My phone rang in my pocket. I pressed ignore, but not before I saw the line up of notifications across the screen. Sinclair had called me six times and sent two texts.
Frenchman: No matter what happens. No matter how awful she makes you feel about yourself. Remember the woman I fell in love with. The brave woman with flaming hair and bold eyes, that captivated me from the first. It wasn’t your beauty that drew me in, my love. It was your capacity to feel, to filter every emotion and experience through your body so that you can better understand life. You are so utterly alive that you even succeeded in bringing me to life. Feel for Elena, feel grief for what you have to give up for me (I am more sorry for that than I can say) but then release the grief. If you can forgive me, you can forgive yourself.
Frenchman: Et aussi, je t’aime. Come home to me when you are ready. I have a surprise that I would like to share with you.
My heart ached and throbbed like a mortal wound as I read and reread his words standing in the middle of 7th avenue as people jostled and rushed past me. The loneliness that had crippled me like a physical condition my entire life seized me in its iron fist. Memories assaulted me: Cosima leaving followed by Seamus and then Sebastian, arriving alone in Paris to make a new life, fleeing it to get away from the threat of Christopher, the distance that remained between my siblings and I. The agony of solitude whipped around me, swirled me into a vortex of pain and then left, abruptly.
I placed my hands on my knees and panted lightly from the intensity of my revelation.
I wasn’t alone any longer and, if I had the strength to accept the repercussions of my relationship with Sinclair, I never had to be again.
Chapter Fourteen.
Sinclair was practically vibrating with excitement. His knee bounced up and down under our clasped palms as we sat in the back of the cab that was transporting us to a surprise location. He had seemed incredibly relieved and then uncharacteristically giddy when I’d arrived at the suite, dropped my things and dove into his arms. He’d held me in silence until I collected myself and then he had asked me to go with him somewhere. I didn’t tell him about the ordeal with my sister and my mother, I wasn’t ready to unleash my grief onto him, but I’d sealed the promise that I’d made myself - to devote myself to our future - with a long kiss.
“We’re going to Brooklyn?” I asked now, surprised.
His boyish enthusiasm was immediately snuffed out by the incredulity of my tone and his mask slipped back in place. He raised a cool brow and said, “You dislike Brooklyn?”
“Not at all.” I smiled. “In fact, I kind of love it. It’s a hipster haven after all.”
“You are not a hipster,” he said, appalled by the thought.
I laughed. “No, but I am an artist. I like the grittiness that still lingers here, the cool little shops and the community feel. Besides, this is where we spent our first ‘date’ after we found each other again.”
His grin was back.
I shook my head at him as our cab pulled up to a building near the water overlooking the Manhattan skyline. He was out of the car and opening my door before I could pry my eyes away from the gorgeous nightscape.
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
He tugged me out of the car and into his arms, one hand firm on my chin so that I was looking up into his eyes. “I’ve never been like this.”
The air was cold and bitingly fresh in my lungs as he led me to the gorgeous building right beside the Manhattan Bridge overpass.
“Mr. Sinclair,” a professionally dressed older woman greeted from beside the entrance. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
“Meagan,” he said, shaking hands with the statuesque blonde. “How are you this evening? I appreciate you meeting us here at such a late hour.”
She blushed. “Don’t be silly, I’m happy to accommodate you. After all, how much business have you sent our way in the last eight years?”
He inclined his head to acknowledge her words and tugged me forward by our joined hands. “Meagan this is the woman I was telling you about, Giselle Moore.”
To my surprise, she beamed at me and took my hand warmly in both of hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Giselle.”
“Oh?” I asked, sliding a glance up at Sin.
“Of course, it’s not often Sinclair can’t shut up about something other than work,” she joked.
My eyebrows were somewhere startlingly close to my hairline as I stared up at my Frenchman. He raised one of his reddish brows at me haughtily, as if such behavior was to be expected.