He leans forward, sunlight bouncing off his pale gaze. She’s tried countless times to get the exact shade of his eyes in her drawings – somehow, she never can.
‘I’m staying in Paris,’ he says, and his voice is soft, almost a caress.
She blinks. ‘You’re … staying? As in permanently?’
He nods. ‘Permanently. What happened with my dad …’ He trails off, and she reaches for his hand automatically, wanting to comfort him. His father died a few months ago, and she knows it’s been awful for him. Not just the loss itself, but because he wasn’t there when it happened – he was with her instead. He doesn’t blame her for it. But she knows he blames himself.
He shakes his head, like he’s shaking himself out of something. ‘It made me realise – I’ve been chasing the idea of something better since before I can remember.’ He watches their joined hands as he talks. ‘Chasing excitement, like I only have so long to experience it. But my dad and you have made me realise that I don’t want that. I don’t want to be chasing an idea. Maybe it would be good to sit still, to appreciate everything I have.’ He lifts his gaze to hers. ‘And with you, I know I already have everything I need.’
Something tightens within her as she swallows. ‘I don’t think I know what you mean,’ she says slowly, not sure whether to believe him and not sure, with everything so tight inside her, how she feels about it.
His thumb circles against her wrist. ‘I want to be with you,’ he murmurs. ‘I want to stay here with you. I know America isn’t what you want – but Paris, that could be for both of us.’ He takes a breath, and she watches the movement of his chest. ‘I want you to marry me – if you want that too.’
For a second, she can only stare at him, her body not catching up with what her brain is hearing. She sees the doubt flicker over his face, feels the way his thumb stills against her pulse. ‘Only if you—’
‘Of course I do!’ The words burst from her, eclipsing all thought of the letter, of art school and Florence. ‘Of course I want that.’ She takes his face in her hands, not caring about the disapproval emanating from the lady at the table next to them. She kisses him, brief and hard. And feels the sense of rightness as she does. Because there are other art schools, aren’t there? There will be other chances.
And what is today, the significance of the date, if not a reminder to take the things you want, because you don’t know how long you’ll be alive to experience them? It was meant to happen today, she knows. She was meant to face this choice, on this date, to remind her to live for the moment. And in this moment, what she wants, above anything else, is him.
A laugh bubbles from her and she gets to her feet. She pulls him up, hearing his laugh merge with hers. ‘Come on,’ she demands. ‘We need to go somewhere. We need to celebrate.’
‘Wearesomewhere,’ he says, still laughing. ‘And trust me, I’ve got ideas on how we can celebrate.’ The way his says it, voice dropping low, his gaze holding hers, sends a bolt of something right through her. Then she laughs again, because this is good, this is perfect. This is exactly what was supposed to happen.
She links her fingers with his, drags him from the table, away from the café and down the street. She doesn’t know where exactly she’s heading, only that she needs to gosomewhere.
‘Wait, what did you want to tell me?’ he asks. But she just shakes her head in answer. She doesn’t want to mention it, because she knows it’ll make him question his decision, knows he’ll worry about holding her back, and she doesn’t want that.
She’s not concentrating as she charges across the next road. He’s speaking, but her head is too light and his words blend into something she can’t quite understand. She doesn’t hear it until it’s too late. The car horn. The screeching of brakes. When she turns to see it, it’s in slow motion, like it is happening to someone else, someone onscreen, someone far away.
A car, coming towards her in the street. She’s paralysed, her mind moving far too slowly for the urgency of the situation. She hears her name screamed from what sounds like a long way away. Then she feels him pushing her out of the road. Trying to save her.
But it’s not enough. She feels the impact of the bonnet, feels her skull cracking against tarmac. Another blast of the horn, people screaming. Her ears ringing. Only this isn’t a panic attack. This isn’t her body thinking it’s been hurt – she really has been.
Her movements are slow. She can taste blood in her mouth as she rolls on the tarmac. She doesn’t think she can feel her legs, doesn’t think she can stand.
She tries to blink through the pain, tries to think. She can see shattered glass on the tarmac, and there are people running towards her, blocking her view.
But through the chaos, she can see him, further down the road. He tried to push her out of the way, and took most of the impact in the process. There is blood seeping from a crack in his skull, his neck crooked at an impossible angle.
She knows he’s dead. Even as she tries to crawl towards him, she knows. And she knows with a certainty she can’t explain that she will die today too.
To Nicole’s credit, she only does the smallest of double-takes when she opens her front door to see not just Lissa, but Ash too, standing on her doorstep. Her gaze sweeps over him, taking in the black jacket slung over one arm, the messy dark hair, the stubble that Lissa is learning he lets grow out because he can’t be bothered to shave. Then she smiles.
‘Lissa. And Ash? Come in!’
It’s impressive, really, how she immediately treats Ash like a part of the family – or at least a good, well-known friend of Lissa’s – when in reality it was only a few days ago that Lissa asked her dad if it was okay to bring Ash to his birthday barbecue. After all, he took her to meethisdad, so it’s only polite to return the favour. Plus, she thought it might make the barbecue easier to bear – someone to share the small talk with.
Nicole takes the bottle of damson gin (a more interesting offering than wine, according to Ash) with a smile of thanks, then gestures towards the back garden. ‘Come on. Everyone’s out here – we got so lucky with the weather, didn’t we?’
She’s right – it’s only May, and already it feels like summer has arrived, warm enough that Nicole is wearing a sleeveless dress, white with blue flowers on, complete with fancy sandals that Lissa is sure Darcy would covet. It makes her glad she spent time picking out the playsuit she herself is wearing, rubbing fake tan into her legs. Even if the outfit choice wasn’t really with Nicole in mind. And if the way Ash’s eyes dropped straight to her legs when she met him outside is anything to go by, it’s already had the desired effect.
‘So you decided against the Maldives then?’ Lissa asks as they head through the house.
‘Hmm?’ Nicole is wearing butterfly earrings, which jangle as she walks.
‘The Maldives. You were going to go there on holiday. For Dad’s birthday.’
‘Oh, yes. Well I looked into it and turns out it’s rather more expensive than I thought. So it’s shelved for the future – definitely one for the bucket list, though.’ So it wasn’t that they changed their minds about inviting her, Lissa thinks.
