 5 at Gare du Nord was a sea of humanity. As usual. Serious-looking business folks traveling lightly dodged tourists with mega-sized luggage on their way to the exit. The announcement from the overhead speaker was drowned out by conversations in many languages, the incoming train two platforms over, and the traffic outside.
I tucked my rainbow-hued scarf into the collar of my emerald-green wool coat for warmth, craning my neck expectantly for a glimpse of my professor. Three days apart wasn’t a big deal in the scheme of things, but sometimes it felt like an eternity.
A woman with a giant suitcase bumped into me as she herded two small children. “Pardonne-moi. Sorry.”
“Pas de soucis,” I replied like a freaking native. Translation: No worries.
Uh, yeah, that was me…speaking French. Did you catch that? Don’t quote me, but I think I’d even used the correct context. I’d been taking French lessons for three years now and let me tell you, it was a challenge. There were so many ways to say, “It’s okay.”
For instance, I could go with okay, and everyone would know what I meant, but that was boring. Pas grave or “Never mind” was a solid choice, too. I’d fucked that up a couple of times ’cause grave in English also took you to a spooky place with tombs and my mind had a wonky way of mixing words that absolutely didn’t work in French. I’d thrown around the phrase “Pas de tombe” a few times before my husband set me straight.
“You realize you’re saying, ‘no tomb’?” Alistair had gently corrected with a snort of laughter.
“Oh. Too literal, huh?”
“Un peu.”
I’d snapped my fingers. “A little! I know that one.”
Alistair had just smiled that gorgeous “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me” smile that turned me inside out, and everything in my world had felt one thousand percent right and good…and so much more than I ever dreamed of.
Maybe that was why these occasional weekdays apart drove me batty. Yes, we both had important business to attend to, but damn it, I’d missed him like crazy.
And there he was.
The professor emerged from the first-class train with a carry-on bag slung on his shoulder. My pulse skittered and my heart flipped the way it always did for my tall, handsome hunk of a man. He tightened the belt on his khaki coat as he scanned the area, tilting his chin and flashing a megawatt grin.
I waved both arms above my head and hurried toward him. No chill whatsoever.
“Bonjour, mon amour. Je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime!” I shouted for the entire station to hear. So what? Let them hear. We were out, proud, and madly in love. And horny too. Did I mention it had been three long-ass days?
Alistair dropped his bag on the ground between us and pulled me against his chest. Then he tilted my chin and crashed his mouth over mine. I think I whimpered, and I definitely swooned.
“Hello, my love,” he said, sweetly kissing my nose. “I missed you terribly.”
I sighed as he bent to pick up his bag. “Me too, but I did all the things. You’re going to be so proud of me.”
“I’m always proud of you.”
That was true. He was. Alistair was my biggest champion and most enthusiastic fan. He truly believed I was capable of greatness and get this…I was beginning to think he might be right. The past twelve months alone were a sign that good things were on the horizon for both of us.
We’d started a business in London, bought a house in the French countryside, and gotten married last spring in LA. How’s that for a banner year?
I won’t lie and claim it was all sunshine and roses from day one. Doing the long-distance relationship thing could be stressful no matter how much effort you put into making it work. We did it, though.
I’d had a life in LA and like it or not, I’d needed a job. I’d thought about chucking it all and relocating to London to be with my man, but that was a daunting move, and I’d wanted to be sure our version of forever was the same.
We’d racked up frequent-flyer miles jetting between Los Angeles and London for a year. I’d introduced Alistair to my friends and family, taken him to drag brunches, shopping at The Grove, hikes in Runyan Canyon, and of course, to the LA County Museum of Art.
I’d tried not to overwhelm him, but that was bound to happen to a degree. My friends were outrageous, my family was loud, and the emphasis was always on food or fun. But Alistair loved it all. He bonded with my parents and grandparents, brought gifts from the UK for Jazz and my niece and nephew, and was polite though slightly distant with Milo…wise man.