Chapter Thirty-Five
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Michel caught Jeannie’s eyes, signaling that he was ready to leave the lecture hall. The enthusiasm of his students wasn’t enough to distract him from his bleak mood today.
“All right, people.” She clapped her hands to get their attention. When that didn’t work, she brought her fingers to her lips and whistled loudly enough to make his ears ring. “Please let the professor through. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have. Or you could save them for his office hour.”
Nodding his thanks to his TA, Michel slipped out through the back door and away from the clamor of questions. Ever since Emma texted him last night, he’d been running away from questions of his own. He couldn’t ignore them any longer.
Why had he been so shocked that she was continuing to pursue opening up a culinary school? It was her dream, after all. But he’d hoped—even though he hadn’t admitted it to himself until now—that she might be thinking about coming to Rouleme with him. Had the thought never crossed her mind? Was she so ready to be done with him?
Perhaps he should have expounded on the merits of his country more. Should he have been more blatant about his wish to have her come back with him? He’d been so preoccupied with not scaring her away, he might not have expressed how much he wanted to be with her.
From the beginning, she’d incorrectly assumed that he only wanted a brief fling. But hadn’t everything they had shared in the last month shown her that a fling was the last thing he wanted? How could she not see that he wanted forever with her? Because you didn’t tell her. You didn’t give her the words.
He lengthened his strides toward his office, barely noticing the curious gazes of students as he stormed past them. He was grateful that Sophie kept her distance, knowing him well enough to see that he needed space.
Michel slammed his office door behind him and leaned his head against it. He felt like a goddamn prince in a fairy tale—forbidden from revealing his love for the fair maiden until she broke the curse by falling in love with him. He couldn’t ask Emma to come to Rouleme with him—he wouldn’t ask her to sacrifice so much. That would be too selfish, and love should never be selfish, right? But if she wanted to come with him, then who was he to deny her? He huffed a humorless laugh. And there was the loophole out of this cruel joke of a situation. Michel hated that he’d thought of a loophole. He was no better than the politicians circling him like vultures.
He dragged a hand down his face and pushed himself away from the door. He hated that a part of him wanted to manipulate Emma into offering to come to Rouleme with him—how he’d calculated that if she believed it was her idea, then she couldn’t resent him for it later. It was quite possibly the most despicable thought he’d ever had.
Michel slumped into one of the guest chairs and let his head loll back. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his eyelids in a futile effort to forestall the headache building behind them. His heart clenched with the phantom pain of losing Emma. He pushed himself upright. No. Losing her wasn’t an option. He would be selfish—he would be despicable—if it meant he could have her in his life.
Someone knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a response. Michel had a good guess who it was.
“Hello, Gabriel.” He waved without bothering to turn around. “I’m a selfish, greedy cad.”
“I can’t believe you started wallowing in self-pity without me.” His cousin dropped into the other guest chair.
“You won’t have trouble catching up.” Michel smirked despite his turmoil. “I believe in you.”
“Why, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Gabriel opened his messenger bag and rummaged around in it until a bottle of bourbon emerged. He held it up triumphantly.
“It’s three in the afternoon,” Michel objected half-heartedly.
“And we’re two distinguished professors at our place of work,” Gabriel pointed out while pouring bourbon into two mugs. “This kind of conduct would be frowned upon. With good reason.”
Michel accepted his mug and clinked it with his cousin’s. “Welcome to the shit show.”
“ Language, Your Highness.” Gabriel tilted back his drink and grimaced at the bitter heat. “Now then. Tell me what troubles you.”
“I’m in love with Emma,” he said miserably.
His cousin looked dashing even with a duh expression on his face. “Should I pretend to be shocked?”
“I love her too much to ask her to marry me.” Michel waved his mug in the air for a refill. “But I’m a horrible human being because I still want to marry her even if it means she has to sacrifice everything for me.”
“Ah.” Gabriel poured him a generous amount and topped off his own drink. “That is a more complex dilemma. In fact, it is a profound philosophical question.”
“Please.” Michel grabbed the bottle from the table, as he’d already emptied his mug. “I need my cousin. Not the Sphinx.”
“Fine. Be a superficial arsehole,” his cousin said with a wry curl of his lips.
“As opposed to what?” He snickered and sloshed bourbon on his hand. “A deep ars—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” Gabriel snatched the bottle from him. “And slow down. Since when have you been such a lightweight?”
“It might have something to do with the fact that I hardly slept last night,” Michel slurred, “and haven’t eaten all day.”
“Christ.” A flash of concern crossed Gabriel’s face. “The plan was to sip bourbon like civilized people and have a bit of philosophical discussion.”
“Sounds like you fucked up.” Michel drew his brows down into a worried frown and patted Gabriel’s back in a rush of sympathy. “Sorry, mate.”
“D’accord.” His cousin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me just tell you what I came to say before I lose you completely.”
“Bien s?r.” He had trouble crossing his arms while drinking from his mug, so he crossed his legs instead. “Poursuis, mon cousin.”
“Forget about being a man of honor and all that bullshit. Be desperate, needy, selfish, greedy. Do whatever you need to hold on to Emma.” The intensity of Gabriel’s tone made Michel sit up straighter. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“Gabriel… I’m sorry.” His cousin didn’t need to add like me for Michel to understand that he spoke from experience. “But this is your second chance. Don’t give up now.”
“I’m not here to talk about me.” He glanced away, his shoulders drooping.
“Oh, Sophie,” Michel sang loudly as he stumbled to his feet and jerked open the door. “Soph—”
A small but strong hand clapped over his mouth and pushed him back into his office. Sophie closed the door behind her before she snapped at Gabriel, “I wanted you to check in on him, not get him piss drunk.”
