Page 1 of The Last Kiss

1

The End

My love starts at the end.

They say when one door closes, another opens in its place.

Maybe fate has a lot to do with it.

Maybe it’s serendipity.

Maybe love is the biggest joke the universe has ever made.

If it comes though, for you, don’t ever try to fight it. Learn from my story and never let go.

When something so perfect comes within your grasp, hold it tight. Immerse yourself until you don’t know where the past, present, and future begin and end.

Love.

Laugh.

Live.

* * *

“I told you.”

His fingers brush at my hair, delicately tracing down my cheek. “And I told you, ma petite fleur.”

This is unfair. He’s breaking all the promises, every damn one, taking a pickaxe to them and splintering them to pieces.

Smash.

A tear rolls from the corner of my eye and he catches it; popping it, caught on the tip of his finger, into his mouth. Stormy night eyes shining. “Another taste of you.”

Unfair.

Smash.

I want to cry harder, want to give it some, but my chest hurts. Every breath is like running a marathon, yet I’m only sitting on the creaky sheet of a hospital bed. I hike in another gasped breath, as a large palm smooths my hair and lips press into the top of my head. A lifeline I want to cling onto even though I know my time is up.

When I can breathe, I shift slightly, looking up to meet his gaze. “You promised me.” I guilt him with a deploring stare. Please leave, my eyes say, though my tongue is having a problem expressing the words. Stupid tongue.

That look of beautiful solemnity comes over his face. It’s my favourite look, dark and brooding, all things that make my heart flutter. Stupid heart. Literally.

“Ma petit Julianna, I never promised.” He leans a little closer, breath brushing my skin, making me ache for days full of sunshine, laughter and tangled cotton sheets.

My heart races again, pounding loud in my ears, I clutch at my chest, my touch weak, barely holding myself together. That beautiful solemnity darkens into heartbreak. It splinters what’s left of me straight in two.

“Henri, please.” I gasp his name, remembering another broken rule between us.

No names.

No strings.

Yet here we sit. Well, I lie on the bed. He stands, looking like a man on fire.

Rules are there for a reason; I must remember that for my next life.