CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

She supposed she could have put the photos away. She could have hidden them, tucked them into a cabinet, pretended they didn’t exist.

But what would have been the point of that?

As she raced down the metro a few days later on the way to a photo shoot at a client’s Montmartre flat, a poster in the station caught her eye. It was part of the new campaign to stop metro riders from talking on the subway—a chicken dressed as a businessman clucked on the phone while the other riders stared daggers at him. She felt a kinship with the other riders in the picture. Not over secondhand cell phone conversations, but because she was annoyed, too.

She was fucking annoyed, as her train rattled into the station and she stepped through the doors. She was frustrated as she gripped the pole, and the subway rumbled away. She didn’t want to constantly justify her past to Michael. He’d have to accept it at some point if they were truly going to be together and pull off this transcontinental relationship. Wasn’t it hard enough to manage a long-distance love without this added layer of…bullshit?

She huffed and stared off, searching the faces of the other people in the car, wondering if the woman clutching six shopping bags on her lap was irritated too, if the teenage girl with her earbuds and the skinny jeans was ticked at the world like her. If everyone on this train was as goddamn frustrated as she was.

Michael had tried to be cool about Julien after they’d left her home. But she wasn’t a fool. She’d read his emotions and sensed his distance back at the hotel. He’d pulled away from her that last night, and everything since then had been bittersweet.

She wanted the sweet, hold the bitter, please.

And she didn’t want to make apologies for having loved before.

She reached her destination, climbing the many stairs out of the station, and walked along the curving, hilly streets to find her client’s home. All the while, she forced Michael out of her brain. There was no room for annoyance now.

She raised the iron knocker at the door of her client’s house, and was greeted by a stunning forty-something woman with black hair.

“Come in, come in,” the woman said in a smoky, sexy voice, excitement in her tone. “I’ve been counting down the hours until the shoot.”

As Annalise captured images of the boudoir session, the woman told her that she’d been divorced and was remarrying. The photos were a gift for her soon-to-be-husband. In the images, she appeared both sultry and joyful. This woman had moved on. Hell, Michael had managed to press on after losing his father and, for all intents and purposes, his mother. He still loved his father, though. So why the hell was Annalise being judged for having a special place in her heart for Julien?

After she said good-bye, she held steadfast to the notion that she was no different than anyone else who’d loved before. My God, she’d been in love with Michael before she even met Julien. At some point, Michael would have to accept that she’d been in love with someone else before she fell for him a second time. End of story.

If he couldn’t deal, she’d have to walk away. The thought churned her stomach, though. She was moving on. Why couldn’t he let her?

Anger stormed through her as she rode the metro. She stopped at her mother’s, helping her to a doctor’s appointment.

“She’s doing better,” the doctor said. “Her hip is stronger.”

Her mother nudged her and winked. “See? I’m tough.”

“You are,” Annalise said, the first real smile appearing on her face today.

“You come from a long line of tough women,” her mother said after they left the appointment and headed to a café, Annalise’s elbow hooked around her mom’s arm, their strides slow.

“I do,” she said as they found a table on the sidewalk and ordered coffees.

“What’s wrong then? Why do you seem so upset?”

“You’re too observant for your own good.”

“That’s where you get it from.” Her mom tapped the edge of her eye. “So tell me…”

Annalise watched the crowds click-clack by on the sidewalk, the cool, crisp air surrounding them. She gave her mother the gist of how Michael seemed unable to deal with her past. The coffee arrived, and they both lifted their cups, lost in thought.

Her mother took a drink then set it down on the saucer, her lips curving in a knowing grin. “I knew you loved him.”

Annalise knit her brow, shooting her mother a curious look.

“What did he say when you told him you loved him?” her mother asked.

“I didn’t say that. I said I was falling.”

“Ah,” her mother said, nodding sagely. “Therein lies the problem.”

“How is that a problem?”

Her mother locked her fingers together, forming a bridge. “Falling in love and being in love are bedfellows, but they aren’t the same. We often think they are, but they’re truly not. Falling is just a way to float the idea, like a test of I love you. If you love him, you should tell him. Reassure him. He loves you so. Michael wears his heart on his sleeve for you, and a man needs to know he’s special. He knows he’s not the only one you’ve loved, but he wants to feel like he is.” She unlaced her fingers and stared at Annalise, her eyes holding her captive, softly demanding. “Does he feel like he is? The only one?”

Her gut twisted. He was the only one for her now, but perhaps she hadn’t exactly made that clear. “I really don’t know.”

Her mother patted her hand. “Make sure he knows.”

That night, she wrote to him. She wasn’t entirely convinced she wanted to say those three words in a letter, but there were other things to say. Things that were as important.

The truth of all her fears.

When she was through, she dropped it in FedEx. He would receive it in two days.