Page 51 of Meet Me in Paris

“Fifty bucks.”

“You’re on.”

I smiled at my sisters, feeling a warmth in my chest. A week into our trip, they were better friends than ever. Maybe Grandpa knew something we didn’t.

“You go ahead,” I told them. “I want to explore the ship a bit.”

My sisters walked away together. I turned toward the doors, but then Alexis hurried back and blocked my exit. There was a light in her eyes that I hadn’t seen there in awhile.

She gave me a stern look. “Just so you know, you’ll want to keep your bags packed. Jillie and I are taking you straightto the airport in Rome as soon as we arrive, and we won’t take no for an answer.”

“Lexi,” I breathed. “Not a chance. You need that inheritance.”

“With Dad’s guilt money? I traveled the world, and I still have over half of it left. I’m good. Jillie and I will finish off the last three weeks and send you photos to make you jealous. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“But—”

“Not. A. Thing.” My sister winked and strode away.

Four million dollars each. People killed for less than that. Didn’t they know what they were giving up? I couldn’t possibly accept their offer. I would never forgive myself if I stole their happiness while searching for my own. There was no guarantee Hunter would forgive me if I showed up on his doorstep, either.

But if I didn’t try, could I ever forgive myself?

I had no answer to that.

A few minutes later, I found myself at the very front of the ship. I felt sorely tempted to lean my stomach against the rail, fling my arms out, and shout, “I’m the queen of the world!” But that would mark me as a tourist for sure, and an American, no less. Besides, I had something important to do, and it couldn’t wait.

I pulled up a lounge chair and connected to the ship’s Wi-Fi. Then I sent Claude an email, short and sweet.

Hey, Claude, thanks for helping me find a place and for showing me around Paris. That apartment in your neighborhood is beautiful, but I need to use the deposit money elsewhere. I’m letting the contract lapse. I know you’ll find the right client for it.

~Kennedy Travell

My email signature usually added a heart emoji after my name, but I hit backspace to delete it. The last thing I wanted was for him to start sending texts full of romantic sonnets or something. A quick click, and it was sent.

Then I sat back and stared into the deep darkness of the ocean, searching my heart. Giving up that place in Paris felt like the end of a childhood dream but the beginning of a new one. As grand as this vacation already felt, I couldn’t deny the longing in my chest. I missed home.

Everything had changed, yet somehow, nothing had. My sisters and I were close again, Hunter was home, and I’d be home soon enough. The broad sky above looked exactly the same as the night of graduation, when we sat on his quilt and almost kissed. Minus the comet, of course. We’d have to wait another century and a half for that.

But Alexis loved her work in Colorado and wanted to go back to it. Jillian wanted to live in a big city. As for myself, I really only wanted the comfort of the home my mom created for her daughters. I wanted to raise my own children in the same home I’d grown up in, with Hunter at my side.

My sisters’ offer was unthinkable. Preposterous. Downright impossible.

And the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me.

I paused in the act of putting away my phone, then pulled it out again. My last text from Hunter had been a selfie he shared of us standing in front of the Paris Opera House. My face glowed with happiness as I stood in his arms. If I had any happily-ever-after moments in my lifetime, that was a big one.

Not happiness at being in Paris, or happiness in having the perfect relationship, but happiness in being myself, utterly and entirely, and caring for my best friend in all his imperfect, real Hunter-ness. And happiness at being loved for who I was.

Happiness wasn’t found abroad, in distant cities like Paris or anywhere else. It was found with the people I loved. It was like that line fromLes Miserables,highlighted in Hunter’s copy.

The supreme happiness in life is the assurance of being loved; of being loved for oneself, even in spite of oneself.

Hunter loved all of me—the sunny lily pads and the chilly winters alike. He’d seen me at my worst and still chosen to love me. And I could say the same about him.

I’d made my decision, I realized, and it felt exactly right.

I grabbed my phone and found Hunter’s sister’s profile online, searching for the post about their dad. It took only a moment to find the donation link and select the Anonymous option.

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