We’d been home for a couple of months, Stephanie just starting to show. She was curled up next to me on the couch, resting her head against me, my arm around her, hand resting on her belly. She turned to look at me, that look of love I’d seen in her eyes nearly my entire life while by her side.
“Je t’aime tellement,” she whispered.
I smiled and returned those words. Nothing else needed to be said.
*****
Epilogue
Bastille Day in France was always an event that brought the country to a standstill every year. My husband had marched more than once up the Champs-Élysées, a couple of times during the decade he’d lived in France, and he’d marched a couple of times since he’d returned to his homeland, returning to march as a veteran of the various conflicts the Legion had fought.
“Mummy, can you lift me up on your soldiers?” our youngest daughter asked.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m not strong like your father.”
A man next to us said something to us in French. I smiled as I’m fairly sure I surprised him when answering in a good standard of French. I’d made sure I’d learned the language since before my marriage to John. I wasn’t as fluent as he was, but he was teaching our children the language as well. I thanked the man but we were close to the barrier, and she eventually weaved her way to the front. I made sure her oldest brother held her hand.
It was all the pomp and ceremony one would expect from the French on their national day. Jets flew overhead. Everyone was waving the French tricolour. Small groups burst out singing La Marseillaise. But it was the parade that had everyone’s attention. I kept an eye out for my husband. Of course, our youngest saw him first, yelling out ‘Daddy! Daddy!’
He would never have heard her. He looked utterly delicious in his uniform.
I’m sure there would be many who would still wonder why I’d asked what I did that morning. I hadn’t lied though. To this day, John is the only man I’ve ever been intimate with. He told me about the two women he’d had relationships with in France. I hold no grudge against that as we had broken up. I had just lived in hope since that morning, almost hoping against hope that he’d one day be back in my life.
Seeing him that evening at our reunion was the best day of my life. The fact it had ended with us almost reaffirming our love for each other was something I’d dreamed about nearly every day for ten years. I’d never felt necessary to forgive him because there was nothing to forgive. I was the one who had hurt him. I’d lived with that guilt for long after he’d returned, even though he forgave me that same night.
The celebrations lasted all day and long into the night. After the marches, I took the children back to our hotel, waiting for my husband to return. He called me early in the evening to let him know he was on the way, eventually walking into our apartment to the excitement of our children, while I swooned at seeing him in his Legion uniform again. Even nearing fifty, the man could still pull it off.
“I hired a car for the day after tomorrow,” he told us, “I have a surprise.”
“EuroDisney?” our youngest asked, getting all excited.
“We’ve already taken you this trip, sweetie. I’m sorry, this is something else.”
I wondered what he was up to, but when we were in bed that night, nothing I tried got him to spill the beans. Even making love didn’t work, watching as he lay back once we were finished, looking pleased with himself as always, the man always ensuring his wife got off more than once, before I cuddled into him. He was still fit and strong, working out numerous times a week. His father, nearing seventy, was still strong as an ox so I knew John was going to be just fine.
I had no idea where we were going as we headed away from Paris into the heart of France to the south-west. We ended up off the autoroute onto the back roads, passing through those small French villages you see on television and in films. We eventually stopped on the outskirts of a small town, one of those with a three barrelled name, generally meaning it’s near a river or something.
“Where are we, John?” I had to ask.
He took my hand and led me through a gate, then down a path, walking past a copse of tree before we arrived at what was a house. Tightening his grip, he allowed me to look around. “I’m thinking of investing in this. The price is excellent and it’s somewhere we could move to when we retire,” he explained, “I’m still French, our children are learning the language, and while I love living at home, part of me still misses living here. And the idea of retiring here, travelling Europe, living comfortably, it does appeal. But I wasn’t going to make a decision without you, of course.”
I couldn’t believe it. Ever since he’d told me everything about living in France, I would have leapt at the chance to move halfway across the world. Yes, I’d miss my parents and our friends, but my life was with my husband and our children.
“Retirement?” I asked.
“Considering how much we’ve already saved in super and our pensions, and I still have my Legion pension earning plenty of interest at the same time, I could retire before sixty-five and know I’m comfortable. Being my wife, we could get you French citizenship quite easily and you could work here if you wanted. I’d rather we didn’t work, of course. There’s a whole continent to explore.”
“And the kids?”
“They’d be old enough to be at university at the very least, though they’d be welcome to join us here if that is what they want.”
I couldn’t help look at the place. It was absolutely gorgeous. Almost like something out of a fairy tale. “When do you have to put an offer in?” He blushed and I knew why. “Have you already put one in?” I teased.
“I’ve spoken with the agent and enquired about the asking price. What they’re asking is so ridiculously in budget, we’d be daft to turn it down. We buy it now, get people in to fix it up, and we return once or twice a year to make use of it while renting it out the rest of the year.” He turned to me, taking my hands in his. When I met his eyes, I saw the love, still as strong today as it has been ever year together. “I had ten years in France without you, Steph. I want to enjoy many years together here once we’re financially set. What do you say?”
I couldn’t help smile as I asked, “When do you get the keys?”
Ten years later, our family moved to France. Our children love it and, though they do miss home at times, the new lifestyle suits them down to the ground. As for my husband and I, we’re now both retired and living comfortably. Though retired, he still works part-time around the small town as he’s always been good working with his hands.
He’s talking about a Mediterranean cruise for our next anniversary. Considering how fit he still is approaching sixty, I’m looking in the mirror, believing I can still rock a bikini.
In fact, he just walked by the door, glanced in, whistled, and said something incredibly sexy in French that had me blushing, even at my age.
I love my husband and can only thank the stars that he walked into the reunion that evening.