7. Willow
7
WILLOW
Two Years ago
“ Comment puis-je…. umm , me rendre au Louvre? ” Willow carefully pronounces each syllable to mimic the French accent as best she can.
“I think that’s very convincing. Are we already in Paris?”
“Shut up, Vincent.” she murmurs with a smile as she buries her head into my chest.
“I’m for real, everyone knows that French is all about attitude, and I think you have that down.”
Her bright eyes glimmer in the dim lighting as she takes a moment to look at my face before leaning in and swiftly nibbling on my collarbone, sending a jolt through my nervous system as I gently shake her off.
“Hey, I’m serious,” I retort, “It’s much better than mine.”
She begins twirling her finger around my chest. “Oh yeah? Show me.”
“Je suis Vincent. Uh…enchanté.” The words stumble out of my mouth. I cringe, feeling the pressure of my own ineptitude. How can I sound so bad?
Willow’s laughter starts soft, a little giggle that escapes her lips before she clamps a hand over her mouth. But then it grows, spiraling out of control until she’s rolling on the bed, clutching her stomach.
“Holy shit!” she gasps between breaths, “How much have you been practicing?”
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “Look, we still have plenty of time until Paris. Plus, I have you… and you’re already perfect.”
She mock punches my arm, her laughter finally subsiding into a soft chuckle. “Ha ha,” she says, resting her head on my chest, “Very funny.”
We’re nestled together under the covers, her body warm against mine. My arm is draped over her shoulder, our legs tangled in a way that feels as natural as breathing. Her arms wrap around my torso, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin. The scent of her hair fills the air, floral and sweet, like a garden in full bloom.
I could stay like this forever.
But then she shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. There’s a small grin playing on her lips, and a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“You know…” she begins, “I may have a way to help you practice a bit faster.”
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what’s that?”
Her grin widens, and she leans in closer, her breath warm against my ear. “Let’s just say… I’ll make it worth your while.”
Her hand trails down my chest, her fingers lightly brushing over my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I can feel my body responding to her touch, the heat between us growing with every passing second.
“Willow…” I whisper, my voice hoarse with desire.
She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze. Her eyes are dark with want, her lips parted in anticipation. “Vincent,” she murmurs, “Say anything in French.”
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
She grins, her hand continuing its exploration of my body. “You heard me. Say anything in French. If you get it right… I’ll reward you.”
“Uh…” I stammer, struggling to form a coherent sentence. “Je… je t’aime?”
Willow’s eyes light up, and she leans in to kiss me, her lips soft and warm against mine. The kiss deepens, her tongue teasing my lips until I open for her.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are shining with satisfaction. “Not bad,” she purrs, “But I think you can do better.”
Her hand moves lower, slipping beneath the covers to tease the sensitive skin of my hip. I gasp, my body arching towards her touch.
“Willow…” I moan, my fingers tangling in her hair.
She beams, her hand inching closer to its destination. “Say something else,” she whispers, her voice low and sultry.
I swallow hard, trying to focus. “Tu… tu es belle. Très belle.”
Willow’s eyes darken, and she leans in to capture my lips in another searing kiss. Her hand finally finds what it’s been searching for, wrapping around me in a firm grip. I groan into her mouth, my hips bucking against her hand.
She breaks the kiss, her breath coming in short gasps. “Good,” she murmurs, her hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, “Keep going.”
I can feel the tension building inside me, my body on the edge of release. But I force myself to concentrate, to come up with a word or phrase, anything in French.
“Je… je veux toi. Toujours.”
Willow’s eyes widen, and her hand stills for a moment. Then she’s back on me, her mouth devouring mine like she’s trying to consume me whole. Her hand resumes its rhythm, faster now, more urgent.
I can feel myself slipping, the pleasure overwhelming me. But I need to hear her voice, to know that I’m doing this right.
“Willow…” I gasp, my fingers digging into her hips, “Tell me… tell me I’m doing it right.”
She pulls back slightly, her breath warm against my skin. “You’re doing perfect,” she whispers, her voice trembling with desire, “Keep going.”
Her hand moves faster, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head of my cock. I can feel the pressure building, the pleasure coiling tight in my gut.
“Willow…” I moan, my voice breaking, “Je t’aime. Je t’aime tellement.”
Her eyes soften, and she leans in to kiss me, her lips tender against mine. “Je t’aime aussi,” she murmurs, her hand never stopping its relentless pace.
And then I’m there, my body shuddering with release as I spill into her hand. “Fuck,” I groan.
She kisses my temple, “Wrong language, mon amour.”
I collapse back onto the bed, my chest heaving. Willow lays down beside me, her head resting on my chest. My breaths slowly return to normal, as I pepper kisses over her forehead and cheeks. For a long time, we just lay there, wrapped up in each other. The warmth of her body against mine is comforting, and perfectly molded into mine.
“Vincent,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, “We’re going to Paris.”
I smile, my fingers lightly stroking her back. “I know,” I reply, my voice filled with affection, “But I don’t need Paris. I just need you.”
She looks up at me, her eyes soft and full of love. “Even if your French is terrible?”
I laugh, pulling her closer. “Especially if my French is terrible.”
She grins, resting her head on my chest again. “Don’t worry,” she murmurs, “I’ll keep helping you practice.”
I smile, my eyes closing as I relax into the warmth of her presence. “I’m counting on it.”
