She hadn’t been floating on that magic carpet any longer. Not at all. Sophie had been sinking into a darkness that only Luc would ever be able to share. And he had held her up. They had cried together. They had talked for hours, remembering everything they’d loved about Tom.
‘That smile,’ Luc said. ‘It absolutely lit up the world. Nobody could say no to Tom Baxter when he smiled at you.’
‘That confidence,’ Sophie added with a smile. ‘He just assumed I was going to marry him. ThatIwould never say no.’
‘The loyalty.’ Luc’s voice cracked. ‘He was going to be my wingman for the rest of my life. The bond was simply unbreakable.’
‘The romance.’ Sophie sighed. ‘Who else would buy a car because it was the eye colour of the woman he loved?’
And then the mood had become sombre again.
‘I let him down,’ Luc said. ‘I didn’t keep him safe.’
‘And I let him down,’ Sophie whispered. ‘I couldn’t love him as much as he deserved to be loved by the person he was going to marry.’
She pressed her fingers to her lips for a long moment and, when she spoke, her voice was a little rough.
‘Ding ding,’ she said.
Luc looked at her in astonishment.
‘The Crusaders brought the Black Death plague to London.’
Luc’s brow furrowed. ‘But that’s true. How can I argue with that?’
‘Because it’s not true,’ Sophie said. ‘The last Crusader ships got back to England more than fifty years before the plague arrived.’
Luc was looking bewildered now. He had no idea what relevance this could possibly have to what they’d been talking about. Sophie touched his hand.
‘The Crusaders took the blame,’ she said softly. ‘And theywerepartly to blame, because they introduced people to the good stuff they could import from Asia and Europe, like silk and spices and beautiful glassware. Horses, even. And that started the merchant ships andtheybrought the rats and their fleas that brought the plague.’
Sophie blew out a breath. ‘A disaster is always a chain of circumstances. It’s not black and white. Every link plays a part. All of us who loved Tom have got something we can feel guilty about. Maybe it’s time we accept that and move on? Tom wouldn’t want us to live the rest of our lives beating ourselves or anyone else up, would he?’
Luc’s arms were around her now. His forehead pressing against hers. ‘But what on earth just made you think of playing the game?’
‘A very long time ago, I wanted to find something a bit more intelligent to say when we were playing the game than cats were superior to dogs. I was studying the Crusades at uni at the time so I tucked the statement away but I never got to use it. It’s always been there, I guess. Waiting for its moment.’ She pulled back far enough to be able to focus on Luc’s eyes. ‘Some things are worth waiting for.’
‘Hannah was right,’ Luc murmured. ‘You’re amazing. You really do know the history of the whole world.’
The words, the odd huff of laughter and the tears had eventually run out but not before an extraordinary peace had been discovered. They were the two people who’d been the closest and most beloved in Tom Baxter’s life and they’d had a secret that could have destroyed him but they’d kept it. They hadn’t even acknowledged it back then so it had never hurt Tom and, somehow, they seemed to have arrived at a shared agreement to try and let go of the guilt they’d carried for so many years.
They had gone to bed for the few hours they had left of the night, too emotionally exhausted for any lovemaking to be even a consideration. Luc had simply turned Sophie to hold her in his arms, his body curled around her back so that she’d been able to feel his warmth from his breath on her neck right down to where his legs were tangled with hers. She’d drifted into sleep, aware of his heart beating, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the astonishing feeling of safety that came from being within the circle of his arms.
Not a word had been spoken but it felt as if a conversation had been continuing nonetheless with thoughts and feelings being shared through merely a sigh of breath or the smallest movement, like fingers linking or the whisper of a kiss on skin. The physical contact had had no sexual undertones whatsoever. And yet it had been the most intimate experience Sophie had ever had with another human being.
She’d known how much in love with Luc she was but this had taken it to a whole new level.
She couldn’t imagine existing without him being in her life.
She watched him now, his stance changing as he lifted his chin, his gaze moving from the beach to the terrace. He was too far away for her to see a smile curving his lips but she couldfeelhis focus the moment he spotted her watching him. He was walking towards her now, one hand steadying the camera bag he was carrying, the other holding a tripod.
He looked so completely different to the way he had when he’d walked back into her life up the steps of the Château d’Orval. This wasn’t the mysterious and charismatic Goth photographer who was making waves in the art world with his dystopian portrayals of wedding couples. This was Luc Moreau, wearing faded blue denim instead of black, his hair neatly tied up and no distinctive black hat on his head.
Just as sexy, as far as Sophie was concerned. More so, in fact. Would she ever see him, across a room or any amount of outdoor space, without experiencing this exquisite flash of sensation deep inside her body? What was it exactly? Desire? An echo of an unforgettable climax or simply the delicious anticipation of the next?
Maybe it was a mix of everything with the added spice that could only come from being so utterly, head over heels, in love.
The difference between Luc and his alter ego or how Sophie felt about him didn’t quite explain what was missing, however.
