22. Epilogue – Abby
Abby
“Was the blindfold really necessary?” I ask Reed with a pout and exhale an annoyed sigh. My finger slips under the fabric, to rub my eyes, prompting a soft ‘hey!’ from him and I feel his fingers snake around my wrist. “The corner of my eye itches,” I tell him and he lets my hand go again.
"Yes, it is necessary," Reed chuckles, his hand landing on my thigh and giving it a quick squeeze. "It would spoil the surprise otherwise."
"I'm already surprised enough as is," I point out and roll my eyes, even though he can't see it through the thick black fabric.
I knew he had something planned for the long weekend. He was so secretive about it from the moment I’d told him my two additional vacation days were granted.
What I didn’t expect was for him to throw me, along with two suitcases, into his car and start driving without telling me where we’d be going. Things got even weirder when we rolled onto a train - the kind that takes cars through the tunnel under the English Channel from England to France.
It can’t be Paris, right?
I'm about 80% sure he wouldn’t have bothered driving six hours if we could’ve just taken a train and gotten there in half the time. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the year and a half we’ve been together, it’s that he only drives when he absolutely has to.
Probably because he’s spent so much of his life stuck in cars and on planes for modeling jobs. Even now that he lives in London, he tries to walk whenever he can.
He committed to moving to London for our one-year anniversary half a year ago. He got himself the cutest apartment high above the roofs of London, a recommendation from his brother Jackson and within walking distance to his apartment. Before that, he either stayed at a hotel or in his brothers’ guest room whenever he was in town.
Now, while he’s hinted several times that I’m more than welcome to move in with him, I just don’t think we’re quite there yet. Or maybe that’s the part of my brain still whispering that all of this, that he is too good to be true.
"We’re almost there," he assures me, his voice full of amusement and I cross my arms in front of my chest, sinking deeper into the seat with a pout on my lips.
"You’ve said that like five times already," I whine and blindly reach over, waving my hand through the air until I find his arm, then give him a soft, playful punch.
Sometime an hour or two into France, he demanded I put a scarf around my eyes. God knows why he brought one. After all, it’s September and still way too hot to even think about covering anything on my body with a scarf. A sleeping mask would have sufficed.
His luck that the air conditioning in his car works well or I would have staged a protest.
Suddenly, the car rolls to a stop, and he gives my thigh one final squeeze before turning off the engine.
"I’ll come over and help you get out. Wait for me or you’ll bump your head on your way out," he demands, and before I can object, I already hear him releasing his buckle and getting out of the car, flinching when the door falls shut.
“God damn it,” I mutter under my breath, mumbling curses that don’t stop when I hear, and feel, the door next to me open. He reaches over to loosen the buckle, then carefully puts his hand over my head as I blindly climb out clutching his arm until I’m standing and shuts the door.
"A few more steps," he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice as he leads me somewhere, one arm around my waist and my hand securely in his. "Careful there’s a step here."
"What is this, a fucking obstacle course?" I ask, hearing his low chuckle, softly kicking around until I determine how high this step is. I’ll give it to him though, he’s holding me so securely there’s no way I’d fall, even if I decided to risk it.
"Okay, okay. Now you can take it off," he says, but before I can reach up, I feel his hands undoing the knots on the back of my head.
I thought my eyes would need a moment to adjust, but it’s already dark. In front of us stands a mansion. I tilt my head and look at him, confused.
It’s definitely fancy, like the kind of place you’d expect royalty to show up at any minute. The building itself is a grand, three-story mansion made of deep red and brown bricks, with soft beige trim that catches the deep golden light shining from the ground.
It has this quiet elegance, like it knows it’s important, like it was lifted straight out of a history book: old, majestic, and completely untouched by time.
"Where are we?" I slowly turn my head to him with narrow eyes, watching his face light up.
"We’re at Versailles," he finally explains with a wide grin, and my eyes widen. "Or, well... the hotel right next to the Chateau de Versailles, that still kind of belongs to the chateau though, to be precise."
His hold around my chest tightens, and I melt against his side, leaning my head against his shoulder.
"A belated anniversary present." My eyes dart to him, brows furrowed, before I shake my head in disbelief.
