tightly.
“You’re pale, cara. Come.” He took her by the
hand and pulled her out onto the balcony. She took a deep breath
and absorbed the display of Parisian rooftops all around them. She
could be nowhere else but Paris.
“I liked the way the artist was looking at
her.” She looked up at him. “He wasn’t trying to own her, to
control her. He wouldn’t have hurt her would he?”
He shook his head, his brows contracting
slightly as if in puzzlement, and then pulled her tight to him.
“Come. We should get to the hotel now. We
don’t have much time.”
“Sure.”
He hadn’t got it. He didn’t understand.
He was right. By the time they reached the
hotel, showered and changed they were back out again, walking down
through the Marais district with its grand medieval and
seventeenth-century buildings.
The rain had cleared and they walked, hand in
hand, down the leafy streets, cars speeding by, beautiful people
venturing out for the evening. And for once in her life, Emily felt
a deep sense of happiness.
He might never understand her fully. But why
should he? His experiences were so totally different to hers. But
here, now, with this man, she had everything she wanted.
“You’re happy, I think.”
She nodded, unable to let herself speak for
fear of tearing up.
“Good. I want you always to be happy, mio
tesoro.”
“‘Always’ is a big ask; ‘now’, is fine.”
He laughed. “You’re even beginning to sound
like me. For now . For the present.”
She cast him a quick glance. There was an
edge to his last few words that made her wonder. He pushed open a
creaking wrought-iron gate and pulled her into a deserted garden
square. Behind the barrier of trees and walls, the sounds of the
street faded. It was just them.
“Tell me, Emily. Is that enough for you.
Truthfully?”
The moon had risen over the tall buildings
and showered them both with silvered light. Dark, light. All,
nothing. It was always extremes. She had been used to nothing all
her life. And with Alessandro she had found happiness—a happiness
that had no future because Alessandro wanted it that way. How could
she possibly want anything more? But she did.
Did he want her to agree with him, say that
now was enough? Or did he want the truth. She lowered her lids. But
she knew the truth would scare him away.
“And what if I say it isn’t enough? What
then?”
For the first time she sensed an underlying
tension within him. He frowned and stroked her cheek, tenderly.
“I’ve always been honest with you. Told you what I want.”
“You have.”
“I’m just afraid that you’ll want something I
can’t give. I’m not the man to build a future with, Emily. And if
you want that, then you will be disappointed.”
She swallowed hard, willing the sadness that
flickered under the surface to descend further, somewhere where he,
or she, could never see it.
She leant towards him and broke the tension
with a deep, passionate kiss.
“I’d be mad to want more than this.” Her
voice didn’t sound like her own. Husky, like that of a woman who
also lived for the present. Perhaps she could be that other woman.
Perhaps she’d always been her.
But he didn’t smile, merely put his arm
around her and guided her back to the footpath. “Good.”
They strolled up the Rue St Antoine in
silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Hers were filled with
confusion. One minute she felt like she belonged with Alessandro.
She could do it: she could live the life, could feel the things he
wanted her to feel. The next? Reality checks. She’d never lied to
herself before. And wanting, simply wanting to be that other woman
who lived in the present, wasn’t enough.
He stopped outside a renaissance style, early
seventeenth-century building. Uniformed staff allowed them entry
into a courtyard. From there they walked into a further inner
courtyard that lay at the heart of the beautiful building. Emily
had never seen anything like it before in her
“You’re pale, cara. Come.” He took her by the
hand and pulled her out onto the balcony. She took a deep breath
and absorbed the display of Parisian rooftops all around them. She
could be nowhere else but Paris.
“I liked the way the artist was looking at
her.” She looked up at him. “He wasn’t trying to own her, to
control her. He wouldn’t have hurt her would he?”
He shook his head, his brows contracting
slightly as if in puzzlement, and then pulled her tight to him.
“Come. We should get to the hotel now. We
don’t have much time.”
“Sure.”
He hadn’t got it. He didn’t understand.
He was right. By the time they reached the
hotel, showered and changed they were back out again, walking down
through the Marais district with its grand medieval and
seventeenth-century buildings.
The rain had cleared and they walked, hand in
hand, down the leafy streets, cars speeding by, beautiful people
venturing out for the evening. And for once in her life, Emily felt
a deep sense of happiness.
He might never understand her fully. But why
should he? His experiences were so totally different to hers. But
here, now, with this man, she had everything she wanted.
“You’re happy, I think.”
She nodded, unable to let herself speak for
fear of tearing up.
“Good. I want you always to be happy, mio
tesoro.”
“‘Always’ is a big ask; ‘now’, is fine.”
He laughed. “You’re even beginning to sound
like me. For now . For the present.”
She cast him a quick glance. There was an
edge to his last few words that made her wonder. He pushed open a
creaking wrought-iron gate and pulled her into a deserted garden
square. Behind the barrier of trees and walls, the sounds of the
street faded. It was just them.
“Tell me, Emily. Is that enough for you.
Truthfully?”
The moon had risen over the tall buildings
and showered them both with silvered light. Dark, light. All,
nothing. It was always extremes. She had been used to nothing all
her life. And with Alessandro she had found happiness—a happiness
that had no future because Alessandro wanted it that way. How could
she possibly want anything more? But she did.
Did he want her to agree with him, say that
now was enough? Or did he want the truth. She lowered her lids. But
she knew the truth would scare him away.
“And what if I say it isn’t enough? What
then?”
For the first time she sensed an underlying
tension within him. He frowned and stroked her cheek, tenderly.
“I’ve always been honest with you. Told you what I want.”
“You have.”
“I’m just afraid that you’ll want something I
can’t give. I’m not the man to build a future with, Emily. And if
you want that, then you will be disappointed.”
She swallowed hard, willing the sadness that
flickered under the surface to descend further, somewhere where he,
or she, could never see it.
She leant towards him and broke the tension
with a deep, passionate kiss.
“I’d be mad to want more than this.” Her
voice didn’t sound like her own. Husky, like that of a woman who
also lived for the present. Perhaps she could be that other woman.
Perhaps she’d always been her.
But he didn’t smile, merely put his arm
around her and guided her back to the footpath. “Good.”
They strolled up the Rue St Antoine in
silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Hers were filled with
confusion. One minute she felt like she belonged with Alessandro.
She could do it: she could live the life, could feel the things he
wanted her to feel. The next? Reality checks. She’d never lied to
herself before. And wanting, simply wanting to be that other woman
who lived in the present, wasn’t enough.
He stopped outside a renaissance style, early
seventeenth-century building. Uniformed staff allowed them entry
into a courtyard. From there they walked into a further inner
courtyard that lay at the heart of the beautiful building. Emily
had never seen anything like it before in her
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