thought of Jason leaving broke it clean in two. Two halves that couldn’t function independently, leaving me to mourn what might have been if I’d just had the courage to reach for it. I tried, but my fear kept me stuck in place, unable to speak or move.
“What about Severin?” I asked. Work—I could always rely on work. “He’ll be arriving anytime.”
Jason turned and glanced at me. A hank of unruly dark hair fell over his brow, giving him a boyish appeal. “You don’t need me for that. You were always what sealed the deal for him.”
He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch me, but he let it drop back down by his side. He looked resigned, as if he’d tried his best but failed and now had to accept the loss. Just like when he’d told me about Jess, seeing him hurting caused me physical pain. I couldn’t stand it. I turned away and stared into the fountain, then I cleared my throat until I felt him look at me.
“It’s a shame, then, that Marcellino and I decided just to be friends,” I said.
Jason went still, so still that I wasn’t sure he was even breathing. His voice when he spoke was a gruff rasp. “Say that again, Martin.”
I turned to face him, glancing at him over the flowers in my arms. “We’re just friends.”
His gray eyes flashed. The next thing I knew, he had my free hand in his, and he was dragging me away from the fountain, Marcellino, and the festival.
“Sorry,” he called to Marcellino over his shoulder. “But we have to get these flowers in water before they die.”
I saw Marcellino’s mouth twitch, and I grinned at him. He gave me a slight nod of encouragement and then held his hand out to the beautiful girl beside him. Clearly, Marcellino was going to be just fine.
We slipped by the darkened windows of the shops to the outskirts of town. The lights of the festival, the music, the laughter, and the smell of the food faded as we found ourselves on a dark and deserted dirt road.
I started to walk in the direction of the vineyard, but Jason stopped me. He turned me to face him, cupped my face in his hands, and then lowered his lips to mine in a kiss that felt as if it had been waiting just beneath the surface for days. He sipped at my upper lip, lightly slid his tongue across the lower one, and fit his lips to mine so perfectly it was as if our mouths had been formed with the other in mind.
I couldn’t get close enough to him, so I dropped my flowers and pressed up against him. His hands moved to my hips, drawing me in and holding me in place. I realized as his mouth wooed mine that this wasn’t just a kiss; it was staking a claim. When my lips parted on a gasp, his tongue swept in, clearing out any capacity I had to think or reason. The taste of him, of us together, was the breaking down of the old and the rebuilding of something new. It was everything.
“Dance with me,” he said, breaking the kiss so we could breathe.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. I studied his face to determine just how serious he was. He was staring at my mouth in a way that made my heart kick into high gear in my chest.
“There’s no music,” I said.
“There’s always music when you’re near me,” he countered. Then he began to hum “La vie en rose.”
And just like that, I was back on the Eiffel Tower with him, listening to Edith Piaf with his warmth wrapped around me while we swayed back and forth. The scent of him, cardamom and mint, rose up from his skin while we danced, and I suddenly felt as if everything in my life had been stumbling toward this moment in time. It was too much. He made me feel too much. I stepped back from him.
He didn’t let me go, however. Instead, he stepped close and cupped my face, tilting it so he could meet my gaze. His eyes were filled with purpose, as if he could sense that I was panicking and he wasn’t about to let that happen. He pressed his mouth against mine. The kiss smoldered, and any thought I’d had of escaping incinerated on the spot.
The magic that I always felt when he touched me, the euphoria that