"This looks expensive, Reed. You didn’t have to."
And he really didn’t. We couldn’t really do much for our anniversary on the actual day since it was in the middle of the week, and I couldn’t take time off. So, we ordered fancy French takeout and watched The Aristocats , reminiscing over our weeks together.
It was perfect. The best way to celebrate our one-year anniversary, because he was there. And that’s really all I cared about.
"But I wanted to," he says, and kisses the side of my head. "Now come on. We're just in time for a late dinner, and tomorrow we can explore the grounds. We’ll be here for two days and make a little road trip with some tourism stops of the way back."
"You're crazy," I shake my head at him, my lips stretching into a wide grin.
"And you're so into it," he teases in a singsong voice, and I can't help but avert my eyes at the blush covering my cheeks.
"You know I am," I whisper and slip my hand into his as we walk inside, but not before he presses a kiss to my temple.
"God, I feel so out of place here," I whisper to Reed as we step into the entrance hall of the palace of Versailles. A black-and-white checkered marble floor stretches across the room long hallway-like room.
Tall arched windows line the walls, framed with stone and filled with soft daylight, statues of figures with long, flowing robes along the opposite wall. The ceiling is high and curved with surprisingly modest, golden-framed chandeliers hanging from it that make this hallway-like room look as fancy as you’d imagine a palace to look like.
We started the day with a lavish breakfast in bed, in a room that looked like it hadn’t changed one bit since the 1800s. Pink floral wallpaper, along with expensive-looking wooden flooring and the castle view making me feel like royalty.
While the bed also looked a century or two old, let’s just say it was surprisingly sturdy.
Reed promised me a day of adventure, which started with him renting a vintage car. I really wanted to tell him off for making me sit in a car again, after spending a good part of yesterday flat on my ass in one, but my mouth practically snapped close when I saw it.
I’m not sure what model it was, because I couldn’t give less of a fuck about cars as long as they drive and the air conditioning works, but I know it was a sunny day, and Reed had rented a cabriolet that looked like it was straight out of a romantic as hell black-and-white movie.
All I could think about was how glad I was that he was driving. Because knowing myself, once behind the wheel, I’d have been so nervous I’d probably have dinged another car just getting out of the parking lot. This car is much too beautiful, and expensive, for me to drive it just to return it with scratches all over the perfect, shiny finish.
But Reed? He handled it with ease, without a care in the world, probably because he’s rich and could probably buy the car if he felt like it, with his hand on my thigh unless he had to switch gears, and the wind in our hair.
Combing all the knots out of my hair was a bitch, it’s a sacrifice I’d make again, anytime, if it meant he’d drive me through small French towns with a that wide smile on his face, reveling in the way everyone looked at us.
The best thing is, I know it’s not just because of the car. It’s because he likes being seen with me. Ever since we made it official with an Instagram post, he doesn’t leave out any chance to show our relationship off, like I’m some kind of catch he can make the rest of the world jealous with.
Thankfully, it didn’t turn into a scandal. His brother, Adam, pulled a few strings and made sure of that. Though sometimes I catch his fans shooting me dirty looks, but I can deal with that.
Once we returned, Reed grabbed a basket from reception and pulled me toward one of the electric golf carts the hotel provides for exploring the grounds.
"This is so crazy," I whispered under my breath, over and over, as he drove carefully through tight curves, after taking one at such speed it almost catapulted us out of the gold cart.
We drove past meticulously cut bushes, shaped like labyrinths, trees trimmed to perfection, fountains that looked like works of art and I kept on glancing over my shoulders at the Palace of Versailles itself in the distance, looming over gardens that seemed to go on forever.
We can see the castle from our room, but every new angle absolutely wows me.
"Of course it is," Reed chuckled. "I mean, royalty lived here."
We had a lovely picnic by a canal, watching from the shadows as other couples paddled boats, hiding from the sun under cute umbrellas.
"This is so over-the-top," I grinned as he offered me another snack.
"Well, you deserve over-the-top for tolerating me for a year," he said with a wink. “And hopefully many more.
We took our time heading back, wandering off the main path and letting ourselves get a little lost in the garden. At one point, we stopped to watch a fountain show where the statues seemed realistic enough, the water leaping and spinning in perfect rhythm with music drifting from hidden speakers. It felt like the gardens themselves had come to life for just a moment.
