“My parents think we shouldn’t wait much longer.”
I nodded. That Dante had allowed Anna to study abroad and that she was marrying an Outsider were already bitter pills to swallow for the conservatives in the Outfit. Anna would be twenty-two next September. Time to marry in our world.
Anna glanced down at our linked hands then back up at my face. I tried to keep my expression calm, even if I felt anything but. Our time was running out and for the first time, I could practically see the sand grains trickling away in the hourglass.
“It’s still more than one year,” she said.
“Is it? How long do you want to keep us going? Have you decided on a date yet?”
Maybe I should man up and stop what we had. But I didn’t want to. Instead I waited for Anna to end things. It was her commitment to Clifford that would determine our end after all.
She hesitated, then looked away. “We don’t have to end things…”
Surprise washed through me, then triumph. Then I realized she didn’t mean it in the way I thought. “You want us to keep fucking even when you’re married to Clifford.”
Anna grimaced, then quickly shook her head. “We can’t. I… I hate that we have to talk about this. I don’t want to think about it.”
But eventually we would have to face the truth. I wondered if she’d ever considered telling her parents about us. If she’d ever considered breaking things off with Clifford while she’d lain in my arms at night, or while we’d shared a good laugh. I had spent hours awake at night imagining a future with Anna.
Anna leaned forward, her eyes pleading. “Let’s pretend I’m not marrying. Let’s just enjoy our time together. Okay?”
I took a deep breath, then nodded.
For Anna, I’d do it. I couldn’t let her go yet. Not yet.
The human brain is a powerful tool. I managed to pretend like Anna had asked me to, and so we kept enjoying our days until the summer almost like a couple.
When the first day of the summer holidays rolled around, Anna and I both briefly descended into wistfulness.
Luckily the next day, we took a plane down to Marseille for our trip to the Provence. Right when we landed, Anna and I held hands. It felt natural.
The sun was shining brightly as we headed for the rental car station at the airport.
Once we’d filled out all the paperwork and Anna had received the keys, she headed for a tiny blue Fiat Cinquecento Cabrio.
“Please tell me that isn’t our vehicle.” I couldn’t call that thing car. It would be an insult to my Camaro and every other car with a little pride.
Anna rolled her eyes as she rounded the car as if it was a cute puppy. “It’s perfect.” She beamed. Fuck. I could live with that Matchbox car if it made Anna smile like that.
“I’m driving!” Anna shouted before I could head for the driver’s side. I sank down on the passenger seat, watching with amusement how Anna inspected the gearshift of the Fiat. I was used to driving gear shift, but Anna had never done it. She hadn’t driven much at all in the last two and a half years. If we went anywhere by car in Paris, I always drove.
Seeing my expression, hers filled with determination.
And eventually she managed to get the engine running and we pulled out of the parking lot. Anna let out a delighted laugh. “This will be a magical trip.”
I chuckled and relaxed in the seat. Anna pressed the button that opened the top of the car. Her hair blew around her head wildly and she laughed again.
I reached inside her purse and grabbed a scrunchie. Anna gave me a grateful smile as I put her hair in a messy ponytail while she steered the car onto a narrow coastal road.
“I love it when you do that.”
Usually I only ever held her hair back when she blew me but this felt nice too. I loved the feeling of her silky hair between my fingers. “I just don’t want to drop off the cliff because your hair impairs your vision.”
I couldn’t see her eyes because of her huge sunglasses but I knew she was rolling her eyes.
“Don’t be grumpy. This will be the summer of our life.”
I knew I’d always remember this summer. The first summer Anna really felt like my woman…
… and the last.
We rented a tiny baby blue Fiat Cinquecento and rode the winding streets of the southern Provence with it until we reached our final goal, a small beach town, a former fishing village, between Nizza and Antibes. The town had two beaches, one easily accessible beach close to the promenade, and another one which could only be reached by boat or by climbing down a narrow, steep staircase that was beaten into the cliffs more than a century ago.