Page 16 of Nineteen Eighty

When she returned to look for him, he was gone.

Connor unwrapped his sandwich. Elizabeth wasn’t hungry. She was still thinking about that odd man on the sidewalk below their flat.

They sat along a grassy area at the banks of the Seine. There weren’t many, but they’d found this one, a park it was called, though more of a judicious swath of greenery in a tiny enclave. Small enough most paid it no mind, but Connor liked to pretend it was their place. That only they could see it and enjoy it. It was their favorite lunch spot now.

“I was thinking we could check out the Louvre tonight,” he said, after swallowing a mouthful of BLT on a baguette.

“Tonight? Won’t it be closed?”

Connor grinned, flashing her a bashful look. “I’m on a research assignment for Deschanel Media Group. Signed off by Augustus and everything. Totally official.”

“You didn’t!”

He shrugged. “Will be nice to see all the cool stuff without crowds, don’t you think?”

“I only wished I’d thought of it first. Nice move, Sullivan.”

Connor flexed. His skinny arms didn’t move the fabric much, but she liked him this way. Loved him in his beautiful simplicity and soft innocence. “Being awesome is my cross to bear.”

“How long do we have?”

“From eight tonight until an hour before they open in the morning.”

“Damn,” she whispered. “Think we can stay awake that long?”

“I think we’ve faced bigger challenges.” He crinkled the wrapper from his sandwich and shoved it in his backpack. “That’s why we’ll steal a nap first.”

“But I’m not tired.”

Connor crawled across the grass and pressed his lips to hers. “No, but you will be.”

Elizabeth had walked past the large palace-turned-museum many times over the preceding weeks, but had never seen it so consumed by the loudness that came with the complete absence of sound. She heard every step her low heels made on the pavement, and there were no competing senses to drown out the thrumming of Connor’s heartbeat as he pressed his palm to hers, fingers linked.

A woman met them at the entrance and went through the rules. She would leave them to their own devices, though there were hundreds of guards on duty. They had eight hours, to use as they pleased, but were not to stray from the paths designated for visitors. When they were ready to leave, they need only ask one of the lobby guards to unlock the doors for them.

Elizabeth felt a small thrill at being left virtually alone with some of the best art in the history of the world. Not really alone, of course, as a different guard nodded at them every few steps or so.

She marveled at the classic Hellenistic sculptures, spending extra time admiring Venus de Milo. She’d seen her in books, but nothing could prepare her for the impressive smoothness of the alabaster flesh; the utter love affair with detail. She lingered the longest amongst the art of the Italian Renaissance, which, to her, captured emotion in such a powerful and unique way. She especially loved Rafael’s take on the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist. Then, she’d always loved art depicting the Madonna and Child, because there was no other love in the world that compared. It was the embodiment of what love should always be, and rarely was.

When they came to an especially interesting painting, Connor stopped to tie his shoes on a nearby bench. Elizabeth marveled at the interesting detail, of the soft, innocent features of Psyche, Cupid bent over her in protective love. François Gérard was the artist, and the piece was called Cupid and Psyche. Psyche was fresh and beautiful, all loveliness and innocence. But so was Cupid… that strange child of Venus who was meant to inspire love in others, but was, now, completely in love with the mortal Psyche.

“Elizabeth.”

Connor’s voice sounded so strange she couldn’t help but turn.

He was no longer alone.

A guard flanked him, but the older man quickly peeled away his uniform to reveal a modest dress shirt and slacks. As he reached to adjust his shirt, she noticed the clerical collar underneath.

The priest smiled and waved. “Father Alan, at your service.”

A dizzy lightness passed over Elizabeth.

“I told you I wanted to surprise you,” Connor said, rising from the bench. “I know you were expecting something else. Maybe the Eiffel Tower.”

“I…”

“But I really thought about it, Lizzy, and I thought, too, about all we’d been through. I thought about how, you know, like Cupid, at first I’d loved you by accident, but then only wanted to protect you from the world that brought you all this pain. I couldn’t, of course, not really, but the more I tried, the more I loved you, until I realized, like Cupid, that to love you is to serve you, and to serve you is to love you.” Connor stepped forward, lacing her hands in his. “Like Psyche, who represents the soul, and Cupid, who represents love, we are one and the same, Elizabeth. We always have been. And we will be, for as long as God sees fit to give us.”

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