Did I say that? Crap, I think I did. It comes back to me in a rush. “You disagreed. And rightly so. Fate’s not a thing. It’s a construct, a—”
“What if, though? What if Fate or Karma or the Ghost of bloody Christmas decided to give us a chance at something real? Then who the hell are we to deny it?” He shakes his head, his eyes burning with something fierce and alive. “I’m going to bloody well grab this opportunity by the balls. And I’m taking you with me, you miracle of a woman.”
My mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing comes out. My mind’s a perfect, stunned blank.
“Nice?” I’ve got no idea what he’s thinking as he looks me over now, shaking his head. “You want to pretend it wasnice?” After a long, heavy sigh, he appears to come to some decision. He leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. “If that’s how you’d like to play it. I’ll let it go.” He heads for the door, which he opens and steps through. He’s on the threshold when he turns, looking almost as mean as the first time I saw him. Then, in the most threatening voice I’ve ever heard, he warns, “For now,” and disappears, his footsteps heavy on the stairs.
I’m left standing here, stunned and lonely and shellshocked, with no idea what will happen next.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Colin
Nice.Nice?What a laugh.
I storm down the steps to my flat.
I get it. I do. I see what she’s doing, how she thinks she’s somehow putting things right after the lift came and shook it all up.
I know better, though. Now. I know divine intervention when I see it. Feel it. Live it. And I know she did, too.
She fucking said it, didn’t she? She told me, flat out, that we were living something special and she’s right. I denied it, to her face. I told her fate had nothing to do with it. Told her attraction was all it was.
I see now that I was a liar. Or at the very least, a fool. Who did I think I was to refuse the gift of fate, or whatever’s been pulling these strings? I’m done with that now, aren’t I? I’m ready to move on. Ready to live, not just survive.
Thank Christ I can be a stubborn bastard when it’s called for.
I’m driven, I’ve got no limits, my ethics are questionable at best. Or at least, the old me was all those things. The new me… Well, I’m a work in progress.
First, before anything else, I’m heading out in search of Christmas. It’ll be a right pain in the arse, given how dead Paris is at this ungodly hour, but there’s bound to be someone with something to spare. And I’ll bloody well find it.
I’m ready to believe in miracles.
* * *
Jules
After he leaves, I stumble to the shower and brush my teeth, avoiding my own image in the mirror.
You miracle of a woman.
Why would he say that? Why would he think it? It was the sex talking. That’s all.
I grab my phone and head toward bed.
Solène’s bed. A bed that’s been very comfy these past three months. But it’s not mine. I don’t have a bed.
Up until now, that’s been exactly the way I’ve wanted it. Who wants to be shackled by a home and a job and too many belongings? Who needs one of those relationships that quickly turns into a prison?
I think of Enora across the hall and the guy she’s been seeing and how his very fancy French family talks down to her and she takes it—for his sake.
And the worst part, the very worst, is that he’s not worth it at all. He’s the kind of dick you bump into at a party and his hand somehow lands on your ass and when you say something about it, you’re treated like the paranoid one. A professional gaslighter.
Ask me how I know.
Sighing, I shove the covers up and out of the way and tiptoe to the window overlooking the cute little pedestrian square below. I can’t see Colin’s pub from here, since it’s six flights down, directly under where I’m standing. I can, however, see the Christmas lights lining the cobblestoned alley and the flicker of rain or sleet or whatever it is currently falling from the sky.
My vision blurs and, at first, I think it’s from droplets on the window, but after a few blinks, it occurs to me that I’ve got tears in my eyes, which is so rare I almost can’t believe it.
