CHAPTER TWENTY

Ten years ago

He shouldered his bag and scanned the arrivals and departures board, checking for his flight.

Delayed. For two hours.

He sighed and then shrugged. What can you do? He patted his carry-on. It was all he had brought on his short trip, and now he was returning to base. He had a paperback, and music to listen to—a new band that a college buddy had sent him. He’d find his gate, grab a seat, pop in his earbuds, and check out some tunes as he turned the pages.

Heading for security, he reached into his pocket and took out his boarding pass and passport, and ten minutes later, he was on the other side at the small airport in Marseilles. As he strolled past a coffee shop, he focused on the tasks ahead for the week, and the work he had going on in his army intelligence division, doing his best to keep his mind off whether Annalise had responded to his letter yet. Maybe, just maybe, he’d find a reply from her on his return, and perhaps it would be the answer to his greatest wish. Her yes. It would be stained with tears of happiness, and it would smell like her.

The sensory memory ran through him of the girl he still loved, now a woman he desperately wanted to see again. He allowed himself that moment, then he blinked, refocused, and turned into the gift shop to grab a bottle of water. Soon enough, he’d have her answer. No need to linger on the unknown until it was certain.

After he paid for the drink and spun around to leave, he spotted the magazine racks. Most of the magazines were French and local, but there were others, including Vanity Fair. From behind the column next to the racks, a woman stretched out her arm to grab an issue.

He only saw a sliver of her profile, the shape of her nose, but she was haltingly familiar.

His heart slammed against his ribs. It couldn’t be. There was no way. And yet, what if? A fragile sort of hope raced in him as he took a tentative step. He swallowed dryly, peering around the rack for a better look at the woman with the long red hair, flipping through a magazine.

And he knew.

The hair on his arms stood on end. Goose bumps scattered over his skin. She was his ghost, his memory, but she was all real now—creamy skin, green eyes, long fingers, and red lips that he’d kissed more times than he could ever count.

Ma petite fraise.

My little strawberry. He’d called her that because of her hair, and because her lips tasted so sweet. He hadn’t seen her in eight years, not since he put her on the flight back to Paris and said good-bye, his heart cratering as she flew across the ocean, far away from him.

He hadn’t talked to her in five years, not since he was a sophomore in college.

But here she was, and if ever there was a sign, this was it. He’d never believed in them before, but he’d once believed in her. She was his religion. His first love.

His only love.

He took another step and then parted his lips and spoke—a dry crackling sound that became her name. “Annalise?”

She raised her chin, her eyes widening. Her expression changed from curiosity over who was asking her name, to a wistful sort of wonder and surprise. She said his name like a question, too, but it sounded more like amazement that they were both here. “Michael?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” His chest warmed, like sunshine was spreading from the inside out. “In the flesh.”

As if to test his statement, she dropped a quick kiss on each cheek, then wrapped her arms around him.

It was like falling back in time, landing softly on your favorite moment in the past. All those moments were with her. All his favorite times. She smelled like raindrops and passion, just like he’d remembered, and he inhaled her scent briefly before they separated.

He gestured to her, standing before him in the shop. “How are you?”

It was such an ordinary question, the kind you would ask an acquaintance, but after all the years, it was the only natural way to begin again. Even after he’d sent her a letter a week ago.

“My flight is late. I was annoyed, but now I’m not,” she said, her lips curving up in a wide, crazy smile.

Oh shit. He was grinning now, too. Smiling like a fucking fool. She still had that effect on him. His pulse thundered under his skin, hammered in his throat. She had to be saying yes. That must be her answer to his letter.

“Mine, too. Late flight, that is. Also, I’m not annoyed at all now,” he said, as hope rose inside him—the hope that they were flying in the same direction.

But when he asked, she was heading to Paris.

“Do you want to get a coffee?” she asked. “Or do you still detest coffee?”

“I would love to…have a tea,” he said with a smile, and she laughed, and this was good. So good. Like old times.

They headed to an ordinary airport café, ordered black coffee for her and tea for him, and sat at a small iron table as travelers filtered past them, talking about their trips, their plans, what they needed before their planes took off. It was white noise, the elevator music to this surreal slice of time.

Sitting here with her.

He wanted to cup this moment in the palm of his hands, to carry it and treat it like a precious object, like it could become what he’d once longed for so terribly—a future with her.

He had so much he wanted to say. Things like: “You’re beautiful. I miss you. Why couldn’t we find a way to stay together? Why did we have to drift apart? Did you get my letter and will you please, please, please tell me it’s the same for you?”

But when she lifted her hand to reach for her coffee, the breath escaped his chest in a cold rush.

The stone on her left hand was small, but shone brilliantly and horribly, slashing all his hopes.

His throat turned dry and his chest pinched. But he went for humor, needing it as a shield from the reality. He held up his hand, as if the sun had robbed him of sight. “Whoa. I think your ring blinded me.”

Annalise cast her eyes down at it, as if she just realized she was wearing it. She fiddled with it for a second then folded her hands in her lap. Out of sight. “I received your letter. I’m…engaged.”

Two short sentences that punctured his lungs. It was something he should have prepared for. Something he knew was always a possibility. But his heart squeezed too tight, and he gasped for breath as nothing but hurt coursed through him. As quickly as it surged, though, he tried to shut it down. To remind himself that he’d been rolling the dice anyway when he sent the letter, and the dice had come up empty.

