All this time, in fact, she’d assumed that he was still looking. That perhaps, one day he’d come back to her. Then two days ago she’d learned the truth when Jean Michel had come to her office to tell her about an interesting necklace at an estate sale. Interesting because of the angel carved into the charm, which consisted of some type of large amulet, as well as the intriguing inscription inside the piece if one pried it open at a hidden hinge-point. “I wasn’t sure if Reginald would come,” he said. “He says he’s no longer searching, but I thought something like this…”
He’d trailed off, clearly assuming that she already knew that Reg had given up. “Yes,” she’d said, forcing her voice not to shake. “For something like this, he’d probably come.”
Not that she fully understood what this was. Jean Michel had refused to tell her what the inscription said, requiring her to visit his shop this morning if she was inclined to find out.
She almost didn’t come. After all, what did she care anymore?
She’d put her pride and her heart on the line when she told Reg she’d cared only for him and not the damn curse. That she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone, or could ever imagine wanting anyone in the future. She’d practically begged him to marry her, and now she was humiliated by the way she’d revealed so much to him.
If only he’d pulled her to him…But instead he’d pushed her away, and the hot blush of shame now covered not only her cheeks, but her whole life. He’d always insisted that he wanted her desperately, but not with the curse. She’d just as stubbornly insisted that she didn’t care.
But he’d made it clear that he did care, and when it was obvious that their relationship wouldn’t progress because of his damn obsession with that damn curse, she’d moved to Louisiana.
Soon after, she’d heard through the grapevine that he’d moved to England. And then she’d learned, through Jean Michel, that he wasn’t pursuing the curse anymore.
The knowledge had stung. Because if he wasn’t looking to end the curse, that also meant that he wasn’t looking to ever get back together with her.
A selfish reaction, maybe, since she’d been the first one to walk away, but that didn’t change the fact that her heart hurt. And now that he was standing in front of her, she truly realized the depth of that ache.
He crossed the dark, almost musty antique shop in five long strides, then paused beside her, not touching her but gazing at her with an intensity so strong it almost felt a caress. “Hello, Anne,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”
She looked away, managing only a nod because her voice didn’t seem to be working anymore. She didn’t want to want him, but she did. Damn him all to hell, one look at him—one glimpse—and she wanted nothing more than to touch him.
It was an impulse she intended to fight, because she knew damn well it would lead nowhere good.
“Jean,” he said, shaking hands with the elderly shopkeeper. “What have you found?”
The wiry old man smiled, so obviously excited about his discovery that his words began to wear away at Anne’s sharp edges. “Complete bonne chance,” he said in the false French accent he maintained for benefit of the tourists. “I was at an estate sale, you see, going through the belongings of a family that had sold their home in the Garden District after Katrina. They’d tried for years to restore the house, but simply couldn’t manage it.” He shook his head, making a sympathetic noise. “Sad, very sad,” he added, the accent now gone. “In a box of jewelry, I found this.” He reached under the cabinet and drew out the necklace. He’d described it to Anne earlier, but the description didn’t do it justice.
The amulet was large, the size of a baby’s fist, and teardrop shaped. A purple stone filled the center of one side, and on the back, etched into the gold, was the delicate image of an angel.
“Olivia’s journal,” Reg said, his voice little more than a whisper. “Do you think…?”
“I do,” Jean Michel said. “I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”
She saw the glint of hope in Reg’s eyes, followed by wariness. “There must be many amulets with angels. For that matter, we don’t even know that the amulet had an angel carved on it. Perhaps it simply belonged to a pretty girl.”
“Possible,” Jean said. “Which is why your quest has been so unfruitful, correct?”
Reg had to concede he was right, and as he did, he looked sideways at Anne with such a look of loss and regret that she had to reach out and grab the counter once again. She’d been certain that his heart had abandoned her. Seeing the heat in his eyes now, she had to rethink that notion.