Page 88 of That Prince is Mine
“It might have something to do with the fact that I hardly slept last night,” Michel slurred, “and haven’t eaten all day.”
“Christ.” A flash of concern crossed Gabriel’s face. “The plan was to sip bourbon like civilized people and have a bit of philosophical discussion.”
“Sounds like you fucked up.” Michel drew his brows down into a worried frown and patted Gabriel’s back in a rush of sympathy. “Sorry, mate.”
“D’accord.” His cousin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me just tell you what I came to say before I lose you completely.”
“Bien sûr.” He had trouble crossing his arms while drinking from his mug, so he crossed his legs instead. “Poursuis, mon cousin.”
“Forget about being a man of honor and all that bullshit. Be desperate, needy, selfish, greedy. Do whatever you need to hold on to Emma.” The intensity of Gabriel’s tone made Michel sit up straighter. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“Gabriel… I’m sorry.” His cousin didn’t need to add like me for Michel to understand that he spoke from experience. “But this is your second chance. Don’t give up now.”
“I’m not here to talk about me.” He glanced away, his shoulders drooping.
“Oh, Sophie,” Michel sang loudly as he stumbled to his feet and jerked open the door. “Soph—”
A small but strong hand clapped over his mouth and pushed him back into his office. Sophie closed the door behind her before she snapped at Gabriel, “I wanted you to check in on him, not get him piss drunk.”
“How was I supposed to know the man had been starving himself all day?” Gabriel grumbled even as his eyes roamed hungrily over her.
Sophie noticed and blushed but didn’t back down. “How am I supposed to get him out of here without creating a scene?”
“What do you want me to do?” Gabriel smirked. “Run through the campus naked to create a diversion?”
“I…” She cleared her throat as her blush deepened. “Better you than me.”
Gabriel froze for a second before he burst out laughing, and Sophie soon joined in. Michel didn’t quite follow everything, but he laughed, too, for the hell of it. He stopped to pull out his mobile when it buzzed in his pocket.
Emma:
Where are you? Can I see you tonight?
He had enough sense left to realize that he was in no condition to see her right now. But God, he missed her. He blinked down at the screen and typed carefully.
Michel:
Tu me manques
The English translation wasn’t sufficient to convey what he felt. She was missing from him. She was an inseparable part of him, and he was incomplete without her. But she didn’t speak French.
Michel:
Tu me manques
There. He said it twice, so that should make it clearer.
Emma:
Aww. I miss you, too.
His shoulders sagged. She only missed him. He wasn’t missing from her. That was the problem, wasn’t it? She could imagine life without him while he… couldn’t. She could plan for her future—visit commercial kitchen spaces to lease when he was gone—and he couldn’t bear to exist without her.
Emma:
I had to use Google Translate. My high school French failed me.
Then he realized that the meaning of his words was lost in translation. Perhaps he, too, was missing from her. But wait.
