Watching the sun dip into the Gulf of Mexico, coloring the sky all shades of purple, reminds me of the view on the park from Noah’s castle. I’d announced it was the most beautiful vista in the world, even better than Key West sunsets. I had raved about the chateau and its grounds, and even declared I would do anything to lay my hands on it. Including marrying someone I didn’t have deep feelings for.

The shame.

That conversation is, without a doubt, the single most mortifying episode of my life. Just remembering it sets my face on fire. Why, oh why, did I say those things?

I was making a point.

And Noah took it.

With a sigh, I scoot from the middle of the bench to the side of the boat, hoping that Doug’s friends Tim and Rosalind won’t notice my flaming cheeks.

“What do you think, babe?” Doug calls out from behind the helm. “Gorgeous, huh?”

I’ve lost count of the times I almost asked Doug to call me bébé. He probably would as a tribute to my French side. Only there’s a risk that hearing him say bébé would make things even worse for me. Getting over Noah has been hard enough—I don’t need a daily reminder of what he murmured when he made love to me.

It’s been only two months, but it seems like my Parisian holiday ended an eternity ago. And yet, it seems like yesterday.

“The sunset or your boat?” I ask Doug, turning my head to give him a bright smile.

Rosalind and Tim chuckle.

“The boat.” Doug grins back, proud beyond measure of his shiny new yacht.

“The best view ever!” I say.

Just to think I was a girl who couldn’t get the hang of lying no matter how hard she tried.

That girl is gone.

The new me has grown up and figured it out.

Watch me. “Hey, I’m getting a little queasy,” I say to Doug, pulling a sad face. “Could you drop me off at the pier?”

He gives me an aww-you-poor-darling look. “Sure thing. Do you mind if we continue without you?”

“Not at all!”

This one isn’t a lie. Doug’s friends are OK, but we have zero shared interests and nothing to say to each other.

With Doug, at least, I can talk shop.

When I’m finally alone in the house—I’ve moved back in with Dad until I find a new apartment—I fix myself a cranberry cooler and sit on the porch.

Halfway through my drink, my phone rings in my pocket. It’s Noah. I never pick up when he calls me, expecting each call to be the last. But he’s been at for eight weeks now, sometimes daily, and there’s no sign of him relenting.

Dad says I should just block his number. He’s right—that’s the best thing to do.

I answer the call.

“Sophie?” he sounds incredulous.

“Yes. I picked up just to ask you to stop calling.”

See? I’m so good at lying now it’s scary.

What I really picked up for is to hear his voice. And also because it’s been so damn hard to stop thinking about him, to forget his eyes, his smile, his lovemaking…

“I’ll stop calling if that’s what you want,” he says. “But will you please hear me out first?”

I huff out a sigh. “It’s OK, Noah. I’m not mad anymore. You hid things from me because you had no reason to reveal them. We weren’t in a serious relationship.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes, and I think my dramatic departure from your brother’s wedding was utterly ridiculous. I hope you didn’t have much explaining to do.”

“You’ve changed,” he says.

“Amen to that. What about you? Did you sell the estate?”

“I donated my trust fund to Maman’s foundation and kept the estate.”

“What will you do with it?”

“Seb and Raph are chipping in with enough to cover the renovations and initial upkeep.”

“Seb and Raph, huh? The brothers you hated so much you wouldn’t even mention their existence.”

There’s a brief silence before he says, “I’m done with hate.”

Good for you.

“How’s the championship looking?” I ask.

“We trounced Bordeaux and Nancy and defeated Marseille, which nobody expected, seeing as they practically own the national championship. Next week, we’re headed to Strasbourg for the finals.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you, I’ll need it.” He hesitates. “Not just for the match, but for… everything. The delivery man is now saddled with a huge estate, a crumbling chateau, and a once-profitable winery. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Hire a manager or bring in an associate.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he says.

“Stop thinking—act.”

He chuckles.

“It was nice talking—” I begin.

“Would you like to be my associate and spearhead all of the cool projects you came up with in Burgundy?”

Whoa.

“Thank you for offering,” I say, “But I’m going to say no.”

“Sophie, I—”

This time it’s my turn to cut in. “I’m about to get a marriage proposal.”

“From whom?”

“A lovely local man—our biggest competitor, as it happens. Well, ex-competitor now.”

“Has your ex-competitor penciled a date onto your calendar?” he asks with sarcasm.

“In fact, he has. Next Saturday at Louie’s Backyard.”

Why I’m giving him the time and place, I do not know. It’s not like he’s going to fly in from France and save me.

Anyway, I don’t need saving.

There’s a pause before Noah speaks. “I take it you intend to say yes.”

“You bet.”

I do intend to say yes, despite my panic attacks in the middle of the night, doubts, and the knowledge I’ll never feel about Doug the way I feel… felt about Noah.

“Isn’t it too soon for a proposal?” he asks. “You couldn’t have dated him more than two months.”

“Why wait? Doug and I are a great match, personally and professionally.”

Except, my body still refuses to allow him more than a no-tongues smooch every now and then.

It’s back to frigid for me.

Doug says he doesn’t mind. He claims that my decorum is one of the things he likes about me. I never gave him the reason why I left Paris earlier than planned, but he’s come up with an explanation of his own. That city was too decadent for Sophie Bander. Doug is extremely proud to be dating the most uptight woman in Key West.

The image of Noah’s blond head between my widespread thighs with my fingers delving into his soft hair as I guide him flashes before my eyes.

It’s hard to believe that woman was me.

But what happens in Paris, stays in Paris.

“You told me once,” Noah says, “that you avoided emotions because they cloud your judgment.”

“So?”

“Can’t you see that’s what’s happening to you now? You’re letting an emotion cloud your judgment. And it isn’t even a good emotion.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Anger.”

I say nothing.

“You are still mad at me,” he says. “And you want to hurt me as much as I hurt you.”

“It’s not about you! I’m over you. I’ll marry Doug because he’s the kind of man I’ve always wanted to end up with.”

“Listen to me, bébé. Don’t repeat my mistakes. I let anger guide me for years, but things weren’t as black and white as I thought. The villains had redeeming qualities, and the saint… wasn’t so saintly.”

“So you turned your back on Marguerite?”

“Of course not. I still love her, and I admire her commitment to philanthropy. But I’m no longer the tool of her revenge.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I say.

“Bébé—”

“Take good care, Noah.”

And with that, I hang up.