Page 132 of This Life and All the Rest
“I was scared that we’d missed our chance.”
Her voice cracks, and I wait while she takes a few deep breaths.
“I was worried we’d changed too much. That we wouldn’t work anymore. That there wasn’t a place for us in this life. I never gave up, Macon. Not really. I was just scared I’d have to wait until the next life to find you again.”
Gently, I slide my arm and roll up on my side, so Lennon and I are face to face. I kiss her lips once, then trace my knuckles over her jaw. I look in her eyes and hold them.
“This life. The next life. Every life after that. I will love you in all of them, Lennon Capri. It doesn’t matter who you become or how you change. My soul will always belong to yours.”
I wipe a tear off her cheek with my thumb. She turns and kisses my palm, then kisses my wrist, then my lips.
“I love you, Macon Andrew Davis, in this life and all the rest of them. I love you.”
EPILOGUE
1 Year Later
Fuck.
I’m going to be late. I check myself in the mirror one last time, sliding my hand down the lapels of my suit jacket. The knot in my tie is smooth, my slacks are creased, my shoes are scuff-free.
I’m going to be late, but at least I look good.
The last time I wore something even remotely resembling a suit like this was at senior prom. This one cost a little more than that one, though.
I grab my keycard off the desk next to the elaborate arrangement of flowers Franco sent. He wanted to make it tonight, but I’m glad he couldn’t. I’m coming around to him, but I still harbor some jealousy. He’ll always be the French twat to me.
I shove the keycard into my wallet, then stick the wallet in the little hidden pocket thing on the inside of my jacket on the way out the door. I shoot off a text to Trent as I push the elevator button, telling him to tell Lennon I’ll be there in ten minutes, then I pace.
I pace as I wait for the elevator car, and I pace the whole time I’m in the elevator car.
The moment the doors open on the ground floor, I’m sprinting through the lobby, out to the street, and down the block. At least this gallery isn’t far from the hotel.
I stop running once I hit the street, then check myself in the window of a corner building. Knot, lapels, creases, shoes. All still in good shape. Then I take a deep breath and walk briskly to theGalerie D'atelier,an artist-owned art gallery in Washington, DC. And despite the name, it has no ties to France.
When I get to the building, my heart swells with pride when I see Lennon’s name on the signage, signifying her as the gallery’s featured artist. Last month,Galerie D'atelieroffered Lennon membership to their prestigious gallery. The honor is huge. The artists accepted into this gallery have gone on to have museum exhibitions and global acclaim. Of course, she accepted the invitation, so tonight is the opening night of her week-long new member exhibition.
My eyes settle on her the moment I step through the door. I hang back and watch her. She’s gorgeous, dressed in a black dress with her hair in soft waves at her back, and her beauty is amplified when she’s in her element. I watch her chat up the patrons. People stop and ask her questions. She smiles and answers. I can always tell when she’s talking about her work because her face grows serious, but her eyes dance.
I catch sight of Trent, Mom, and Sam chatting in a corner, but instead of going to them to say hi, I trail Lennon as she moves through the crowd. She stops to discuss her paintings and smiles whenever she receives praise, which is constantly.
That’s the biggest reason I have to thank Paris. Lennon knows her talent now. She accepts compliments because she believes she’s worthy of the praise. She wasn’t like that before.
I’ve got a list of things that make me grateful for Paris, even if it meant I had to lose Lennon for a while. In Paris, she blossomed. She grew into her independence. She mastered the use of her voice.
Could she have done those things here in Virginia with me?
I don’t think so.
I was too much of a mess to help her grow. I had to do my own growing. We had to be apart before we could be stronger together.
Lennon breaks off from a group of people and heads to the back of the building, so I follow. She waves and smiles, but she doesn’t stop to talk, and then she’s rounding a corner and disappearing from view. I slow my steps and stroll toward the hallway, so it doesn’t look like I’m stalking the featured artist, but when I round the very corner Lennon turned, I’m snatched by my lapels and pinned to the wall.
“You’re late,” Lennon whispers in my ear, her whole body plastered to mine. Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I thrust against her just slightly, and I have to stifle a groan.
Fuck, she’s sexy in this dress.
“I’ve been here,” I tell her, and she smirks.
