Emery nodded, hope beginning to flicker in her chest. “I should have told you. Every day I didn't tell you made it worse.”
“Yes,” Eveline agreed. “But I should have given you a chance to explain. Instead, I shut you out. Immediately. Completely.” She shook her head. “I've had a lot of time to think these past weeks. About what you mean to me. About how you've changed my life in better, brighter ways.”
The carriage trundled through the quiet streets, passing under trees that cast dappled shadows across their faces in the fading evening light. In the distance, church bells chimed the hour.
“The shop feels empty without you,” Eveline said. “The customers miss you. Zara keeps looking at the door whenever the bell rings, like she's expecting you to tumble in and knock over a display.” She smiled. “I keep finding myself doing the same.”
Emery's throat tightened. “I miss it too. The shop. The people.” She paused, gathering her courage. “You. I miss you most of all.”
Eveline sighed, frustrated. “I'm making a mess of this.” She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, slightly crumpled at the edges. “Here. I've been trying to write this for days.”
Emery took it with trembling fingers. Inside was a single sheet of paper covered in Eveline's elegant handwriting. But as she began to read, she frowned in confusion.
“There's a small problem,” she said, looking up, worried that she was about to break things once and for all. “I, um, don't really speak much French.”
Eveline let out a soft laugh, the sound warming Emery from the inside out. “Perhaps that's for the best. It's probably horribly sentimental.” She took the letter back, folding it carefully and returning it to her bag. “I suppose I'll have to show you what it means instead.”
And then Eveline was leaning forward, closing the distance between them, her hand coming up to cup Emery's cheek. She paused, just a breath away, her eyes asking a question.
“Yes,” Emery whispered, though Eveline hadn't spoken.
Their lips met, soft and tentative at first, then with growing confidence. Emery melted into the kiss, her hands finding Eveline's waist, pulling her closer despite the awkward angle and the blankets between them. It felt like coming home, like finding a missing piece of herself, like every cliché she'd ever written and a thousand more she hadn't yet found words for.
When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Eveline kept her hand on Emery's cheek. “There is a condition,” she said.
“Anything,” Emery said without hesitation. “I promise to always be honest from now on. No more secrets.”
“Two conditions, then,” Eveline said, the corner of her mouth curving upward. “Yes, we must be honest with each other. But also…” She looked at Emery seriously. “You can never give up writing romance novels.”
“What?” Emery blinked in surprise. “But I thought—”
“That I hate romance?” Eveline shook her head. “I was wrong about many things. And you should never sacrifice your passion,your talent, for anyone. Not even me.” She tucked a damp curl behind Emery's ear, her touch lingering. “Besides, I've developed a certain… appreciation for the genre recently.”
“You like romance now?” Emery asked with a grin.
“Let's say I could get used to it,” Eveline said with a small smile. “With the right teacher.”
Emery laughed, joy bubbling up inside her like champagne. “I think that can be arranged.”
This time when they kissed, it was Emery who leaned in first, pouring all her love and relief and happiness into the connection between them. Outside, pedestrians stopped to stare at the unusual sight of a horse-drawn carriage parading through the London streets, its passengers oblivious to everything but each other.
Inside, wrapped in blankets and each other's arms, Emery and Eveline found their own happily-ever-after, proving once and for all that sometimes, life really could be just like a romance novel.
And that was a truth worth believing in.
Epilogue
Sunlight streamed through the gauzy curtains of the hotel room, painting golden patterns across the rumpled bedsheets. Eveline stirred first, her dark hair spilling across the pillow as she turned to find Emery already awake, staring at the ornate ceiling with an unusually serious expression.
“Bonjour,” Eveline said. “You're thinking very loudly for such an early hour.”
Emery startled slightly, as if pulled from deep thoughts. “Sorry! Just… pre-award nerves, I guess.” She smiled, but Eveline noticed it didn't quite reach her eyes.
“You should be celebrating, not worrying,” Eveline said, propping herself up on one elbow. “The Prix Littéraire de Paris for a translation is no small achievement. Especially for a novel about a grumpy French bookseller who falls for a clumsy romance novelist.”
“Pure fiction,” Emery said with a grin, leaning over to kiss Eveline softly. “Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.”
Eveline laughed. “The lawyers made you write that, I assume.”
