Wednesday

Conlon’s been gone for a few days now.

Sometimes, when I’m wandering around Paris, I wonder how I would have perceived this city if I’d never met him. Would it be more or less beautiful?

That’s an easy one.

Less.

I always knew I’d lose him in the end, so I’m sort of doing okay. At least that’s what I like to tell myself.

Almost every second I was with him was wonderful. Every time we kissed, magic. Maybe it was the knowledge that our relationship would end as quickly as it began that made us so hungry and eager for one another. At least I can say with certainty that we didn’t waste opportunities to be together.

I do have one regret, though.

I wish I’d seen his home. I wish he’d let me in enough to see where he retreats to when he leaves me at three in the morning. But I’m sure he had his reasons for keeping me away. The same reasons that drove him to another continent to escape.

I miss him, I’ll admit. I miss his voice, his scent, his laugh. I miss his touch. But I’m determined not to walk the streets like a forlorn ghost. I’m here for a few more days, and I’m going to make it worth my while.

First on my agenda is to teach myself not to look at my phone every few minutes. I haven’t heard from Conlon since his departure on Monday when he sent me another quick text to check in. It’s okay; I haven’t texted him, either. We aren’t married; we’re not in a long-term relationship. He owes me nothing.

Katherine once told me that I shouldn’t worry about the things I can’t control, so I’m going to focus on steering myself around Paris. For the next couple of days, I’ll wander, explore and enjoy my freedom. I’ll miss Conlon, but that’s all right. What’s that old expression? Better to have loved and lost…? Je ne regrette rien. I regret nothing of our time together. I don’t regret reviving my fragile heart. I don’t mind that we only had a few days together.

I refuse to spend a single minute in self-pity mode.

When I arrived in Paris I marvelled at its beauty, and it’s still beautiful in spite of my heartache. This city is a tapestry of love stories, of broken hearts and broken dreams. That’s part of what’s so wonderful about it; you can feel its bittersweet music in the stones that make up the buildings, in the street lights, in the heart-shaped graffiti scrawled hurriedly here and there by two people who once cared about each other.

Who knows if they’re still together?

What matters is that they loved each other in Paris.

Sometimes I walk along the Seine, watching the slow-moving boats. Watching the city that I’ve grown to love proceed at its leisurely pace, its beauty engulfing me like a warm, reassuring hug.

When I come to a spot where I can see the Eiffel Tower standing in the distance before me, that’s when I feel a pang of something like sadness. We were supposed to see it together, and the truth is that I don’t want to venture there without Conlon. I wanted it to be our experience. For some reason I’ve always thought of the Tower as one of the most romantic spots in Paris, and I’d feel pathetic to take it on alone.

But maybe that’s exactly why I should. Maybe it’s the true test of Independent Adriana.

* * *

Thursday

I’ve heard from Conlon via text, asking how I am. I told him that I’m fine, that Paris is nice. I didn’t tell him that I miss him, how I wish he were here.

I’m trying to make this easier for us both.

Today I’m walking to the Arc de Triomphe. By all accounts it’s a beautiful landmark, and I’ve avoided heading out to see it until now, for some reason. My walk takes me the length of the Champs Elysées, a long, wide street lined with restaurants and shops. Nothing feels quite so Parisian as striding along the sidewalk in a sundress and flats, my small purse strapped over my shoulder. I’ve actually begun to feel like I belong here. Which is pretty unfortunate, given that I’m leaving in a few days.

I’m striding past a small café when I hear a man’s voice calling my name.

My heart leaps into my throat. For a second I think it’s Conlon; the timbre is similar, even the accent matches. But when I pivot on my heel to meet the gaze of the person who’s addressed me, I see Galen sitting under an umbrella at a small table, beer in hand. He waves to me with his prosthetic arm, a giant smile on his face.

I step over to him, my heart quaking inside my chest. Oh, God, I’m going to have to talk about Conlon. And if I do that, I’ll give myself entirely away. I’ll break down and admit to his brother that I’m in love with him. I’ll ruin everything.

“How are you?” he asks, gesturing me to take a seat.

“I’m fine,” I reply. Still standing, my hands shaking slightly.

“Sit, have a drink,” he says. “I’m all alone, what with Conlon still gone.”

“Right. When’s he back?” I ask, trying like mad to make the question sound casual.

“Actually, I think he was aiming to be back today, but there’s been some sodding delay with the flight.”

“Today?” I ask, heart ready to explode. “I thought he’d be gone a week, at least…”

“No, he said he got everything looked after faster than expected. Told me he wanted to get back here quickly.”

