Page 70 of My One Week Husband
Elodie slides her hand down Hazel’s arm. “Oh yes. I’ll pick you up at the bar. See if I can convince you to go home with me.”
“Maybe I’ll play hard to get,” Hazel purrs.
“Maybe I’ll be so persuasive, we’ll be playing other games.”
“Mmm. You’re on,” Hazel says, then turns to me. “By the way, I’m glad you and your man are together for real. Even though it was pretend, it never looked that way.”
“Sounds like it never really was,” Elodie adds.
“It never really was,” I echo, then wave goodbye to the happy women.
I leave shortly after, and a few minutes later, Daniel and I meet up with Nadia outside the theater. My good friend pulls me aside before we go in. “I’ve been dying to catch up with you. You’re never going to believe who called me.”
“Chris Hemsworth?”
She cracks up. “Even better. Crosby Cash.”
My brow knits. “Your brother’s best friend? The guy you’ve crushed on forever? The baseball player for the San Francisco Cougars?”
She nods, wiggling her brows. “That’s who. He’s the best man at my brother’s wedding.”
“Ooh la la. What did he call you for?”
“He wanted to make sure I’d save a dance for him at the wedding in a few weeks.”
“Someone wants to dance with you.”
She scoffs. “He’s just being friendly.”
I grin. “Friendly or not so friendly, sounds like the start of a good story.”
“You never know.”
“You never do. But I’d be willing to bet on it,” I say.
We head into the theater and enjoy one hell of a show.
The next night, Daniel and I are in New York, walking along Park Avenue, heading to a restaurant.
He opens the door for me. I flash him a smile. “You’re okay with this?”
“So good with it.” All I hear in his voice is certainty and excitement.
My parents are waiting for us at a table.
They rise and smile, both at me and at the man I love. They’ve talked to him on FaceTime. They’ve seen photos of him. He’s not a stranger.
But this is the first time they’re meeting him. As we reach the table, my father greets me with a hug, extends a hand for Daniel to shake, then changes his mind.
“Wait. Bring it in for a hug,” my father says.
Then he hugs Daniel, and Daniel says, “So good to meet you, Mr. Slade.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet the man who makes my daughter so very happy.”
Next, my mother hugs him. “The happiest. You make her the happiest.”
When Daniel pulls back, he offers them a smile that warms my soul. “And I intend to do so for the rest of my life.”
Once the food arrives, my father takes a picture of it and sends it to all of us.
When we’re back in Paris, we wander past the Palais Garnier one evening. Daniel checks the program at the window, as he always does. This time, his eyes light up like he’s seen a magic trick.
“Ayo is playing this weekend,” he says, with a childlike wonder I haven’t seen in him before.
“Who’s that?” I ask, figuring she’s some world-renowned star of the classical music circuit.
“She’s a violin student. Worked as a ticket taker the night I realized I’d be a fool to lose you,” he says, then tells me of his encounter with a young prodigy. “She’s doing a showcase with other students performing alongside the orchestra.”
“We must get tickets,” I say.
He practically rushes to the counter to buy them.
That weekend, we sit in the front row, and the man I love is wildly, incandescently happy to be listening to others make music.
Final Epilogue
Scarlett
* * *
A few months later
* * *
The chandelier is stunning. It catches the light from the window at the far end of the hall like a prism.
I gaze up at it, loving it.
“Looks like Mr. Crystal worked his magic,” I say, regarding the chandelier for the first time even though it was installed a few months ago. But this is the first time we’ve been back in Avignon since it fell.
Daniel stares up at it too. “It’s perfect. Funny, too, because that was the night that set us in motion.”
“We didn’t kiss that night,” I point out as we head down the hall to the elevator.
“No, but I entertained naughty thoughts of you when you returned to your room.”
“So, just like every other night, then?” I tease.
“Exactly. But the next morning was when a certain waitress planted an idea in our heads.”
“Such a good waitress,” I say as we step into the elevator.
“And thus proving my point that the chandelier was the start of it all.”
I arch a dubious brow. “If you say so,” I say as my stomach rumbles.
“We better feed you, Mrs. Brahms.”
“Breakfast is always a good idea.”
At the restaurant, I order the berries again.
Daniel orders the eggs.
From a male waiter.
As he leaves, I shrug an oh well. “Too bad our favorite waitress, ahem, café owner, isn’t here today.”
