Olivier tightens his hold on me. “Your ex had no idea what was good for him. That’s his loss. I don’t want to change you or for you to be anything other than who you are.”
I never told Olivier what happened with Darren, why we broke up,right before my father died. But it’s like he knows, instinctively. He saw the weakness within me, used it for his own benefit. Didn’t he?
The breeze picks up and the cool air makes my skin tingle. Olivier caresses my cheek, and when he comes in for a kiss, I don’t pull back. I mean, I’m squeezed against the railing anyway, and there are people all around us, but I don’twantto pull back.
“Je t’aime,” he whispers in my ear after our lips part. “It means ‘I love—’”
“I know what it means,” I say. It comes out harsher than I intended, so I soften it up with a smile. I was never good at languages at school, but even a moron would know that. We’ve seen the movies, Olivier. We’ve all heard these words before, spoken to other people. “Take a picture with me.”
If he’s disappointed that I didn’t say it back, he doesn’t let it show.
He hesitates. Then: “Of course.”
Or maybe I imagined it, because when he leans against me, he presses his face to mine, like he wants to be as close as possible. Lit by the orange hues of the afternoon glow, with the water and the Eiffel Tower as our backdrop, we look pretty damn good. Like we’re in love.
Olivierwantedto marry me. I called the shots and he went along with all of it. And he’s right; he never tried to turn me into someone I’m not.
He leans over to check out the picture. “We look right together,” he says, beaming. “Like it was all meant to be.”
My throat catches. I don’t know what to say, which never happens.
Once again, Olivier stares deep into my eyes. “I love you, Cassie. ‘Till death do us part.’ That’s what we said. That’s what we swore.”
I open my mouth to respond but close it again. The thing is, Olivier doesn’t know me at all. Because if he did, he’d understand that I didn’t think too hard about what we swore. I had other things on my mind, other people. And, to be honest, I’m not exactly the best at keeping promises. Never was, and probably never will be.
Chapter 9
Olivier
Three months before the honeymoon
When Cassie walked through my door again three hours later, her demeanor had changed. She was wearing her funeral dress, the short little black one, her hair brushed nice and straight.
“You’re here!” I said, dropping my cool act. I’d been anxiously checking the time, running nightmare scenarios through my head. “You’re back.”
I got up and went to hug her, I was so relieved. “I’m sorry if I scared you about the whole marriage thing. I completely understand if you want to forget I ever said that.”
Panic made the words tumble out fast and furious.
Cassie made a strange face. “You were serious about that?”
“Of course I was.” Had she not heard the desperation in my voice? Had she not listened when I said I was about to be forced out of the country? “I’d marry you in a heartbeat, if you’d have me.” I chuckled, like wasn’t this all so very sweet?
She studied me in silence, half-amused, half-confused. I didn’t know what else to say to convince her but I was willing to try anything. “We’re having fun together, aren’t we? Think about all the great things we could do. So, yes, I’m serious, Cassie. I want to marry you. And if it’s aboutmoney…”
I drifted off. I’d have money again. I’d pay her, one day. I was just about to promise that when she cut in.
Her eyes lit up. “That asshole,” she said, as she went to the coffee machine.
“I’ll do that,” I said, jumping to take over and pulling out two coffee mugs. I’d have done anything she wanted me to.
She went to sit on the couch. “That little rich asshole.”
“What happened?”
She shook her head. “Millionshe had. Plus the house.Houses, I should say. You won’t believe how muchthisis worth,” she said, circling the air with her index finger.
I already knew, of course. I’d looked it up when I moved in, thinking of the day I’d have my own brownstone in one of Brooklyn’s finest neighborhoods, instead of living in the basement.
