Page 125 of Into the Woods

I looked up at him, my heart still broken even as his words hit home.

He pressed a hand flat against my chest. “You have a good heart, Becca. You always have. That won’t change because your dad is a fuckup. Nothing can change the woman you are. The…” He sucked in a deep breath. “The woman that I love.”

It was like storm clouds drifting apart for a ray of sunlight after a hurricane. His words hit my soul, sinking in with a warmth that helped something click into place. A piece that I’d been missing since I was a little girl.

Twice now he’d admitted to loving me. “I feel like I keep waiting for you to take it back,” I confessed, speaking my biggest fear into existence.

“Becca, I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you,” he told me, his tone fierce. “I loved you before I even knew what it meant to love someone. Don’t you get it? I’ve been a fucking disaster since I tried giving you up, because how can a person live without their heart?”

“Court.” I was at a loss, emotions overwhelming me to the point of crippling me.

“It’s okay,” he assured me with a tight smile. “I still haven’t earned it.”

I pressed a hand over his lips. “Love isn’t something you earn. It just is, Court. And I love you, too. I always have, and I always will.”

He released a shuddering breath, his shoulders falling like I’d removed a massive weight from them as he dropped his forehead to mine. “I won’t let you down again, Becca. I swear.”

“I know,” I answered, and I did.

I knew it in my heart, in my soul, in every fiber of my being.

Were we perfect? Absolutely not.

But we were perfect for each other.

CHAPTER 38

BEX

“Happy birthday, Mémé.” I leaned in, kissing the soft, pale skin of her face as I wrapped her in a hug.

“Thank you, bébé,” she returned, her smile radiant as she looked around the ballroom. I followed her gaze, taking the time to see what she was seeing.

The ballroom of the Montpelier Paris was draped in swaths of gauzy white fabric with twinkling lights, giving it a celestial look. The large central dance floor was surrounded by round tables with crisp white linens and candlelit centerpieces, and an eight-piece orchestra was playing on a dais, their music flowing easily through the packed space.

I hadn’t been to this hotel in years, but it was owned by one of Mémé’s oldest friends. Considered a luxury boutique hotel, it was set in the heart of the 6th arrondissement and was always booked solid a year in advance. Cami had once mentioned it was her dream to get married in this very ballroom.

Mémé’s party was the It event of the winter season. I’d spotted several ambassadors, heads of state, and a few royal family members from neighboring European countries in the crowd. As part of the family, I was let in before all the other guests, but I knew for a fact that there was an endless parade of limos waiting to drop off guests at the formal red carpet.

“Mrs. Moreau.” Mémé’s personal assistant, Gianna, appeared behind her with a warm smile for me. Gianna had been handling Mémé’s affairs for over two decades now. With her hair in an angled silver bob and her critical blue-eyed gaze that missed no detail, she was a woman who knew how to get things done. “It’s time for pictures with the board.”

In lieu of traditional birthday presents, my grandmother had opted to tie her birthday gala to her favorite charity, a local Parisian organization that helped at-risk youth find alternatives to the city’s growing crime statistics.

Mémé gave a nod. “Of course. Excuse us, will you, bébé? Perhaps you can find your young gentleman.” She waggled her eyebrows at me, and I gritted my teeth around a smile.

I’d pushed off Eric arriving early with me as part of the family by telling him Mémé needed my help getting ready, but he’d already texted me five times to let me know his position in the limo queue.

Taking a minute to just breathe and enjoy the moment, I watched Mémé and Gianna wander off to join Papa.

“Look who I found,” Cami squealed from behind me.

Turning, I saw my cousin flanked by Alex and Eric.

There went my peaceful minute.

Eric’s smile was brittle as he pulled me into his arms. “You look spectacular,” he announced, then lowered his voice to add, “Though, I am a bit annoyed at the wait time to see you, my love.” His hands squeezed my hips as if in warning. “And I thought we discussed a low heel.”

I gritted my teeth. “I know,” I simpered for his sake, “but I kept tripping over the dress in the low heel. I needed something more.”

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