“But you know it’s been far more than that, Paul, and you know where I’ve been,” I said.
The waiter brought his café au lait. He sipped some and nodded. “And I also know that if I had had any courage back then, you wouldn’t have been where you’ve been and be where you are now. I don’t blame you. I blame myself.”
I smiled. “Okay. Then I’ll blame you, too,” I said, and he laughed before taking on the most serious expression I had seen on his face.
“Good, Roxy. That way, we’ll both be able to live with it and go on.” He reached for my hand, but I held it back.
“All my life, I’ve avoided illusions and fantasies, Paul,” I said.
“Yes, but this isn’t going to be an illusion, and this isn’t a fantasy. This is us for real. I love you, Roxy. It was the epitome of stupidity to believe I could ignore it. And I hope it’s the same for you.”
I felt those stubborn tears come into my eyes, tears I had driven back so many different times for so many different reasons. But I couldn’t hold them back now.
Now I would cry for my father, finally.
And for my mother.
And for myself.
He leaned over to wipe my cheeks and then kiss me.
I gave him my hand.
Paris was lighting up. It was almost as if the whole city had been listening in on our conversation and wanted to congratulate us and wish us well.
“I have to return to New York,” I said. “And bring a few things to a conclusion.”
“My plane is at your disposal,” he said. “That way, I know you’ll return.”
“I’ll return,” I promised.
Afterward, we walked together on the Boulevard Saint-Germain. I recalled my mother describing her life in Paris when she was a little girl and how she simply loved walking the streets, watching the people, listening to the laughter and the music that poured out of cafés or was played by street musicians.
She had said it all made up the heart of what she was.
“In the end,” she’d told me as she brushed my hair and kissed my forehead, “you can’t deny who you are. You can only embrace it, Roxy. I’m afraid it will take you longer to realize that, but I have faith that you will.”
“Yes,” I whispered as I held tightly to Paul’s arm and then laid my head against it.
We moved in and out of shadows, but our silence wasn’t born out of fear of our future. It was born out of hope and love and the knowledge that in the end, you will always come home and be forever with the people you love if you just stop to listen to the music in your heart.
Pocket Books
proudly presents
The
Unwelcomed
Child
V.C. Andrews®
Available February 2014 from Pocket Books
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The Unwelcomed Child . . .