Page 196 of The Stranger

My throat tightens. “You make it sound very simple.”

“I am not asking you to forget,” he says, his voice roughening. “I am asking for the chance to become a man you can trust again. If there is even the smallest part of you that still loves me, my heart, don’t send me away because you think it is the right or the safest thing to do. Choose what you want. For once, choose the thing that makes you happy.” His eyes suddenly shine. “And if that thing is me, I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my days making certain you never regret it.”

EPILOGUE

PRIMROSE

Moonlight silvers the vineyard as Luc leads me between the rows, one hand holding mine, the other wrapped around the neck of a bottle of champagne. Ahead, beneath an arbor overflowing with the last of the summer bougainvillea, stands an enormous wooden vat filled with the last of the late-harvest grapes. The plan is, tomorrow, after we get married in the vineyard, in sight of our family and friends, we’ll invite guests to help us make a wedding vintage by mashing the grapes at our very own la vendimia. Bare feet or traditional tamper, all are invited to join.

“Aren’t we supposed to spend tonight apart?” I ask, not really meaning it. We haven’t spent a night apart in the thirteen months we’ve been together. Ten months of those living together, as a family, in his Kensington mansion, or holidaying here on the Mallorcan estate, in Paris, and other places.

“That’s just an English superstition.”

He sets down the bottle on an upturned barrel. A wicker picnic basket stands on another, and when I lift the lid, I find cheese, and grapes, purple-black and fragrant, and fresh bread. So that’s why we’re here—a late-night picnic under the stars.

“Well, I’m English,” I reason with just a touch of taunt.

“And we are in Mallorca⁠—”

“Where I’m fairly certain brides don’t meet their betrothed at,”—I glance at my watch and receive a tiny flare of pleasure— eleven at night for…” I allow my words to trail off, hoping Luc will fill in the blanks. But he just smiles enigmatically.

I rub my thumb over my dark leather watch strap, the pleasure coming not from the watch itself, but the care and thought that went into the gifting. The vintage Cartier Tank Louis is dainty, elegant, and unassuming, making it suitable to wear at work. More than that, my beloved had it engraved with the words:

À toutes les heures qui nous restent. For all the hours still left to us.

I startle a little as Luc suddenly drops to his heels, his fingers warm enveloping my ankle. “So we begin a new tradition.” He stares up at me, his eyes burning in the ambient light.

“I’m not sure getting your wife naked is a thoroughly original tradition.”

“The power of suggestion, mon cœur?” He presses his lips to my stomach, and I close my eyes because, swoon!

“Wait. I’m not the one who suggested⁠—”

“I didn’t say anything about getting naked.”

But he doesn’t need to. Get me naked, that is. Like most parents, we’re well-versed in grabbing those moments when we can. Fully clothed. But it’s not just that we’re trying not to traumatize Sylvie, as there’s also Emmy to consider. Some days it’s like we can’t get a little alone time between Luc’s work schedule and my shift pattern, and the fact that my family members keep finding themselves “just passing”. It’s the wine, I’m sure. Luc does keep an amazing cellar.

But I love having Emmy around, and when I’m home, it’s a real girl’s house. Sylvie thinks it’s the best thing ever and even Felix enjoys hanging with us. Being at boarding school has mellowed him out some, and when he brings friends to stay in the holidays, they think it’s amazingly cool that I’m a doctor. The questions they ask are so funny. I’m pretty sure they think I work somewhere exciting, like the set of the TV show, E.R. Bless them and their deluded little rich-kid brains.

Anyway, back to Luc as his attention transfers to my foot when he unbuckles my sandal.

“Not getting me naked, huh?”

“Maybe I’ve developed a foot fetish.”

“Nothing would surprise me.” As he stands, he trails he slowly trails his thumb up the inside of my leg. My skin reacts to the caress like an electric shock. “What are you wearing under this, anyway?”

“None of your business.” I twist away as his hand skims under my thigh skimming summer dress.

“Tease,” he whispers as he presses a soft kiss against my neck, the prickle of his beard another delicious level of pleasure. I inhale a soft gasp as his hand cups over my panties at the apex. “You’re so hot.” I close my eyes as he presses the meat of his palm against me, my insides tightening as he nestles a long finger right there.

“And you’re bad,” I groan as his hand tightens.

“My young wife,” he says huskily. “How I struggle to keep up with her.”

“No struggle here,” I say as I press my hand over the bulge in his shorts. “You’re half up already.”

His lips find mine, his kiss a sign of his adoration. His love. Of all the ways Luc has learned to say I love you, this is my favorite. I could kiss him all day long.