Where the Light Falls(71)
She clung to him. So much time had passed, but she looked even lovelier than the memory he had held. Her hair framed her face, loose and undone, and she wore a simple dress of lilac silk. “What kept you so long? I had begun to worry.”
“I had to take care of something. No need to worry, my darling.” He kissed her again, but he sensed the hesitancy in her embrace. Sophie tilted her gaze, looking toward the maid whose presence André had completely forgotten about.
“Thank you, Parsy. You may leave us,” she said. The maid fidgeted in the corner before reluctantly turning to leave.
When Parsy had shut the door, Sophie turned back to André, her eyes suddenly beguiling and full of desire. “We have a lot of time to make up for.”
—
Later, they lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the Parisian evening that rose up from outside Sophie’s bedroom window. A café across the street was crowded, its patrons spilling out onto the lane in various states of intoxication. A pipe player was alternating between offering his melodies to the passersby and imploring the crowds to drop a bit of change into his threadbare cap. From a nearby alley, a dog barked.
Their bodies intertwined, a fire warming the room, André and Sophie did their best not to think of the coming day. They filled the hours telling each other about the past six months. Sophie told André that her uncle had stayed in the city, tormenting her with his surprise visits and stern curfew. André told Sophie about his campaign outside Saorgio and their constant expectation for the orders to cross the Alps into Italy. He also told her of his meeting, hours earlier, with Jean-Luc St. Clair and his positive impressions of the passionate young lawyer.
“He’s a good man. His outward appearance might not betray it, but I think he has some fight in him.”
“Certainly brave if he’ll take on Lazare and his Committee,” Sophie said.
André traced a line with his finger down the soft creamy skin of her back. They lay still in silence for several moments before Sophie shifted, propping herself up on her elbows. She brought her palm to André’s cheek, grazing the raised scar tissue.
“You’ve never told me.”
“About what?” André asked.
“This scar. How did you get it?”
André sighed, quickly removing her hand and holding her fingers gently in his own palm. After a pause, he answered: “This one came from Valmy.”
“An Austrian?”
“Or Prussian. Whoever he was, the tip of his bayonet sliced the side of my face. He would have killed me, in fact. If not for…” He paused.
“If not for?”
“If not for General Kellermann. He saved my life.” André blinked, his vision suddenly blurry as he recalled that day at Valmy.
Sophie, sensing his difficulty, spoke before he had to. “And now you’re back here. And hopefully you shall do the same for him.”
André nodded. “You know Remy is back in Paris for the trial as well?”
“Hmm?” She seemed to be distracted now, her head resting on his chest.
“Remy is here. He is going to come to the trial tomorrow.”
“How is dear old Remy?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows again.
“The same as ever. Frustrated that he didn’t see any action while in Italy, but more than making up for it now that he’s back in Paris. He tells me he plans to propose to Celine.”
“Celine the ballerina?” she asked.
“Celine the ballerina. I think she’s done the impossible: it appears that she’s tamed my brother’s restless heart.”
“I’ve been thinking,” André said, his voice shifting to a serious tone. Sophie looked at him more intently now, her loose curls tumbling forward to frame her face. He tugged a strand of her blond hair away from her face, holding it gently in his fingers. “Sophie, what if you and I got married?”
She cocked her head to the side as if to say: This again?
“No, I mean it. Listen to me.”
“André, I told you—”
“Just listen.”
“My uncle would kill you first.”
“What if he didn’t know?”
This silenced Sophie’s protests. She considered what André had said, her brow crinkling in thought. Eventually, she spoke: “You mean a secret marriage?”
“Precisely. We could do it before I left for the front again. Remy could be our witness.”
The words hung between them for a while, Sophie’s eyes distant as she considered the proposition. When she looked back at him, a smile tugged her rose-colored lips upward. “You wish to marry me?”