His mouth twitches at the corners, as if he’s trying to smile, and I think I see the faintest of nods. “I don’t know if—I—can—help—it—” he manages through cracked lips, his voice slurring and delirious. “I saw you—”
I look down at him. “I’m here now, Alexandre.”
“I saw—you--. Roses. Blood—” He coughs, his body twisting, gasping for air. “I—poisoned you. My—fault. You were—gone.”
“I’m not gone. I’m fine. I have to leave for a little while—my brother is back at a hotel here, but I’ll come back. Do you hear me, Alexandre? I’ll be back.” I grip his face firmly in my hands, looking down at his hooded eyes, the barest sliver of foggy blue showing. “You have to be alive when I come back, or I—”
His mouth twitches again, that faint attempt to smile, and then I feel him slump under my touch, the fever dragging him under again.
It feels as if I’m tearing my own heart out to leave him. But I can’t leave Georgie in the hotel overnight, alone, without knowing where I am. Once again, I feel torn in two, but I know what I have to do.
“I’ll be back,” I promise him, making sure he’s comfortable, cooling him with the wet cloths again before standing up to go. “I promise.”
It feels impossible to walk out of that library and down the stairs. Somehow, I do it. But this time, I know for certain I’ve left a piece of my heart behind.
25
NOELLE
Fortunately, it’s not all that hard to pacify Georgie. I return to the hotel room to a barrage of questions and a half-empty champagne bottle, which I gratefully finish off while explaining to him that my friend is sicker than I’d expected. He takes this news with slight disappointment, mollified when I promise to let him order as much room service as he wants while I come back and forth and that I’ll be with him on Christmas Day. I fall asleep restlessly to the sound of a slapstick comedy Georgie is watching, my dreams full of scattered books and blood and Alexandre burning up under my hands.
In the morning, after taking Georgie to a nearby café in view of the Eiffel Tower for breakfast, I get ready to head back to Alexandre’s. I give him money to explore the city a little after a reminder that he’s sixteen, more than old enough to explore Paris on his own. This time I take a cab to Alexandre’s apartment, in a hurry to get back before his fever can get worse.
To my relief, though he doesn’t seem markedly better, he also doesn’t seem worse. I give him more medicine and water, and then start the laborious task of cleaning up the apartment.
It’s something to keep my mind off of the worst possible scenarios in between checking on Alexandre, at least. I don’t feel as if I should throw anything away, but I also don’t want to put the ruined art back up or rearrange the other things on the shelves until I know what Alexandre wants to do with them. Instead, I box up all of it, setting only the books back on the shelves and righting the furniture, cleaning up the shards of glass and anything else broken beyond repair until, bit by bit, the apartment begins to look clean but more barren than it ever has before.
I put the Christmas tree back up, too, mostly barren of ornaments, but it feels wrong to not have it up on Christmas Eve. As I pick it up, I find something tucked underneath it as if forgotten, a small wrapped box in festive paper.
My chest clenches, wondering what it could be. The thought that Alexandre might have a gift for me feels insane, but I set it on the mantle.If he makes it through this, I’ll ask him.
Halfway through the day, I trek back to the hotel to check on Georgie, hear his stories about his afternoon and eat with him and then go back to care for Alexandre again. As the day turns into evening, his fever doesn’t break no matter what I do, and I finally resort to sitting by the chaise with him again, holding his hand, waiting for the inevitable. His breathing seems shallow, his skin papery and hot with fever, and I wonder how long it can go on.He’s not going to make it,I think despondently, my heart aching hollowly in my chest, and all I know is that I have to be with him when the time comes. I can’t leave him here to die alone.
I built a low fire in the fireplace, and it crackles, illuminating the now-clean library. I spent the rest of the afternoon putting all the books back on their shelves, cleaning up the furniture, and righting it, and now it looks something like it did before. It feels like a bittersweet irony that this would end here, in my favorite room in the apartment, my beast leaving me alone in the library as he slips away to a place where I can’t go.
The clock above the mantle chimes, making me jump, and I realize without a start how much time has passed. It’s midnight, and my chest clenches as I look down at Alexandre, tears welling in my eyes and sliding slowly down my cheeks.
“Merry Christmas,” I say softly. Somewhere outside, I can hear carolers on the street, singing as the snow starts to fall again.
The first Noel, the angels did say—
“You asked for forgiveness,” I whisper, brushing my fingers against his skin. “I forgive you, Alexandre. I forgive you for all the mistakes you made, the ones you made with me, and the ones you can’t forgive yourself for. You needed someone to love you just as you are, all the broken parts of you, the monster and the man. I wish—” My voice breaks as I lean closer to him, cupping his face in my hands as I move up to sit on the edge of the chaise, wanting to be as close to him as I can. “I wish I could have done that for you. I wish you would have shown me who you were before you fell to pieces completely. Maybe then—we could have put them back together.”
Gently, I lean down, brushing my lips against his. They’re hot and dry against mine, and I taste the salt of my tears, my heart cracking open with grief as I kiss him for what I’m sure will probably be the last time.
I sit back, holding his hand. “I won’t leave you,” I promise. “I’ll sit here all night if I have to. I don’t—I don’t want you to be alone.”
Before I can stop myself, I lean down, kissing him once more. I’m not even sure he’s still breathing—and then suddenly, I feel his lips part under mine as he sucks in a breath, his body stiffening beneath my touch.
His eyes open, a glassy, feverish blue, widening as he sees me there.
“Noelle?”
26
ALEXANDRE
I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or if she’s a delusion brought on by the fever. All I know, as I look up through a burning haze at her beautiful, delicately rounded face, is that she can’t be real.