Page 70 of Falling for Provence

Her breath caught in her throat as she jerked her head up. And then she stood, frozen, staring at the wall above the fireplace. A wall that, like the others, she’d painstakingly chipped the crumbling plaster from. She’d never thought to hang anything to cover the stonework she loved, but a large part of this section of the wall was now covered.

With something she loved even more than the stones.

A painting.

Thepainting.

The one she’d been hoping to see tonight, but the artist hadn’t come to the market. The one she’d seen in the gallery inSaint-Martin-Vésubie. The one Julien had made enquiries about only to find it was far, far beyond her budget for buying an artwork.

There was only one person who knew how special this painting was to her.

And she’d made it easy for him to come here while she was out and hang it above the fireplace by leaving a key out for him.

If this was a farewell gift, it couldn’t be more perfect. A square metre of paint on canvas that sang of everything she loved so much about France. Even in this half-light of moonbeams sneaking through the slats of the shutters, Ellie could see – and feel – this painting as clearly as she could feel tears gathering behind her eyes.

But she wanted to see it even more clearly, so she went to open the tall French doors so that she could push the shutters behind them open. The way she had the very first time she’d walked into this little house. When she’d caught her first glance of the stone-flagged terrace beneath the old candle holders of this secret garden space.

She opened the doors. She pushed open the shutters.

And, once again, Ellie found herself completely frozen. In utter disbelief.

Because it wasn’t moonlight that had been sifting through tiny imperfections in those ancient shutters. It was the glow of dozens of candles. Big candles inside the metal holders that cut the light into pretty shapes. Tiny tea lights on the table and all around the edging of the terrace. Fairy lights that were strung through the tree branches above.

There was a rustic wooden board on the table, with bread and olives and a small wheel of cheese that was sagging and melty enough for Ellie to know instantly that it was her absolute favourite, Époisses. There was a bottle of champagne. There were two glasses.

And… there was the man who’d brought her fantasy to life. Who’d remembered every tiny detail of that stupid, romantic dream she’d confessed to him that evening when he’d told her about the death of Theo’s mother. When she’d told him about her own devasting loss.

The evening the connection between them had begun.

And this was the evening it had to end.

Except… this didn’t feel like an ending. Not the way Julien was looking at her. The way he was coming towards her and the way he took her face in his hands, so gently, before bending his head to touch her lips with his own.

So softly.

So tenderly Ellie could feel her heart breaking into tiny pieces.

But his first words took those pieces and started to put them back together again.

‘I don’t want you to leave, Ellie.’

‘I don’t want to leave,’ she whispered. ‘But I can’t stay. This house isn’t mine any longer. I have to go home.’

‘Non…’ Julien kissed her again. ‘You can stay as long as you want. For ever, I hope. This house is yours.’

She caught her breath but she couldn’t find any words to catch.

‘I have bought La Maisonette,’ he said. ‘Because I want you to stay. Even if you only come here for holidays, I do not want anyone else to live beside me.’

In the flickering glow of the candles, Ellie could see the muscles of Julien’s throat as he swallowed. She could see a vulnerability in his eyes that had never been there before. She could hear the unmistakeable honesty in his tone.

‘I love you, Eleanor Gilchrist,’ he said softly. ‘Je t’aime. I told you we didn’t need you, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.Je ne veux pas vivre sans toi.’

Ellie was fighting tears.

Happy, happy tears.

‘Je t’aime, aussi,’ she said, smiling despite the tremble she could feel in her lips. ‘How can I say that better?Je tellement t’aime?’

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