You did not expect me to flutter my lashes, did you? This demure wallflower, dressed in such finery, looking upon my waiter and lingering into your eyes. I was starstruck; there was no other explanation. Your smile rested easily on those handsome features, and the soothing delivery of effortless French was a balm for my worries.

Of course, it surprised me to discover you were English, James. I giggled when you apologised for that when I was so enamoured with you. You worked at that café in Place Vendôme from Tuesday to Saturday and noticed my frequent visits. I chose to sit within your domain, and you had no idea who I was. I could not keep my eyes off you. Tall, so raffish, athletic, and your eyes, mon dieu! Those azure blues were the windows to your thoughts and soul; I lost myself in those so many times.

From springtime to the start of summer, I would sit, watch you, and pretend I was not. The way you carried yourself and that mop of wavy brown hair, so lustrous as a prop for your thoughts. Polite without a flaw, your manners would shame a Prince, and you made my body sing.

You were my guilty pleasure at such a delicate eighteen years old and my all-possessing crush.

You were a forbidden fruit, too, and became my secret for a wistful daydream with its deep sighs of longing. It went on for weeks; I would go there for coffee, and the feeling was mutual. Do you remember that one day? It was quiet, of all things, for a football match. There was only you, me, and the bored café owner? My coffee was cold because we talked so much, but I did not mind.

You asked for my name and stole my breath.

“Stephanie,” I gasped.

I would not give you my surname because I did not want it to be revealed. With those striking eyes disarming my resistance, you took me at face value, and your perfect manners did not press. If you knew, that would change everything. I wanted many more weeks like these so you could understand me first.

Your dinner invitation made me blush. It would be impossible, but I said yes in the blink of an eye. I needed the time to plan, and you did not baulk when I asked for a Saturday night in two weeks’ time.

Until then, you were the model gentleman whenever I was at the café. No one would know as we exchanged glances, and your sly grin made me beam. I was having the most unholy thoughts about you. I spent hours getting ready, just for a coffee and watching you work. It was a seduction by the promise of the unknown, delivered in a few sentences each visit. You always remembered what I was doing every week, and your thoughtful words lifted my mood for the entire day.

Yet, as that day approached, worries sharpened my nerves. Every tiny detail mattered; everything had to be correct. When we met, I was so on edge I trembled. All my irrational fears were written on my moonstruck face. I had never seen a man so humble when you said I was beautiful. When that happened, you disarmed me in an instant. I knew we would have an excellent evening.

Goodness knows how many extra hours you worked to pay for that meal. I would not mind a quiet homely bistro to spend more time with you. I had my price to pay for being here, too. I lied and evaded so many people to escape. Yet, we sat together for those precious few hours, and I was in awe of you. I dreamed about a rendezvous like this for years. The simple pleasure of being alone with a man I adored and who adored me in return.

You looked so dashing in a suit, although I did adjust your tie. You sat there and listened; God, you were good at that. I put my expensive education to good use, and we exchanged ideas and thoughts. You were so witty and charming. We spoke about literature and how it made us feel. For me, it was a diversion from everything I despised about my life. I said something else; I could not tell you that... not yet. For you, it coursed through you; it made you so alive before me. It was your passion and seeing that roused my passion for you.

To say goodnight, you recited Coleridge and stole my heart.

You gathered me into your arms and placed how you felt onto my lips. Oh, it was perfect. It made me lightheaded, and I remember my lips still simpering with my eyes closed as you waited for them to open.

Gazing into each other’s eyes, we grinned, a nervous reflex from me, but that kiss collapsed the wall between us. I placed my hands on your chest, and as the distance narrowed, it was my turn, and then you knew for sure. This was romance, and you were the first man I ever kissed. We did it again and again until there was only us at the Trocadero overlooked by the sparkling Eiffel Tower.

I petitioned you with all my heart to take me to your apartment. There was such anguish in your expression when I asked you. It was never your intention, but you did not understand how precious this time was. From my eyes to yours, you relented.

As we walked together, arm in arm, you did not know I lived in a gilded cage. Or that Papa’s money paid for my haute couture. The only kindness in my life was from Mama; I inherited that from her and her beauty. You had no idea my life was a carousel of functions and pageantry, where no one was honest, and everyone lied. Everyone except you, James, the struggling writer that lived in Marais. You waited on the pampered and spoilt in Vendôme without a word of complaint and never wavered from that heart-melting smile.

I kept my secret from you, but my life was pre-ordained as soon as I was born. I was expected to be chaste despite the unwelcome ingratiations of men. The idea of debutantes was unfashionable, so the old guard changed its name. I was a commodity, a pawn to unite two families, a feudal legacy from my principality. My purpose was marriage and a clutch of children, then my husband would find a mistress, leaving me with a sense of duty and nothing else.

It happened to Mama, and it would happen to me. No, I wanted you; I wanted different. You were my knight on a white charger who would sweep this damsel away.

-=-

Standing in your apartment, naked as my Adonis and myself before you. I was afraid and nervous. Your tender fingers were the rake that delivered crackles of electricity through my very being. The first contact of naked skin against skin melted me into a pool of unfathomable lust.

