I lied to my mom. She's been getting suspicious lately, claiming that I'm acting weird whenever I call her. A part of me can't register the fact that I'm engaged a little less than a year after dating my boyfriend. Telling her means that I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that I've found the one who I'm ready to spend the rest of my life with at the simple age of nineteen. She is going to have a freaking coronary. I angle my hand, studying the intricate weaving patterns carved on the gold band. Under my perusing gaze, it feels as though it weighed a ton. When really, my ring is as light as a feather. After dating my boyfriend for seven months, he'd gotten down on one knee in front of the whole population of our favourite Parisian seafood restaurant – La Sirène – and asked me if I would do the honour of gracing him with my "magnifique présence" – his words, not mine – for the rest of his life as his lawfully wedded wife. Pierre Aguillard is charming and unpredictable like that. After the initial shock of his proposal, my eyes had connected with his deep blue depths and what I saw there – fierce longing and yearning for me – had me jumping to my feet and stuttering a million yeses. He makes me laugh like no other, keeps me on my toes and is one of my best friends. For once in my life, I feel like things are finally falling into place, like I'm finally making the right decision. There's no way I'd let Pierre slip between my clumsy fingertips. But things in my life are never steady. It's like a curse. I have learned it the hard way. All good things for me come to an early end. I've experienced it with my parents and other past relationships. There's a childish part of me that firmly believes that if I tell the news now, subconsciously I'm jinxing myself. Hence the reason why I'm keeping my lips glued. Pierre has proposed to me over a month ago, yet I'm still not ready to spread around the word. Maybe I need a little more time to gather my jumbled thoughts and emotions. I'm fiddling with my ring when I feel someone's gaze on me. Snapping my head up, I come face-to-face with Oliver. A gasp flies past my lips and I jump to my feet. "Come to daddy," he muses. Tawny golden eyes twinkle with mischief and a Cheshire grin curves onto his mouth as he spreads his arms wide open. I run the short distance between us and jump him. Arms and legs loop around his strong body in a choke hold. Air whooshes out of our lungs from the collision, but I don't care. I've finally spotted a familiar face and I'm hugging the one boy who's been like a brother to me my entire life. Oliver is family. He hugs me back as fiercely, giving a tight squeeze before trying to pry my limbs off. "Now, Cher. You know I love you very much, but if my girlfriend caught me like this, she'd most likely castrate my boys." "Your boys?" "AKA my balls." I giggle and drop to my feet. "Your balls will stay intact, Oliver. Promise." He grins. "Well that's motherfucking reassuring." We gaze at each other for another moment, as if drinking in the sight of each other's face. It's been so long. Something inside of me snaps. A dam breaks. I suck my lips inside my mouth as I feel my eyes water all over again. Mortification consumes me when I feel the first of tears stream down my cheek. Oliver starts running his hands down my arms in a comforting manner. "Oh, God," he mutters, eyes the size of saucers. "I was just kidding; Inga's not the kind to flip shit. Please, don't cry. You're basically my sister, but it's not considered incest." Slapping his chest, I wipe under my eyes with the cuff of my sleeve. "Oliver – shut up. I don't care about your girlfriend. I'm just emotional. I missed you, and I haven't been here in almost a year." His face drops and he folds me against him. For a couple of seconds, he rocks us back and forth. "Ah, sweetheart," he murmurs gently into my hair. "I missed you, too. So much. Don't ever run off like that again." When I peer up, I notice his throat working with emotion. "I didn't run away." My voice sounds desperate even to my own ears. "I needed to go... for my own benefit. You know that, right? You do know that. Everyone knows that." I could not have stayed here after everything. As much as this was my home, I felt suffocated back then, like the air was slowly being sucked out of my windpipes. I was in a turmoil and I needed to drag myself out of it. France proved to be the perfect escape I longed for. But I'm a grown up now and ready to move on with my life. Oliver knows that. We get a couple of awe glances from bystanders who probably assume we're a reunited couple. I press my cheek against his shirt and wrap my arms tighter around his waist. He rests his chin on top of my head. "I know, Cheryl. It's okay. No one holds it against you. You did what you had to do. All that matters now is that you're back home." My lips curl at the statement. "I'm home." I relish the sound of the distantly familiar words on my tongue. Oliver cants his head. and a foreign look enters his glittering eyes. With a smile that I savor, he repeats, "You are home." And this time I'm back for good.