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I wrap my arms around him and hold him close. “Aaron.”
I feel his lips curve into a smile against my forehead as he traces kisses over me. “So, you’re Fi.”
“I’m Fi,” I say.
A gust of wind rushes past, blowing snow in a whirlwind around us. I shiver, and Aaron pulls me closer. I rest my cheek against the beating of his heart. He was gone. Yet now he’s here.
I’ve remembered my dreams, everything that happened in the past. But now, standing in the falling snow, wrapped in Aaron’s warm arms, I remember another dream.
A dream where I’m loved. Where I love. Where every day I accept love and give love. Where I give my heart, where I dive in to the ocean of love, and I’m not afraid.
Aaron strokes his finger across my lips, a warm light in his eyes. “You’re real. I found you.”
“Do you remember when you said it felt like the hand of fate pulling us together?”
He nods.
“I think you were right.”
He smiles then and says, “Fi, I want to know everything. I want to hear everything. I want to know you. I want to love you in this life. Will you let me? Will you take my hand?”
My heart opens. It opens as wide as the great blue sea. “Yes.”
58
I lie downon my bed, the gold pocket watch nestled in the palm of my hand. It’s heavy and warm, and the blue enamel swirls with the enchantment of dreams.
The warm noonday light shines across me in ripples and waves. The gold satin duvet pools beneath me as I settle deeper into the soft folds. Aaron takes me in, his gaze traveling over the naked line of my shoulders.
The chateau is quiet, buried in snow and a sleepy winter light. Outside, a winter bird sings and another calls back. Inside there’s the sound of the duvet whispering beneath me and Aaron dragging in a shaky breath.
The sheets rustle as he shifts closer. My bedroom is filled with warmth, an electric, tingly energy. An expectant pull that rushes between us.
“This is the watch?” Aaron asks, his voice scraping over me. “That let you dream?”
“This is it,” I say, holding it out to him.
On the drive here I told him about the watch, about how I thought he wasn’t real, about how I learned of his death and how I was able to save him. I told him how I forgot him until he came to me and said my name.
He held my hand as he drove along the winter-blue lake, the snowdrifts lining the edges of the curving road.
I asked him, “How are you so calm about all this?”
And he said, “I’ve had two years to accept it. The first few weeks I was shocked. The next two years I just wanted you.”
“Did Becca remember me?” I ask, wondering what she thought of it all.
He shook his head. “No. She didn’t. She left for New York with Robert the day after Christmas.”
“And Amy? Sean?”
“Amy wants to meet you.”
“She figured it out?”
He grinned at me, the snow-covered trees flashing past. “She’s too smart not to. Dostoevsky? Becca would never have pulled out those quotes.”
Becca left. She and Robert married last year. She didn’t want to exercise her parental rights. She hasn’t seen the kids in more than a year. It’s something I know a bit about—something I can relate to.