After a brief pause and our breath finally begins to settle, I turn my head to look at her, my fingers still tracing slow circles on her back.
“Willow,” I murmur, my voice low, like I’m testing the words before they leave my mouth. "I’ve been thinking about us, about everything. About how this feels.”
She lifts her head again, her golden eyes meeting mine, steady and calm. There’s no question in her gaze. She knows I’m about to say something important. The air between us shifts, the kind of quiet tension that comes before a big decision.
“I want you with me. For all of it,” I say, my voice tightening just a bit with the heaviness of it. “I want this to be more than just a few days in Paris. I want—” I slide a black velvet box from underneath my pillow, keeping my eyes on her. “I want you in my life. All of it, forever.” I slide the box open, and nestled against midnight black velvet sits my mother’s ring. The centerpiece is a flawless princess-cut diamond, adorned with delicate pearl accents that frame the diamond on either side and a platinum band holding it all together.
"It was my mother's," I say, voice uncharacteristically soft. "The only thing of hers I kept. The only thing worth keeping. The same way you are the only thing worth keeping in my life.”
Her eyes widen, and for once, I can't read what's behind them. I've left myself exposed in a way I never have before, offered up the only piece of my past that means anything to me.
"Say yes," I whisper, and it sounds more like a command than a question. But there's an undercurrent of vulnerability that I've never allowed anyone else to hear. "Be mine, Willow. But this time, as my queen."
Her expression softens, but there’s a flicker of caution. “Vincent…” She starts, but I don’t let her finish.
I know what she’s going to say. I can already feel the walls she’s putting up, the distance between us that she always keeps in place, even when we’re this close. And I can’t stand it. Not anymore.
“I’m not talking about a fucking ring, Willow,” I say, voice a little sharper than I mean it to be. "I’m not asking you for a fairy tale or a big wedding. I’m asking you for a chance. I want to build a home, a life.. With you. Together."
She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine, maybe trying to figure out if I’m serious, if I’m ready for what I’m asking. And I can’t blame her for that. I’ve never been good with commitment—but with her, it’s different. The idea of losing her, of not having her in my life, it’s unbearable.
“Vincent,” she whispers again, softer this time, but there’s a distance in her voice that makes my chest tighten. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can do that with you.”
My heart drops, and I feel the sharp edge of her words cut through me like a cold wind. “Why not?” I ask, the question coming out almost desperate, like I’m trying to pull her closer, to make her see what I see.
She pulls away a little, sitting up on the edge of the bed, her back to me.
“Because I’m not sure I can ever give you what you want,” she says quietly, her voice trembling just a little. “I’m not sure I can be what you want. I’m not… ready for that. For the forever you’re asking for.”
I sit up too, not knowing whether to reach out for her or give her the space she’s clearly asking for. “But I want you, Willow,” I say, trying to keep the edge from my voice, trying to make her understand that it’s not about the forever —it’s just about us .
She looks over her shoulder at me then, her eyes full of so many things—fear, uncertainty, maybe even a little sadness. “I know you do. And I care about you, Vincent. But that’s the problem. I can’t promise you forever. I don’t even know if I can promise you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say, even though the word doesn’t feel like enough. Even though nothing feels like enough. “I get it.”
She turns to face me then, her eyes soft but sad, and she reaches for my hand. “I don’t want to hurt you, Vincent. I care about you. I just-.”
“I know.” I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
_______________________
Willow
Present Day
The tears won’t stop falling, and I want nothing more than for them to stop, especially when Vincent is looking at me with such heat in his eyes. I want to crawl into myself, scream, and beg for him to be mine, to want me again.
“Vincent-” I stutter, my hands won’t stop shaking no matter how much I will them to be still.
Vincent’s blue eyes drill into me, fierce and unrelenting, pinning me in place like he can see straight through the cracks I’ve been trying so hard to keep together. My breath shudders, and I clench my fists to stop the shaking, but it’s useless. Everything in me is unraveling, and he’s standing there, watching me fall apart.
“Vincent—”
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he might soften. But then he speaks, his voice razor-sharp. “What the hell do you want from me Willow?” His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s demanding, searching. Like he needs to understand . “You think you can just run away and pretend none of it happened? That we never happened?”
I let out a broken, bitter laugh, wiping at my face furiously.“We didn’t happen, Vincent,” I whisper, my voice raw. “Not really. We were a deal, I was your pawn.”
His expression darkens, his body going rigid, but I press on. “I was never going to be able to make you happy.”
Vincent lets out a sharp breath, his hand running through his hair in frustration before he steps closer, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t fucking do that,” he growls. “Don’t stand here and feed me that bullshit like it’s some noble fucking sacrifice.”
I shake my head, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens—not hard, just enough to keep me from running, from hiding.
“You’re a coward,” he spits, his voice rough with anger but feels like heartbreak. “You didn’t leave because you couldn’t make me happy. You left because you were scared. Because it was easier to run than to stay and fucking fight for this.”
My breath catches, my pulse pounding so hard I feel it in my throat. “That’s not true,” I whisper, but it’s a lie. It’s a lie, and he knows it.
Vincent scoffs, shaking his head, his thumb brushing over my jaw in a touch that feels almost gentle despite the fire in his eyes. “You think I don’t know you, Willow? You think I don’t see you? You can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t fucking lie to me.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You still want me.”