Page 76 of Prelude To You

“I don’t think I should be drinking any more right now,” I said. “Thank you though. Besides I like being here. It’s interesting.”

“And why shouldn’t you be drinking?”

“I’d like to keep my head clear.”

“Dinner then?” he asked, sounding wary now. “We’ll order sparkling water.” Roman’s armor was beginning to shred aroundthe edges. All I could think was that it had probably never been this difficult for him to procure a night of fun.

“No thank you,” I said firmly. “Besides we’re not done here.”

I refused to meet his gaze, because my Achille’s heel was the way those blue eyes engaged me like I wasn’t merely a stranger he’d kissed in the bookshop, who came looking for him at this fancy hotel.

Farther down the table, in another glass case, was a bundle of fat envelopes. The paper discolored by age, the satin ribbon holding them a frayed, faded pink.

“Let’s have a look at that,” I suggested, finding an excuse to escape his grasp.

We edged closer and read the description. They were letters between a French couple during World War II. My interest was piqued. The highest bid was twelve thousand dollars, and all I could think of was how special the letters must be to demand that kind of money.

“You’re French,” Roman murmured. “Do you want to see them?” I nodded yes. I couldn’t imagine getting this chance again.

Roman signaled for assistance. A bear of a man hurried over with a pair of white gloves. His nameplate said,Jerry Jones. I put on the gloves. He opened the glass case and carefully removed the letters, then handed them to me. He then stood back at a respectable distance to give us some privacy.

I cautiously opened the first letter. I was very aware of Roman’s eyes on me, but I didn’t return his gaze.

He drew me close to him, but there was tension in the way he held me. I wondered if, like me, ho couldn’t stop thinking of the dim hallway with the peeling wallpaper, or the kiss on the balcony overlooking that tragic wedding party below.

“Translate it for me, please,” he said softly.

I cleared my throat and started reading the first letter.“Ma Daphné chérie… My Darling Daphne, it is cold this morning but I woke with memories of you warming my heart. Every day I curse this war because it has taken me away from the only woman I will ever love. Here is a secret I’ve told no one. I’ve considered getting wounded to get sent back home to you. But I’m afraid my dishonor would dispel your love for me, so I remain, fighting for France and for your love.”

My heart sank. “Oh God, please tell me he goes back to her in the end.”

Roman squeezed my waist playfully. “You’ll have to read all the letters to find that out.”

“That will take too long,” I said quickly. “I should be going soon. Crossing fingers it all worked out well for Daphne and Pierre I guess.”

A shadow darkened his face. “You don’t have to leave.”

“I do, Roman, I really do,” I said, attempting a smile. “This is me trying to leave with what dignity I have left. All you have to do is pretend I was never here.”

Roman removed his hand from my back, his jaw set. But it was his voice that betrayed his frustration. “I can still smell you on my fingers, so pretending you were never here is probably not a realistic expectation.”

I dared not tell him that I would never wash this dress. That it would forever go into hiding, along with his handkerchief. I wondered if it would be proper etiquette to ask if he could give me the other handkerchief. It couldn’t hurt to have two.

I trembled with the restraint of keeping it together. “You’re asking something of me that I cannot give you,” I told him. “Something that would make me no better than someone like Celeste Van Buren.”

He wiped an exasperated hand over his mouth. It seemed like he was on the verge of saying something, and then thoughtbetter of it. And then decided to go against his own will anyway. “Do you want to know something?” he asked softly.

Things were getting interesting. Seeing this man come slightly undone. What could possibly be so significant?

He looked at me, his features brushed with despair. “I went to the bookshop tonight. Hoping I’d find you there.”

Not what I expected him to say. Not in a million years. I couldn’t breathe, my resistance threatening to crash and burn.

“When you weren’t there, my disappointment was more severe than I expected it to be.” He spoke like he couldn’t believe it himself. “And then I saw you sitting in the car next to me, in traffic.”

My mouth might have opened a fraction. “You were in that black car, the Range Rover.”

Roman’s gaze was glued to mine. “I wanted to roll the window down, but then you got out of the car and crossed in front of me on your way to the hotel. And all I could think was that I had to get down there before security got to you.”

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