Page 127 of This Life and All the Rest
I stare, jaw dropped at Macon’s back as he retreats into the living room.
“What’s he talking about?”
I roll my eyes.
“He thinks you’re in love with me.”
Franco raises an eyebrow. “WouldI have stood a chance?”
I scoff playfully, then glance at him incredulously.
“Not in any way other than friendship,” I say, though he already knows. “My heart has always belonged to Macon.”
Franco’s brow furrows, then his lips turn up on one side.
“That’s what I thought.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “We will always be fri—”
“Nope!” Macon shouts from the living room, cutting off Franco’s sentence. I scowl in his direction, then look back at Franco.
“I’m going to be moving back here, but I would love to keep in touch. I’m going back to pack up my apartment and sell the things I don’t want to bring back. I’ve got a few people to talk to and a gallery show to figure out, but then I’m coming here.”
Franco nods.
“Your friendship means a lot to me,” I tell him honestly. “You helped me in more ways than you know, and I’m grateful for that. But I need to focus on Macon and me right now. We’ve got a lot of shit to figure out.”
“I understand,” he says. “It was impulsive of me to come here without telling you first, but I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were alright. I thought you would need a friend.” He chuckles and raises an eyebrow. “And I was bored.”
I laugh.
“I thought the French didn’t get bored? I thought doing nothing was kind of your schtick?”
“Perhaps the American was rubbing off on me.” He shudders. “It’s good you’re leaving now.”
I roll my eyes, but the banter feels good. It feels like we’re going to be okay. I knew there wasn’t anything deep between us. We kept each other company. We masked each other’s pain for a while, but I have to own up to my shit now.
No more running. No more hiding from the truth.
I don’t know what he’s running from, we’ve never talked about anything that personal, but I hope he deals with it soon. He won’t have me to distract him anymore.
Franco and I chat for a few more minutes. He tells me he’s going to go back to his hotel. He gives me a long hug and tells me to text him when I get back into Paris, then he leaves me standing in the kitchen.
“How old is that twat, anyway?” Macon asks from the doorway.
“He’s not a twat, you twat.” I roll my eyes at Macon’s smirking face. “He’s thirty-five.”
“Jesus Christ,” Macon chokes out. “I was gonna guess like twenty-five at the oldest. He doesn’t look thirty-five at all.”
I nod. I get it. It doesn’t make sense. Franco’s been smoking and drinking since his teens. How is his skin so youthful?
“Weird, right? It’s probably the pastries. I swear, they’re magic.” I sigh and glance toward the stairs. “Well, I should probably get this over with. You cool to stay here?”
“If here is where you want me, here is where I’ll stay.”
“Hm. Good boy,” I say with a smirk, and he winks.
I walk up the stairs slowly and head toward the guest room. I take two deep breaths, then knock on the door.
“Come in,” Claire calls quietly from the other side.