“How was I supposed to know the man had been starving himself all day?” Gabriel grumbled even as his eyes roamed hungrily over her.
Sophie noticed and blushed but didn’t back down. “How am I supposed to get him out of here without creating a scene?”
“What do you want me to do?” Gabriel smirked. “Run through the campus naked to create a diversion?”
“I…” She cleared her throat as her blush deepened. “Better you than me.”
Gabriel froze for a second before he burst out laughing, and Sophie soon joined in. Michel didn’t quite follow everything, but he laughed, too, for the hell of it. He stopped to pull out his mobile when it buzzed in his pocket.
Emma:
Where are you? Can I see you tonight?
He had enough sense left to realize that he was in no condition to see her right now. But God, he missed her. He blinked down at the screen and typed carefully.
Michel:
Tu me manques
The English translation wasn’t sufficient to convey what he felt. She was missing from him. She was an inseparable part of him, and he was incomplete without her. But she didn’t speak French.
Michel:
Tu me manques
There. He said it twice, so that should make it clearer.
Emma:
Aww. I miss you, too.
His shoulders sagged. She only missed him. He wasn’t missing from her. That was the problem, wasn’t it? She could imagine life without him while he… couldn’t. She could plan for her future—visit commercial kitchen spaces to lease when he was gone—and he couldn’t bear to exist without her.
Emma:
I had to use Google Translate. My high school French failed me.
Then he realized that the meaning of his words was lost in translation. Perhaps he, too, was missing from her. But wait.
Michel:
You took French in high school?
Emma:
Yup. For four years. But they never taught us how to say I miss you. I know how to say grapefruit, though. Le pamplemousse.
Emma:
I know. Very useful.
Emma:
Anyway, when can I see you?
He lifted his wrist and glared at his watch, willing the numbers to stop moving around. It was somewhere in the vicinity of three to five—he glanced out his window—in the afternoon. He could probably sober up by—he counted the numbers off on his fingers—eight o’clock?
Michel:
Eight clock clock
Emma:
Umm… eight o’clock?
Michel:
Yup
He’d never typed yup in his entire life. He’d never used the word yup before. But it was so adorable when Emma did, he hoped she thought he was adorable, too.
Michel:
Now am I missing from you?
The ellipses rolled and rolled, making his eyes cross.
Emma:
Michel? Are you okay?
Michel:
Yup
“Hey,” he cried as his mobile was taken out of his hand.
“Are you drunk texting?” Sophie took a quick look at the screen, then arched an eyebrow at him. The eyebrow was telling him to feel embarrassed, so he obediently glanced down at his shoes.
“Let me see.” Gabriel peered over her shoulder. “Who was he texting? What did he say?”
Sophie quickly pocketed the mobile and gave Gabriel a withering look. “You will not invade the prince’s privacy.”
“But you just read it,” Gabriel pointed out.
“It’s my duty to protect the prince,” she said icily.
“Come on.” Gabriel wielded his smile like a weapon—a weapon of irresistible charm. “Just tell me one thing he said. He must’ve said something hilarious.”
“Oh, fine. He said…” She snorted. “He said yup .”
“What?” Michel frowned as his cousin and his friend dissolved into laughter. “ Yup is adorable.”
And they laughed harder. He didn’t join in this time. He wasn’t that drunk. Maybe he should remedy that. He grabbed the bottle and slugged a mouthful before it was roughly snatched out of his hand. A trail of bourbon dribbled down his chin. How undignified. He withdrew his handkerchief and dabbed at his chin with precise, dignified movements.
“I’m going to text Emma and tell her that you won’t be able to see her tonight,” Sophie announced.
“Don’t tell her I’m dru… drunk.” He shook his finger at his friend.
“What should I tell her, then?” She was already texting, which made him nervous.
“Tell her… tell her that Gabby drugged me.” He nodded at his brilliant idea.
“Gabby?” Gabriel sputtered.
“You’re okay with me saying that you drugged him, though?” Sophie cocked her head to the side.
Gabriel shrugged. “Better than being called Gabby .”
“Let’s compromise. I’ll just tell her the truth.” She read off her text to Emma: “‘Hi, Emma. This is Sophie. Michel won’t be able to see you tonight. Gabriel thought it would be a great idea to pour bourbon down his throat at three in the afternoon.’”
“Okay.” Gabriel shrugged. “That’s fair.”
“Not fair.” Michel pouted. “I want to see Emma tonight.”
“You’ll thank me tomorrow, Your Highness.” Sophie lowered him back into his chair.
“Uh-oh,” Michel whispered to Gabriel. “She called me Your Highness . That means I’m in trouble.”
“God, he really is a mess. Isn’t he?” his cousin said to Sophie, rudely ignoring Michel.
“He is.” She shrugged. “But to be honest, he’s in better shape than he was before you came.”
“Poor chap.” Gabriel affectionately ruffled Michel’s hair, but Michel was too sleepy to slap his hand away. “He’s really torn up about Emma.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him to do whatever it takes to hold on to her”—Gabriel hesitated for a moment—“or else he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.”
Sophie was quiet for a very long time. Michel was halfway asleep when she said, “If you regret anything, you should regret not asking me what I wanted instead of deciding what was best for me all by your egotistical self.”
Gabriel sucked in a sharp breath. “Sophie…”
Michel didn’t hear anything else except for the click of the door closing. He had a feeling that there was something very important for him to understand—something Sophie had said. But sleep claimed him before he could understand a thing.