I remember dreams of her kissing me, whispering that she loved me, and begging me to come back to her. They had to have been dreams because Noelle is gone. She’s back in London with her brother.
She left me.
She had no choice.
But I could swear I’m seeing her now, hovering over me like a ghost, her face frantic and worried as she cups my face in her hand.
“Alexandre?”
I suck in a breath, gasping, but it feels difficult. My entire body aches, down to my very joints. “I—are you—”
“I’m here,” she says softly, stroking my cheek. “I really am, Alexandre. I promise, it’s me. You’re not imagining it.”
I swallow hard. “How long—have I—”
“Days, I think.” She frowns. “You were unconscious when I found you. The apartment—”
I wince, remembering the destruction I’d wreaked before passing out, sick and exhausted, in the library. “You—came back?”
“Yes.” Her palm, cool and soft, presses against my cheek. “I found you in here.”
“And you—saved—me. Again—”
“Yes.” Her fingers slide up, threading through my hair. “It’s Christmas, Alexandre. I came back to make sure you were alright. And it’s a good thing I did.”
“Your brother—”
“Is fine. He’s in a far too fancy hotel, from some of that ridiculous amount of money you sent me away with.” Her lips twitch in a smile, her fingers trailing down my cheek, along my jaw. I want her to never stop touching me, to never leave again. “I couldn’t leave you while you were so sick. I’ve been going back and forth.”
I shake my head, unable to believe what I’m hearing her say. “Why would you—come back—again? Why would you—stay?”
She smiles softly. “I thought I didn’t know before, but now I do. Anyone from the outside looking in would think I’m crazy, but I—I love you.” Her other hand reaches for mine gently as she says it, and for a moment, I don’t think I’m hearing her correctly. How could I be?
But then, as I stare up at her, still not entirely certain that this isn’t a dream, she says it again.
“I love you,” she repeats softly. “Others might see only the monster in you, Alexandre, but I see a man. You’ve done terrible things, it’s true. But I don’t believe that’s all there is to you—or even that it’s really you at all. I think you’ve been punishing yourself for years for something that was never your fault, letting it tear you apart until nothing was left but hurt you tried to salve in ways that were all wrong. But it wasn’t yourfault. Margot wasn’t your fault. It all stems from that—and it should never have. You should never have blamed yourself.”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“It does,” Noelle says firmly. “This is your chance to start over, Alexandre.” Her hand cups my jaw, her fingers so close to my lips that I long for her to brush them over my mouth. “You can say you died in that kitchen that night, and I brought you back to life. I don’t care how you justify it, how you forgive yourself and start fresh. Let the monster be the one who died that night, and be the man I know you can be.”
Her words hang heavily between us, sinking into me, and I feel my chest clench with a hope that I’m terrified to feel. “A man worthy of being loved, you mean?”
Noelle’s face goes soft, and she shakes her head. “No, Alexandre,” she whispers. “You’ve always been that. Believing you weren’t is what made you this way. You can either be someone who can accept that love, without all the games and rituals and rules, or you can start again on your own, but you have always been worthy of it. But if you’re willing to try, to put it all behind you, it can be just you and—the woman who loves you.”
That hope flares in my chest again, stronger this time. Slowly, ignoring the pain and the weight that feels as if it’s dragging me down, I reach up with a shaking hand to touch her face in a mirror of how she’s touching mine. “By that—do you mean—you?”
The words come out slowly, halting, but a soft smile spreads over Noelle’s face, and at that moment, I’m certain it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Her other hand comes up, covering the one touching her face, and she nods. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I mean me. I love you, Alexandre, and I meant it when I said it before.”
“I thought I—dreamed—that.”
She laughs softly. “No. I said it. I was afraid you would die before I could—and I think you very nearly did. I do love you. And I don’t want to leave you again. But—”
In an instant, it feels as if the hope in my chest turns to ice. “But—” I let the word trail off, my voice rasping over it.
“It will take time, Alexandre.Wewill take time. I have to know I can trust you. I have my brother to think of—I can’t just throw myself headlong into something. But I—I want to stay here, in Paris. I’ve been thinking about it a lot over the last couple of days. There’s not much good in London for Georgie and me. We can start over here. A fresh start, for him and I, and for you. I’ll see you, and we’ll test the waters. We’ll try to make something of this. But I—” She swallows hard, her chin tipping up slightly, as if she’d rehearsed this speech in her mind and wants to be sure it comes out just right. “I have to be free to make my own decisions, Alexandre. Not as your pet, but as your lover. We have to start over.”