Page 49 of Meet Me in Paris

Romantic Moments IWantDeserve to Experience:

• A selfie at the Eiffel Tower

• A walk along a cobblestone street in the rain

• Critiquing a Monet painting together

• Admiring the stained-glass windows at Notre Dame

• Being admired while descending an elegant staircase

• A dinner cruise and kiss on the Seine

• Holding hands at the Paris Opera House

• A romantic French dinner

• Being serenaded at the airport

Eight out of nine wasn’t bad, I decided. After all, being serenaded at an airport required one to physically beatan airport. It also required a lover, which I didn’t currently have. Hunter would be home by now or almost there, likely stewing about my refusal to come along.

How could I help Hunter see that keeping my family together, however shattered we already were, was important too? Our parents’ breakup had torn us apart. I refused to let anything get between us again. If I had to trade my own happiness for my sisters’ happiness, I would make that sacrifice.

It seemed I’d done exactly that. They would get their money and I would lose Hunter forever.

I pulled out my phone, set it on top of the brittle paper,and scrolled through my photos. My sisters and I at the airport back home, bright-eyed and excited. Us in front of our Paris hotel, slightly less bright-eyed but still excited. The tiny room and bed we’d shared.

The three of us standing on the Eiffel Tower, my arm extended while holding the phone and the other two crowding in. Beyond us lay a blanket of white and green—the city of Paris. Not a romantic nighttime view, but still a moment with people I cared about.

A few more seconds of scrolling and I paused on a photo of a painting. A white snowstorm, the complete opposite of the idealistic beautiful lily pond paintings I expected to find.

More photos. The stained-glass windows at Notre Dame, every bit as majestic as I expected and at least five times more. The beautiful grounds at Versailles that I didn’t get to enjoy much.

Hunter and I inside the Paris Opera House, dark except for our faces glowing from my phone’s poor flash. Our not-so-romantic French dinner with my sisters, which Claude crashed. I’d captured as much as possible on my phone, but the camera in my mind had captured even more. My phone didn’t show Hunter pulling up to that curb and telling me to get in the car, nor did it show that moment between us on the sofa. Or how it felt to sob in his arms, lying together on his bed in the darkness of his room.

Mom insisted I’d meet my future husband out there, somewhere in the world. That I would live the exotic life she always wanted to, so different from her own. Never did it occur to either of us that my destiny lay in the house next door or that the items on this list could only be fully enjoyed with the sisters I brought with me.

Yet the tiniest part of me wanted to see that ninth itemon the list realized. I wanted to see Hunter hurrying through the terminal, calling my name. Wrapping me in his arms and telling me he was sorry and that he understood and trusted me. That his dad was fine after all and he’d be waiting in Paris when I returned so we could begin our life together.

I kept watching the crowd as busy couples arrived to board the ship, dragging baggage of every color under the sun. All weary but most smiling, excited for the vacation ahead they would share together. They didn’t have to choose between family and the partner they loved.

“Kennedy!” Jillian said, bounding up the ramp and handing me a muffin from a vending machine. “It’s our turn to check in. You ready?”

No. I wanted to sprint back to the train station, hop on the train, and dash to the airport. I wanted to show up on Hunter’s doorstep, suitcase in hand, and tell him I knew how it felt now—to be held in place, unable to come when I knew I was needed. To feel my heart pounding in my chest and know it was in tune with someone thousands of miles away who didn’t quite understand.

“Yes,” I told her, grabbing the handle of my suitcase and rising to my feet. “I’m ready.”

We’d barely found our room when Alexis left to grab herself some lunch at the buffet, leaving Jillian and me alone on the bed.

We’d be sharing a cramped room again, but this time, oursuite had a fold-out sofa bed Alexis happily agreed to take. Her exact words were, “I can sleep on a rock if I’m sleeping alone.”

I knew the second the door closed behind Alexis that Jillian wanted to talk because her eyes bored into mine like a fox staring at a rabbit.

“Say what you want to say,” I told her with a sigh.

She folded her legs underneath her like we were kids again. “He asked you to come home with him, didn’t he?”

Shoot. She wasn’t supposed to hear that part of the conversation. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

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