Ophelia noted that he didn’t offer his arm. She sniffed, pulling her shoulders back. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Are you?” Julian slowed his steps, forcing Ophelia to do the same, giving space between them and the rest of the group ahead.
“Yes,” she said, as if this were an answer she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt.
“Because you’ve hardly spoken to me in two months.”
“You called me ‘Miss Ophelia,’” she pointed out.
“Because you haven’t spoken to me in two months,” he repeated. “Please talk to me, Ophelia. I have missed our easy conversation.” The look of pleading in his dark eyes, one of those powerful hands outstretched, reaching for her, was more than she could take. Her defenses crumbled.
“As have I,” she admitted.
“May we be true friends again?” Julian offered his arm, tentative, his head bowed, as if waiting to see her reaction.
She slid her arm around his, feeling the strength and the warmth of him in the windy Parisian November. He smiled down at her, and she returned the gesture. It was as if the ice wall between them melted. “Although I do ask you to never bring Lady DeMarius to dinner again.”
“Not to worry. Our connection is permanently and irrevocably severed,” Julian assured her, without a hint of remorse or regret.
Ophelia looked up at him again, stunned. “Truly?”
He chuckled and gave her an earnest grin. “You seem surprised. It was but a small matter. Besides, I need to know: will you still climb the Matterhorn with me?” he asked quietly, in tones that sounded more as if he were proposing marriage.
“I would love nothing more,” she said.
“Excellent. Now we must hurry to catch up to the others.” Julian pulled her arm in close, and as they hurried, they ended up running across the Place des Vosges, laughing wildly in the pending dark.
*
The next fewdays were the happiest Julian could ever remember being. They slept in, drank perfect coffee withpain au chocolat,wrapped scarves around their necks to marvel at the multicolored leaves drifting to the ground. The sun shone, and they toured every possible site, from museums to sites of famous uprisings. He talked about climbing with Mr. Vogel, who intermittently accepted correction from his bride.
Julian watched Ophelia blossom and relax around her friends, and seeing her outside of London, outside of the expectations of duty was eye-opening. Her cheeks pinked up, and her large pale blue eyes brightened. She made jokes and bantered in the group, swung her clasped hands with her friends, and squealed with delight when another couple joined their entourage, Mr. and Mrs. Moon.
Sometimes it felt as if the men were merely afterthoughts of their daily routines, as the women chatted amongst themselves, frequently erupting into laughter. Most of the time, Julian had no problem observing, as watching Ophelia live so brightly was his new favorite pastime. Other times, however, he grew unnerved when one of the ladies shot a glance in the men’s direction.
He leaned over to Mr. Moon, whom he was still getting to know. “Do you think they are talking about us?”
“No,” he said, not bothering to elaborate. He wasn’t a rude man, but he wasted no syllables, at least not on Julian. Of them, Tristan was the talker, and he was happy to elaborate.
“When they are together like this, I don’t even exist. My lungs don’t function, even my body seems to disappear completely. I am invisible.” Tristan waved to a garçon to ask for more butter for his bread.
“Isn’t that your third helping?” Julian asked him.
Tristan nodded. “The French do many things well, aside from the rioting. And that, my friend, is their bread.”
“Don’t forget beheading aristocrats,” Mr. Moon said drily.
“I don’t see any,” Tristan said, slurping at the dregs of his coffee.
“Aren’t you—” Mr. Vogel began.
“I. Don’t. See. Any.” Tristan stared the Bavarian down.
“Noted,” Mr. Vogel said, picking up his own coffee.
“So Mr. Moon, are you interested in this Matterhorn adventure next summer?” Julian tried his conversational bait.
“God, no.” Mr. Moon went back to his newspaper. Tristan had the English version, but Mr. Moon seemed to be getting along just fine with the French version.
