55. Chapter 55
fifty-five
M onroe hadn’t noticed before, just how many roundabouts there were in France.
She’d thought the UK was bad, but out here it was like someone had designed the entire road system with a compass and a sense of humour.
In some towns, she’d ended up circling the same flowerbed three times, trying to decode the unfamiliar signs.
She probably should have paid more attention whenever Chloé drove her anywhere, she considered, but she’d been too busy paying attention to Chloé.
At first, she’d been tense, gripping the wheel, cursing softly under her breath, perilously close to pulling over and calling Chloé for help.
But then she’d remembered Kitty, no more than five at the time, giggling in the back seat as they’d gone around the roundabout “just one more time” for fun.
It made her smile, and the tightness in her chest had eased, and she’d gone around one more time just for the fun of it.
From then on, she was fine, even when she missed a turn and ended up halfway down a country road lined with vines and sleepy farmhouses before managing to swing back.
She glanced at the clock. Gone seven.
At least another thirty minutes to go. But she was close now—so close she could feel it.
The nerves.
The anticipation.
The flutter of something that felt dangerously close to joy.
She turned the volume down on the radio and focused. Almost there.
Finally, she turned right, onto the narrow road that led to Chloé’s house.
Her house, Monroe reminded herself, a flicker of disbelief tightening in her chest. It still didn’t feel real—France, a farmhouse, and a French lover who looked at her like the sun rose just for Monroe.
Nobody else was on the road, but she signalled anyway, habit and nerves working in tandem.
She slowed and pulled into the gravelled area beside Chloé’s car—a sleek little convertible that always made Monroe smile.
The SUV’s headlights bathed the space in warm gold before going dark as she switched off the engine.
And then—quiet.
She let out a breath and sat there for a second. She was here. She’d made it.
When she finally looked up, Chloé was already there, standing at the gate, hands tucked into her jeans pockets, lit faintly by the glow spilling out from the front porch. Her smile was wide and warm and full of something that made Monroe’s chest ache—in the best way.
Like a kid at Christmas, Monroe thought. Or like someone who’d just been handed everything they wanted and couldn’t quite believe it was theirs.
She opened the door and stepped out.
Chloé didn’t move at first. She just looked at her.
“You really came,” she said tenderly.
Monroe’s smile blossomed. “Told you I would.” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you staying over there, or are you going to help me drag all this in?”
The question snapped Chloé from her thoughts. “Of course—sorry. I was just…taking it all in. I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life: The day you came home.” Chloé crossed the distance in just a few strides, her expression open, vulnerable in a way Monroe rarely saw.
Monroe leant against the car, watching her. “You okay?”
“I think so,” Chloé said, reaching out to rest a hand on Monroe’s waist. “You’re really here.”
“I am.”
“For good?”
Monroe wrapped her arms around her, drawing her close. “That’s the plan.”
Chloé exhaled, a laugh breaking through the emotion in her throat. “Then yes, I’ll help you drag your life out of this very large, very English car.”
Monroe smirked. “It’s mostly just clothes. And maybe a few dozen books.”
“I have seen it all, remember. Don’t try to trick me with ‘just a few books’. But I should work fast before I am good for nothing.”
Monroe grinned and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Romantic and practical. Lucky me.”
Chloé squeezed her hand. “No, bébé . Lucky me.”