“Ah,” I reply stupidly. I’m sure it’s not so that he can see me; if so, he would have said so in his text.

“You’re not going to sit,” he says. It’s not a question.

I shake my head. “I should keep walking,” I reply, my eyes turning towards the giant arch at the end of the long boulevard.

“Right, because the Arc de Triomphe may collapse before you get to it.”

I meet his gaze. For once Galen has lost his smile. He’s studying my face intently, reminding me of his brother. Conlon was always good at reading my expressions. God, I’m thinking of him in past tense, like he’s dead.

“What happened with you two?” he asks.

Shit. Breakdown imminent. I may weep. Help me.

I shrug. “Nothing. And everything. It doesn’t matter; he’s gone now.”

“Correction: It does matter,” he says, rising to his feet. He comes around the table and puts an arm around my shoulders, guiding me towards the nearest chair. Slowly, but before I’ve realized he’s done it, he’s managed to get me to sit. “Adriana, what’s going on?”

“I just…I didn’t expect to see you. I’ve spent the last few days trying to pretend nothing matters, that I don’t miss your brother. I’ve been trying to adjust to the fact that I’ll never see him again.”

“Come now, how can you say that?”

I shoot him a sideways glance. “I’m leaving in a couple of days, Galen. Going back to New York. Besides, even if I stayed here, your brother…” I bite my lip and stop myself from finishing the thought.

“My brother is a fool,” he mutters. “He’s in love with you, and he knows it.” He turns away and looks into the distance. “Damn it, Conlon.” A moment later he’s looking into my eyes again. “He’s terrified of turning into our father.”

“What do you mean? He doesn’t drink a lot,” I reply. “I don’t think…”

“That’s not what I mean.” Galen lets out a deep breath. “When our mother died, something happened. Our father sank into this sort of detached state, like he’d lost his soul. He seemed to stop caring for anything, including us. It’s why Conlon looked after me for so long. He became something of a surrogate father to me when our own father shut down.”

“He looked after you,” I said. “He proved he was responsible. So I don’t get why he’s afraid of becoming something he’s not.”

Galen sighs hard. “He never says it out loud, but he’s convinced that love turns a person into something else. When my father lost our mother, it broke him. Conlon is terrified of that dependency, you see. It’s why he’s never allowed himself to be open with anyone, really. Though I suspect that he’s opened up a little to you.”

I nod my head. “He has, some,” I say. “Not entirely.”

“You and he are very similar, I think,” says Galen. “Stubborn, proud, frustrating as hell.”

“Hey!” I reply. For a second I resent being compared to Conlon, but the truth is that Galen’s right; I’m exactly what he’s describing. “Okay, fair enough.”

“Neither of you will say how you really feel, because you feel like it gives the other one too much power over you. So you’ll go back to New York, and Conlon will stay here, a couple of sad people who could have been together if you’d just been a little less ridiculous.”

“What do you propose? That I tell him I love him? I’ve already frightened him all the way to Thailand, Galen.”

“So what’s the risk? You’ll scare him to Australia? What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I reply, digging my fingers into my thighs through my dress. “He’ll tell me I’m pathetic and I’ll feel awful forever?”

Galen levels me with a reproachful gaze. “Do you really think there’s a chance in hell that my brother would ever say that to you?”

I shrug again. “Maybe. Okay, no, he wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t change things.”

“What would?”

I ponder the question for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s too late for us.”

“It’s never too late. Anyhow, you do what you want; it’s your life. I’m just saying that I’m watching two very foolish people lose a chance at something amazing, and I don’t know about you, but it breaks my heart.”

Mine too.

I stand up, pushing the chair back. “I appreciate it, Galen. Listen, I’m going to head over the the Arc now. I’ve really just got a couple of days left here. I need to see everything I can.”

“Oh? Any other plans for for the next few days?”

“I…I think I’m going to see the Eiffel Tower in on Saturday morning. I’d hoped to see it with Conlon, but…”

“But my brother is an arse, as we’ve discussed.” Galen rises to his feet and wraps me in a warm embrace. “Enjoy yourself, Adriana. You deserve it. I’m glad to have met you.”

As I hug him back, I can feel the damn tears welling up in my eyes. Time to break out the sunglasses.

“You too, Galen,” I say, drawing myself away. With a quick, awkward wave I turn and stride towards the Arc de Triomphe.

I suppose that’s the last I’ll ever see of the Davies boys.