And now we're here, inside Versailles, with no one else in sight aside from our guide.
"Just enjoy it," Reed whispers, his arm snug around my waist as the guide gives us our private tour.
I’m not usually into over-the-top fancy stuff, and Reed knows that. But moments like this, tour buses lined up outside, crowds waiting for some kind of evening garden show, make me quietly grateful to have a boyfriend with money.
Not that I need it. I’d wait out in the heat for hours if Reed was by my side. But if I get to choose? I’m picking the comfortable option every time.
We walk through fancy hallways, steps echoing off polished marble, past rooms that once housed kings and queens. There’s even a little chapel, that we only got to peek at. Then we step into a room that makes me freeze.
"Is that-?" I gasp, eyes darting to Reed, just as his lips stretch into a wide grin.
"Yes," he confirms. "That’s a painting of Napoleon getting crowned in Notre-Dame. A replica of the one we saw in the Louvre."
He pulls me to the center of it, arms wrapping around me, chin resting on my shoulder as we stand there and stare at it.
"It really looks the same," I whisper, scanning the intricate details. "Has anyone ever put them side by side for a ‘spot the difference’ game?"
"I doubt they’d find many," he murmurs, kissing my cheek. “I think the most you’ll catch are some slightly off expressions.”
It’s hard to tear myself away from the painting, eyes darting over the same intricate details as two years ago, memories of our Louvre date flashing through my mind as he tightens his hold around me for just a moment.
Each room we see gets more stunning. The intricate wallpapers that look hand-drawn, the details carved into the picture frames and sculptures. They’re scattered everywhere, much like paintings of royalty and sceneries, even the ceilings. I don’t even know where to look first, the amount of art and pompousness almost overwhelming.
"And now," the guide finally says as we approach the last room, pride in his voice, "welcome to the Hall of Mirrors."
He opens the heavy door, and I gasp, my eyes growing wider with every step.
We walk into a long, glowing hall where paintings cover the ceiling, gold frames line the walls, and dozens of crystal chandeliers sparkle in huge mirrors that stretch nearly floor to ceiling.
"What the hell..." I whisper, letting Reed guide me further in, his hand warm at the small of my back. This is the first room where we encounter other people, couples and important-looking guys standing by the windows and looking outside.
"What’s going on in the gardens?" I whisper, fearing they’ll even hear that with how quiet it is in here.
"Fireworks," Reed whispers, pulling me to a free window too.
Oh god. I freeze mid-step, my heart pounding. This isn’t... the proposal, right? We haven’t even talked about marriage yet. Hell, we don’t even live together! It’s too early!
"Relax," he murmurs in my ear as an announcement comes from the speakers outside, like he can just read my mind. "I’m not going to propose."
"Oh, thank god," I sigh, tension rolling off me, then returning when I realize how ungrateful I sounded. "I mean, look, not that I wouldn’t marry you someday , but..."
"Relax," he whispers, shaking with laugher. "I’m just here to have a romantic evening. No ring. You’re welcome to pat me down and check." When I glance at him, he shoots me a wink and the smile on his lips seems genuine. "Just enjoy it for what it is. We can revisit the marriage conversation when we’re back home, but we’re on a similar page, I reckon."
"Sounds perfect," I whisper, turning in his arms and rising onto my tiptoes, my hands gently cupping his face as I kiss him, trying to pour every flutter in my chest into it.
"Thank you," I whisper against his lips. "Today was wonderful. I’m sorry for being cranky in the car on our way here."
"That’s okay," he grins, his thumb drawing patterns over the small of my back that send goosebumps all over my skin. "I also like you cranky."
He leans in for another kiss, just as the first firework explodes outside.
And as we stand there, arm in arm, watching fireworks explode in time with classical music, right there in the goddamn Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, I can’t help but think: there’s no way this is real.
Maybe it was the universe that brought us together, that made both of us return to Paris or meet in the first place.
Whatever it was, fate, the universe, or some higher power, I’m starting to accept that this is meant for me.
It’s not too good to be true. It’s my kind of good. And I’m going to hold onto it and him as hard as I can.
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