December, 1900

We sit in silence, the wind tickling the backs of our necks. We have not spoken yet and I wonder if we ever will. Everyone else is indoors, enjoying a dinner or a ball or whatever this is. We haven't said a word yet. He does not ask why I've come back after all of these years. I'm sure he knows that it's to see Gemma and Ann for the holidays.

I came outside to avoid the stifling air of the party. When I left London I left such things behind. At this point in my life, I could care less about gossip and dancing and finery. I had hoped to enjoy the cool night's air until Gemma would come looking for me, a worried look on her face. It's nearly midnight, she'd say. Why did you leave?

But Simon came out here instead. He's been here for nearly ten minutes now, and neither of us has said a word. I don't know if I want this silence to break. For some reason, I hadn't even considered that he might be here. I wanted the photograph of me to be our last conversation. I wanted him to know that I had made it. And now, as we sit on the terrace, our hands in our laps, breathing in the chilly air, I worry that he will think that I didn't make it. I couldn't stand that.

He's the first to speak after the ten minute mark has long passed. "I had hoped that the next time I saw you you'd be in trousers," he says, a smile in his voice.

I look at him and see that indeed he is smiling. "I was going to wear them," I say in a nonchalant manner, as if we had been in conversation for quite some time now, "but I had a gown made in Paris quite some time ago and hadn't worn it yet. I thought today would be a good day to use it."

His eyes meet mine and we stay like that for some time. It dawns on me that it's been four years since we last saw one another. I suddenly feel terrible. I didn't treat him very well that night, did I? "I am sorry," I immediately blurt out.

He doesn't ask what I mean by it. He just nods. "I am sorry, too."

I don't ask him what he means by it, either. By the way he says it and by the sad look in his eyes I know that he means it. I nod. We're past forgiveness now.

We hear chatter from inside. I'm surprised that no one has come looking for at least one of us. It's almost like that night seven years ago on the balcony. I'm waiting for him to rummage through his pockets and pull out a cigarette. But we're not children anymore.

Do you ever have nightmares?

I just couldn't have this everyday. It isn't me.

A return to happiness…from whatever's bothering you.

Why did you refuse me?

The memories are out of order and do not correlate at all. Some of them make me angry at him while others make me smile and want to cry at the same time. I wonder if he's thinking about these things, too.

Suddenly, there's a noise from the doorway. "Felicity? Where are you?"

I stand up from my seat and turn around to see Gemma. She spots to two of us and clears her throat. "Oh, excuse me. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't interrupt anything, Miss Doyle," Simon says, standing up as well. She sends him an awkward glance. I wonder if she's seen much of him since her return to London. They must not converse easily when they meet.

I approach Gemma and touch her shoulder. "I'm here," I say. "I was just getting some air." We go to head inside by I feel a tap on my own shoulder. It's obviously Simon. "You go back inside," I tell Gemma. "I will be there in a minute."

Once she's gone, I turn around to face Simon. "Thank you," he says. Again, I don't know what he's speaking of, but I can only assume he's thanking me for something I've done throughout all of our meetings. Or perhaps for just being there and not asking too much of him, even if he did ask a lot of me.

I nod. You're welcome doesn't seem to fit this moment. My own memories come flooding back once more. The flower, throwing rocks at my window, helping me with my corset, accepting me for who I was. "Thank you as well," I answer, almost sadly.

There is nothing else to say. I am positive now that this is our final conversation. There are no awkward goodbyes like most would have at such a time. Nor are any of the usual themes from our previous conversations revisited. There is no pushing or pulling, no sideways glances. It's over and it's perfect this way.

"Goodbye," I say, turning around and heading indoors. I can feel his gaze on me for some time, and I'm sure that I know when he turns away. I don't notice when he comes back indoors, or when he leaves, or if I leave first.

I've left him with a gossamer kiss, a single word whispered to him after a bittersweet meeting. Goodbye.

The rest of our lives are ahead of us and behind us lay many things—broken friendships, innocence lost. But, most importantly, however trivial they were, we shall always remember our ten important conversations.

THE END

Thanks so much for reading, everyone. Reviews for this chapter (and the story in general) would be much appreciated.

I had so much fun writing this and am sad that it's over. I'm really glad that I chose to explore this relationship and I appreciate all the help and lovely reviews I've had along the way. See you later!

Kate