Chapter 28
Elena
The path to the lake wound through sections of the garden I'd never explored, past sculpted hedges and fountains that caught the moonlight. My phone guided me forward, Maxime's pin glowing steadily, and with each step my heart beat faster.
I felt oddly like a character in one of Mama's old novels—those tales of young women slipping away to meet lovers in secret gardens. Except this wasn't scandalous. Maxime was exactly the kind of person I was supposed to be with.
The thought of Étienne flashed through my mind—his expression in the hallway earlier, that moment when his control cracked. I pushed it away firmly. I wasn't going to think about him tonight.
The location pin showed Maxime near the old willow tree. I quickened my pace and emerged into the clearing by the water's edge. But Maxime wasn't where the pin said he should be. I frowned at my phone, looking around.
"Looking for someone?" The voice came from behind me, and before I could turn a hand covered my eyes. I gasped, but recognized his cologne immediately—that fresh, oceanic scent.
"Maxime!" I spun around, swatting at his chest. "You scared me! What are you—you're doing the crazy thing again!"
"Doing the crazy thing?" He grinned. "You mean 'messing around'?"
"Messing around," I corrected, feeling my cheeks heat. Even after months in France my languages still tangled together.
"I wanted to surprise you," he said, lacing our fingers together. "Was it too much? "
"What?"
"Close your eyes," he instructed. "Trust me."
I closed my eyes. I heard him rustling with something, the soft click of a box opening.
"Okay. You can look."
I opened my eyes and found myself staring at a velvet jewelry box. Inside was a brooch shaped like jasmine flowers—platinum set with tiny diamonds. It was beautiful, understated and elegant.
"Oh my God," I whispered. "Maxime, this is—it's so beautiful."
"Chloé mentioned you love jasmine," he said, pride in his voice. "I had a friend in London track it down at a vintage shop. It's Art Deco, nineteen-twenties. I thought it could be something you wear when you compete. For luck."
My eyes stung. No one had ever done something like this for me—chosen a gift so carefully just to make me happy rather than to make me better.
"Hey, don't cry," Maxime said quickly, his thumb brushing away a tear. "I wanted to make you happy, not sad."
"I am happy," I managed. "This is the most thoughtful gift anyone's ever given me."
His smile softened. "Elena," he said. "I know we've only been together a week, but I feel like you're the person I've been waiting for. Does that sound crazy?"
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
"When I see you I get this feeling—" he pressed his hand to his chest "—like my heart's trying to beat its way out. I know it's fast, but I think you might be the person I've been looking for my whole life."
The words should have thrilled me. They were exactly what any girl would want to hear. And part of me did feel thrilled.
But underneath was something else. A whisper that said this sweetness wasn't quite enough. That I'd already tasted something darker and more complex, and now everything else felt pale by comparison.
I pushed the thought away. This was good. This was what I wanted.
"I feel the same way," I said, and it wasn't entirely a lie.
"Look at this," Maxime said, holding up his other hand. Suddenly there was another brooch there, identical to the first. "Magic!"
I laughed. "How did you do that?"
"A magician never reveals his secrets. Okay, fine—I learned card tricks from YouTube and adapted them. I've been practicing for days."
"You're ridiculous," I said, smiling. "You really learned magic tricks just to impress me?"
"I really did. I wanted to make tonight special."
"Thank you," I whispered. "This is—you're really good to me."
"I want to be." He took both my hands, his expression earnest. "Elena, I want to take you everywhere. Nice for surfing, Monaco for the Grand Prix, Provence in summer. All the places I love, I want to share them with you."
I let myself imagine it—a life of sunshine and easy affection, without the weight of expectation or shadows of guilt.
"That sounds perfect," I said softly.
"We could go right after your competition season ends. Just the two of us."
"I'd like that."
Maxime's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "Elena, I need to ask you something. Properly."
"Okay."
"I know we said we're together, but I want to make it official. Really official. I want everyone to know. I want you to be my girlfriend—officially, publicly, no hiding. Will you?"
Something twisted in my chest—pleasure and panic tangled together. What would Étienne think when he saw it?
And why did that matter?
"Yes," I said, my voice stronger than I felt. "Yes, I want that."
His face transformed with joy, and he swept me up in a hug that lifted my feet off the ground. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."
"Can I—" He paused, suddenly shy. "Can I kiss you?"
My heart hammered, and I nodded. He cupped my face in both hands, gentle and questioning. I tilted my face up and let him close the distance.
His lips were warm and soft, tentative at first then growing more confident. It was nice, I told myself. Sweet and gentle and exactly what a first kiss should be.
Nothing like the dark, dangerous fantasies that haunted my dreams.
This was better, I told myself firmly. This was real and possible and mine to keep.
When we finally broke apart, Maxime rested his forehead against mine. "I've been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you."
I smiled, pushing away the hollow ache. "Me too."
We stood there for a moment, the lake lapping gently beside us. It should have been perfect. It was perfect, I told myself.
So why did it feel like something was missing?
Finally Maxime pulled back. "We should probably get back before people start wondering."
"Probably," I agreed, letting him lead me toward the path. As we walked he talked excitedly about his plans, and I listened and smiled.
At the garden entrance he pulled me close one more time, kissing me softly. "Goodnight, my girlfriend."
"Goodnight, my boyfriend," I replied, watching him disappear back toward the party.
I stood alone in the shadows, one hand pressed to my lips, the other clutching the velvet box. I should have felt happy. I should have felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
Instead I felt like I was standing at a crossroads—one path bathed in sunlight, safe and clear, the other disappearing into shadows that both terrified and called to me.
I took a breath and turned toward the house, toward the light and music and the life I was supposed to want. My phone buzzed—a notification that Étienne's study light had just turned on. He was working again, burying himself in spreadsheets rather than sleeping.
I shook my head. He wasn't my responsibility. He'd made that clear. And I had Maxime now—sweet, uncomplicated Maxime.
This was good, I told myself as I headed back. This was what I wanted.