You took me and roused me from my inhibitions with patience and understanding. You laboured for me and venerated my body as the vessel that held the nascent feelings of true love. The raptures, James, my beautiful rogue, what a man you were! The first rattled my bonds to my old world, and the second crumbled them into dust. There were many more than night.

We made love, James. I chose love, you, and this most sacred act. You were my first, my tender, gallant, and passionate first. The lyrical passion rose as flames licked and burned down my staid life. You transported me into a place of my purest emotions as the cinders of falsehoods, and deceit fell around us. Clasped around your body, wrapped in my limbs, we moved as swallows danced. You took the nineteen-year-old girl and made me into a woman that night.

Whimpering for you, pleading with you to keep going, awakening my sexuality with your magical touch and the gift of your instincts.

In between, you gathered me up and held me safe in your arms. You let me into so many thoughts of your own and displayed such courage to share them. You honoured me with your precious hopes and dreams. Sharing mine with you, we had a long road to reach them, but as we embraced, we made that first step together.

Eager to please you as the man of my dreams, I trembled with what you gave me. Your plaintive words rained upon me like blossom leaves, filling me with confidence, swelling my need and invoking an all-consuming desire. You shook the foundations of my soul and rebuilt me as a sensual creature. You illuminated my most intense passions and brought sunlight to the recesses of my mind.

I was relentless for you all night, thirsty to experience much more. I wanted this night to last for eternity. The morning chorus sang, and as we writhed, I mounted you. Driving down, eager for that final act, I needed to cement us together. I knew you were exhausted, yet from your helpless eyes, you were so determined. Our fingers, like our hearts and souls, were entwined. You relented, and our perfect union fused in the most intimate and magical moment I had ever experienced.

I carried it within me all the way home.

-=-

It was a month before you saw me again; such was the price I had to pay. When you did, I wanted to sob because we were betrayed.

As you placed two cups on their saucers at our table, there was no glimmer in your eyes. Extinguished, hollowed, I wanted to stand up and protest, to fight for your feelings, and tell you that I loved you. The white heat of injustice burned so bright that afternoon. Still, you kept that pleasant demeanour when I saw nothing but a terrible pain in your eyes. Your bonhomie felt like fingernails down a blackboard. You were just like them, dishonest, mendacious… a liar.

You did not fight for me, James. God, I was so naïve.

As my companion whisked me away, I turned back, and you saw how I pleaded. Your expression haunted me for weeks. I could not persuade him to return to the café at Place Vendôme. That man tried to please me, but I would not let him into my thoughts or near my body. Yet, it was planned. A dynastic match, nothing more.

I was yours, James, always yours.

Months later, in late summer, I was so sullen sitting at the café. Still, you smiled despite the gaudy rock on my finger. You epitomised a fine English gentleman worth ten of the specimen beside me. I held out with everything I had and every fibre of my being. I wish I could say it was hope; it was not, just sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. I used my pampered and spoilt upbringing and reflected it on them, my fiance, chaperone, and father.

Being close to you again emboldened me, rediscovering that hope, and I knew you had it too. There was a certainty to my thoughts; I would run away and come to find you here. My fiance’s hissed words caught your attention, and I understood that side glance as you walked by.

Oh, I was a complete bitch to him; I rattled the bars of my gilded cage. I was a woman, not a doll. His hands wrapped around my neck, squeezing the life from me. From my peripheral vision, you were so fast that the white and black of your uniform blurred into grey. The table clattered as my hands clasped it for support. Gasping for air, the sound of crockery breaking, the tinkle of cutlery and sudden exclamations forced me to stare in that direction.

The sound of a swung fist against his face drew sickening cries from onlookers. You put my fiance on the floor. You had no idea who you had hit nor the repercussions. No, you knelt beside me instantly, concerned with your hand on my shoulder. I knew your words from your heartfelt expression before you said them. Dissolving all my anger, I threw my arms around you. I could not care less that he might see. I held you tight and sobbed with relief.

I was babbling, telling you who I was and explaining what had happened. Everything was a rush, incoherent on adrenaline, kissing your wounded hand, professing my love for you.

You stayed with me until a car arrived to take me home.

-=-

A photographer captured the altercation, and the story was picked up by the newspapers. There were no secrets anymore; everything about myself was revealed. I wish I had been there to explain to you. I was insane with worry about what you would think of me. Princess Stephanie from House Weilburg-Nassau was throttled by her fiance, and a waiter violently intervened. Well, it was more salacious than that. Some of the things I said to you were reported, too. The scandal at court was worse.

My mother was furious. She did something I had never seen before; she railed at my father before me. Shouting, pacing the room, jabbing her finger into his chest. My engagement was broken off; this was morally correct. Wrong. The gossip at court was I had provoked my fiance, and you were my illicit lover.

I was damaged goods now and uncontrollable in their eyes… damn right I was.

Bolstered by my usually timid mother, I did confide in her. I told her everything, dissolving into tears that fell freely from my stooped head. Only then did I discover that she married for love, even if it was a difficult relationship. She consoled me, gushing her apologies that she should have done something sooner. I could not be angry with her, and as she held me close, running her hand over my hair, she vowed to right her mistake.