He inhaled deeply, let the air fill his lungs, then put on his best face. “Congratulations are in order, then. Who’s the lucky guy?” he asked, taking the knife and digging it around in his chest a little more, carving out some of that beating organ.

“His name is Julien. We work together. He’s…wonderful,” she said, her voice faltering, as if she were embarrassed to admit that.

“I’m glad to hear,” he said, and he was, in a way, because she deserved someone wonderful. He’d just once believed that someone would be him. He’d believed it a week ago, a day ago, a few minutes ago.

He was a foolish romantic.

But really, what had he expected? That after not talking or writing, he would send a letter, and they’d magically run into each other then start back up again like some romantic movie?

Well, the thought had been front and center of his mind for the last five minutes, sure. Because when you see the love of your life out of the blue in an airport, it feels like the stars are lining up for you.

Now, it felt like a cruel twist of fate.

He picked up his tea, took a drink, then set it down. They talked and caught up on each other’s lives. They discussed their jobs, and their families. She told him about Noelle’s life, and he told her that Ryan and he were working for Army Intelligence, that Colin was finishing up college, acing every class, and Shannon was slated to graduate soon, too, and was engaged to be married to her college sweetheart.

The ease with which they had always spoken about everything tugged at his heart, but it reminded him, too, of all that was lost.

Lost with her.

They wouldn’t have this again. This was all there was, and he shouldn’t feel so let down. He hadn’t expected to see her. He didn’t think he’d ever see her again in his whole life.

Tell that to his heart, though. It was beating overtime for her, like it had been reawakened and was wishing desperately that this was a new beginning rather than another end.

* * *

Dear Annalise,

I hope this letter finds its way to you safely, and that you are healthy and happy. It’s been so long, too long, since I heard your voice or read your handwriting. I miss both with a deep ache inside me, one that never subsided. In spite of the time that has passed, I haven’t stopped thinking of you, not once in all the years since we last spoke. I’m not exaggerating when I say a day hasn’t gone by when I don’t think of you with fondness, love, and desire, as much, if not more, than I felt before. It seems utterly small to say I hope you are well, but I do wish that for you and your family.

I’ve finished college now, and am grateful for the scholarship from the army that paid my way through school. Now it is my turn to give back, and I’m doing that, as it happens, in Europe. I’m working in army intelligence and I have just been stationed in Germany, of all places. It’s not France, of course, but it isn’t an ocean away, either. I am so much closer to you than I ever was before. Perhaps we can see each other again? Perhaps we can do more than see each other? Maybe even start over? I have always longed for you with everything in my heart. Je n’ai jamais cessé de t’aimer, ma petite fraise, my Annalise.

With all of my love,
Michael

* * *

She wasn’t supposed to think he was handsome. She shouldn’t be lingering on the memory of how he kissed, how she felt in his arms, or just how damn good they had been together. No, she was in love with her fiancé.

She. Was. In. Love.

But as she sat across from Michael her heart beat furiously, crashing against her skin, fighting valiantly to escape her plans, her future, her pending marriage. She laced her fingers together under the table, and she swore she was on the verge of crushing bones in the effort to keep her hands in her lap, her butt in the seat, her lips to herself.

Some primal part of her was dying to lean across the table, hold his face in her hands, and kiss him like no time had passed.

She resisted with everything she had. She resisted those words he’d written—Je n’ai jamais cessé de t’aimer. I have never stopped loving you.

Receiving that letter last week had been hard enough. Knowing how to respond was even tougher. Seeing him now was the most difficult part of all. Because as they talked, she slipped back into what they’d had in high school and that first year of college, and all that they’d been for each other.

All and everything.

She’d needed him to feel at home in America when she’d been alone, and he’d done more than that. He’d given her so much happiness. He’d needed her to survive the tragedy in his life, and she’d been there for him, even across the miles. She had thought she would marry him. She thought she’d be with him forever. And she hated that it had been too hard to stay together when they were young and so dependent on their families.

Now they were older and could find a way, and that was what he’d been trying to do when he sent that letter.

Except…. She toyed with the ring on her finger.

Her heart climbed into her throat, lodging itself there. She wanted to cry, and she wanted him, and she wanted to not want him.

She was happy, and she would always be happy with Julien. She just wished seeing Michael wasn’t so damn tempting.

And easy.

And good.

Soon enough, the clock ticked closer to boarding time. He walked her to her gate, and each step was a door closing, each second the final turn of the pages in a book. At her gate, they stopped, and unsaid words clung to the air like fog.

There was so much to say, and yet nothing that could be spoken. This was the last good-bye.

She swallowed her tears and choked back her emotions. “It was so good seeing you,” she said, and wished her words didn’t feel so inadequate.

He nodded. “And you.”

I’ll miss you. I’ll think of you. I can’t think of you. I won’t miss you. You have to understand how hard this is.

He moved first, raising his arms, and she practically fell into his embrace then lingered for a few more seconds, breathing in his scent one last time before she pulled away.

Remaining faithful. Staying true. Vowing to march forward and love her husband-to-be with everything she had.

Damn the past. The past was not her future. She wouldn’t look back.