Oh là là là là! Whatwashe doing, opening up his heart like this to the person who’d once hated him so much she hadn’t been able to make eye contact with him? He’d only decided to put himself into the vulnerable position of being face to face with Sophie Spencer again to see if he really had become as strong as he thought he had.
Okay, maybe he still couldn’t resist the pull towards her, but he’d been so sure he could never be crushed again so badly that any reason to want to live had apparently evaporated.
But, here he was, revealing the dream that had become everything to him.
Hisraison d’être.
As much of a passion as his art. Because they were both part of what he believed was the core of existence. His dystopian art confronted people, asked big questions and, hopefully, provided an opportunity to recognise what mattered most in life.
People. Not things.
And his dream of the youth centre was all about the people that might otherwise slip through the cracks of society and become lost forever. Like he would have been if it hadn’t been for Tom.
Nobody could ever be truly lost if they were loved.
And that was what was really at the heart of what mattered in life. That people weren’t alone.
Love.
His passions had developed rather like the photographs he still put through their chemical baths and pegged to a line to let dry. Images that came slowly into focus until they were crystal clear and real.
He believed they were safe to be passionate about because there was no one who could undermine the feeling of worth that these endeavours gifted him. But, in this moment – waiting for Sophie to say something – he knew he’d been wrong.
Because Sophie still had the power to crush him.
Because he still loved her, as much as he loved life itself.
And a part of him had, all along, been hoping that she would be proud of what he was doing with his life.
Oh, he would survive if she didn’t get it. Or if she thought he was simply pissing in the wind, but it would never feel the same, would it? His dreams, and he himself, would feel… smaller.
He could feel the power of her silence, like a prowling lion. Was he about to feel claws in her words?
They were no more than a whisper into the stillness of the night.
‘You’re doing this to honour Tom, aren’t you?’ Sophie’s voice shook. ‘Your whole life is about how much you loved him and you’re using it to help others. It’s…’ She seemed lost for words suddenly.
Not that Luc could fill the new silence. The lump in his throat had sharp edges. Painful enough to bring the sting of tears to the back of his eyes. She got it. She totally got it. And him.
Sophie looked up at him. ‘He’d be so proud of you,’ she whispered. ‘I hope you’re proud of yourself.’
‘He changed my life.’ Luc tried, and failed, to swallow that lump. ‘He showed me how much life could be something full of joy and not just an ordeal. That some people could be trusted. Others could be loved and, even if you only found one person like that, life was worthwhile.’
Something was breaking inside his chest as he saw the moonlight reflected in the teardrop rolling down Sophie’s cheek. He touched her face with his fingers, catching the tear, and she dipped her face as if she was trying to hide but Luc traced her jawline until he reached her chin and, very gently, he tilted it.
‘We both loved him,’ he said, very softly. ‘And he loved us. We don’t really needthingsto remember that, like a camera or a diamond heart.’
Sophie didn’t say anything. She held his gaze. Her lips parted a little and Luc could feel the faintest tremble in her chin, and that was the moment he knew he was utterly lost.
Falling. So slowly that either of them could have made it stop at any moment but neither of them did. Luc held her gaze until the last possible moment, when his face was so close it was instinctive to close his eyes. He cupped her chin, tilted his head and touched her lips with his own.
* * *
She’d always known it would feel like this.
As if, finally, everything made sense. This was the moment Sophie had been waiting for all her life.
To be where she belonged.
