Requested by anonymous: Can you write Matthew and Mary's first date in Paris?

Enjoy!


Part Three

"So, what did you think of dinner?"

Matthew's arm snaked around her waist, holding her close as they walked down a path by the Seine, the water sparkling in the moonlight.

"It was nice. Good food and even better company," Mary told him, unable to suppress a smile. He brushed his nose against her ear, goosebumps appearing on her skin at his touch.

"Not sick of me yet?" Matthew asked.

She chuckled. "Give it time," she teased as they crossed through a park, the sound of music drifting from an outdoor cafe.

"Let's dance," Matthew said, lifting Mary off her feet and spinning in a circle before she could protest.

"Matthew!" Mary squealed, securing one arm around his neck to keep herself from falling.

Matthew set her down again, beginning to dance some sort of two-step Mary easily followed in spite of feeling dizzy from his nearness and the confusion that settled in after the question of her past had come up that morning.

Why did she want to tell him things she'd left home to escape? Of broken dreams and fractured promises, of a life she never wanted but should have had. Of her own failures and shortcomings.

And why did she feel safe in his arms?

"Is something wrong?" he asked, misinterpreting the frown that had unwittingly drawn her brows together.

Mary shook her head, her lips pressing into a line before she leaned her head against his shoulder, releasing a sigh.

"You could tell me, you know," Matthew said softly. "About whatever it is you're running from. I swear I'm not going to publish it on the internet—this isn't like a Roman Holiday thing."

"Matthew—" she sighed again, face still pressed to his shirt.

"Do you not want to tell me? Because that's fine too," he breathed, kissing her hair.

"That's not it," Mary said, leaning back to look into his face.

"Then what is it?" he asked, voice so gentle she thought she would break into a thousand tiny pieces.

She swallowed hard, tears burning her eyes. "You'll hate me for it, I know you will," she whispered, voice breaking.

"There's nothing that could make me hate you, Mary, nothing," Matthew said emphatically, kissing her forehead for reassurance.

"You don't know what I've done," Mary breathed. Her hand shook against his, her entire body trembling as she forced herself to say it. He deserved to know, deserved to be able to get away from her if he wanted to. "Back home, before I left, I had a boyfriend."

"Had?" he prompted, his eyes softening.

"We…we broke up when I finished at uni last year. Things just—just didn't pan out for us," Mary whispered.

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked, thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"He cheated on me, but I couldn't bear to break up with him at first. I thought I loved him. Stupid, stupid me," she sighed.

"So, what happened?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"It happened again. But I was…I was already pregnant," she murmured. "God, I didn't want a baby. Especially not with him."

Matthew remained silent, clearly waiting to see if she'd continue. She swallowed, taking a few deep breaths, but the shaking wouldn't stop as the rest of the words spilled out of her, tears falling down her cheeks as she spoke.

"But it didn't matter because I lost it. I almost got rid of it, but I lost it two months in and, oh God, I couldn't bear to be there anymore, surrounded by everything that reminded me of him and losing a child I never wanted."

She covered her face with her hands, surprise washing over her as Matthew wrapped his arms tightly around her body, his soothing embrace only increasing the sobs wracking her body.

"I'm sorry," she said, finally able to meet his eyes again.

"For what, Mary?" Matthew asked, shaking his head. "For trusting me? For getting on with your life? For loving someone? You don't have anything to apologize for—not to me."

She was quiet, her heart constricting painfully from remembrance of her past and the hope brought to her by Matthew's words.

"God, Mary," he said, hugging her tighter. "I'm so sorry you had to suffer like that. That bastard never deserved you anyway."

"Sure he did," she murmured. "I'm sure I deserved him as well."

Matthew pulled away, angry now. "No, you didn't. No one ever deserves to be treated like that. Never."

"Sometimes, I wonder, if I had been a better girlfriend—more caring or gentle or whatever—if he would have loved me," she breathed.

"If he didn't love you for you, then he sure as hell wasn't worthy of you, Mary," he insisted, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "You deserve so much better."

"How do you know?" she asked.

He smiled softly. "Because I've seen you naked. And held you in my arms. And I know the real you. And you deserve someone who loves you, trust me."

Mary nodded, clutching at his shirt. "I do, Matthew," she said. "I do trust you."

"Good."

He brought his face closer, hesitating for a moment before his lips touched hers and Mary pressed against him, anxiously searching for some unknown comfort that would erase all her guilt from the past two years. Her fingers tangled in his hair and Matthew's arms were around her once more before he lifted her off her feet. She jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist, ignoring every impulse that told her to be careful, that reminded her of past hurts.

Matthew pulled away after a while, gasping for air as his hands moved across her skin. "Want to get out of here?" he asked, gazing up at her with starry eyes.

"Yeah," she nodded, kissing his neck as she slid back to the ground. "Let's go back to the room."

"Our room," he interjected, taking her hand. He gave it a gentle tug and she followed after him, heart still pounding hard from Matthew's kisses and her new reliance on this man she still knew so little of but couldn't keep from trusting.


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