She despatched me in a car to Place Vendôme. I remember her fury with the courtiers. She fired one on the spot for insisting she got permission from my father.

I arrived to discover you lost your job; the genteel do not want to see thuggery. Your friend, another waitress, saw me and explained that you could be found at another café in Opera. She gave me the name and wished me luck, and we shared a sisterly moment. I glowered at the café owner. I would return to remonstrate with him soon enough.

My blood raced as a hare evading its predator. Each turn the car made and the traffic we encountered elevated my anxiety so much my palms sweated. Driving past, I could not see you, and I slumped into the back seat as darker emotions loomed within.

Each footstep could not get me there quickly enough. The click and clack of my heels goaded me to walk faster. I took a chair outside and waited. Turning back, I saw the interior in shadow and could not see you.

All sorts ran through my mind, whether you would be pleased to see me, speak to me, and if you could forgive me. I began to tremble with emotion, fearing that those I despised had ruined this slim chance of happiness.

“Mademoiselle, voulez-vous du café?”

Oh God, your mellifluous words and that delicious smile. I saw how it lit up your eyes. My soul rocketed from me, and I spun around. The chair’s metal legs screeched on the paving stones, and you caught me in your arms.

“J’ai envie de toi!” I cried and buried my face in your chest, “I want you.”

Pressing my lips to yours, I did not care what anyone thought. As you brushed my hair from my face, I never forgot how you gazed into my eyes.

When you told me you wanted the same, I was complete.

-=-

It was our August and September as my mother kept my family at bay. She provided the space for our love to flourish. I was free to fly and sing like a nightingale with joy in my heart. From such gauche beginnings, we spent every day like it was our last. No longer the precocious flirt, I was your girlfriend, and men might admire me, yet I was proud to be yours.

I found work in a bookshop in Madeleine, you remained in Opera. My goodness, James, we could not keep our hands off each other. We made love with abandon, enticing me and creating a bond that deepened with each of these special days. From that first bloom, I flowered into womanhood.

During those intense, passionate and amazing months, we would stay in bed all day on those precious days off. My God, you were an intense lover; you were my awakening. You understood the power I had and encouraged it every single day.

I found my fledging confidence and overwhelmed you. You gave yourself to me so completely that I thought my heart and soul might burst. From then, we used to goad and tease each other. I was unrequited until you were exhausted. It was not sexual chemistry; it went beyond that. It was an intense alchemy.

Regardless of who started it, I was full of the glow you gave me. Oh, to be young again, James. It is wasted on them. We took every drop of pleasure and wrung it out for more.

I showered my affection for you in public for the world to know. We always held hands, and with every kiss in a park, a random headline would scandalise my father. It was never our intention or purpose, but it was a delicious act of incidental revenge.

For my Mama, we owed her a great debt. We fell in love, James, and we would never have stood a chance without her. That day we met her, and you asked permission to marry me? It was good we had handkerchiefs.

-=-

We left Paris behind us, settled into the English countryside, and my mother was plain Emma Weilburg to you and your family. She adored you because you made me so happy. Always, your parents made her very welcome and provided a sanctuary for the many times she visited. I was estranged from my father, so your grandfather gave me away at our wedding. I could see where that glimmer in your eyes came from.

We were deliriously, madly, and passionately in love.

You always made me feel desired, and I made you want me every day. You told me you loved me often and proved it just as much. You always put the sparkle in my eyes.

My warrior poet, the man that defended my honour, you became a teacher, didn’t you? You taught children how to read and fall in love with words and books. You never put aside your writing; you turned to them as your audience. I will never forget the sense of pride when they published your short stories.

I discovered many new loves and passions, too. I learned to cook, and you never complained when it did not work out as I hoped! We tended our garden together and entertained our many friends. I worked in the village shop… it was my turn to wait on others. It always made us smile. If only they knew, hey? But no one did, and I preferred it that way.

We raised our three daughters, and you were a wonderful father. They married for love. We set a good example, didn’t we? We became grandparents to so many little ones. Our home was always busy, always so full of love.

When I inherited my father’s title, I renounced it immediately. That sad day when my mother passed away, you were there for me, solid as a rock. We went to the funeral, and many burned with hatred for us. You stood there without fear as my protector and never rose to their jibes.

As we enjoyed our retirement, I never regretted what we made of our lives. We returned to Place Vendôme, and this time they served you coffee. Time never diminished that glimmer in your eyes, nor your love for me. Sitting there and holding hands, you fulfilled me as a woman and exceeded all my dreams as the man to share my life with. I was never unhappy.

You were the best of them, James, peerless, and I was the luckiest woman alive.

Thank you for choosing me, and thank you for a life well-lived.

Oh, my beautiful James, here you are, at rest.

I sit on this cemetery bench with a lifetime of cherished memories. They are as vivid as yesterday, and tomorrow will come soon, my dear.

Rest, for now, my love… rest.

Wait for me until we meet again.