AMY POV

The breeze whistles through the orange blossoms in Monceau Park as I wait for the carriage to arrive. Orange blossoms grow other places of course, though not Massachusetts, and none smell so good as Louis XVI 's personal garden. I inhale deeply while I have the chance, hoping to remember the scent back home.

Even the sweet scent can't budge the pain shooting through me every time I think of Beth. How is it possible she was so sick and no one told me?! How is it possible she's dead and I never got to say good-bye?

I'm in head to black, prepared for 6 months of mourning, and I have all our luggage waiting at my feel as the carriage pulls up with Aunt March inside. We have to get back, and it's a long journey, including nearly a month at sea.

I hear Laurie's soft foot falls on the grass behind me. He promised to help me out since Aunt March is very ill, and only conscious part of the time. I will need help getting her from carriages to hotel rooms to boats. He also wants to say good-bye to Beth. But this is going to be one uncomfortable trip.

We stand next to each other in ebony silk. It does neither of our fair complexions any good. We both look as sick as Aunt March. I allow him to embrace me.

"I'm so sorry", he says. "I couldn't let you go alone, especially with Aunt March so ill. Even if you do despise me."

"I don't despise you", I hiss back. There have been plenty of reasons to despise him for all the years I grew up right next to him, and the eight years since we've seen each other besides. If I don't hate him now, apparently, I can't hate him. That almost makes me hate myself.

"I'm not marrying Fred," I offer.

"I heard about that."

"You're no obligation to say anything or do anything. It's done. We don't have to talk about it."

He tips up my chin and pulls me into a firm kiss. My mind swims. I've loved Laurie my entire life. It would be so easy to just fall into his arms and not ask questions. But I know within weeks I'd be doubting my choice. Every look he shared with Jo would set my jealousy on edge. I'd wonder what was happening any time they were in the same room together. Were they having an affair? I couldn't allow myself to get into that ugly situation.

"Laurie, no", I say though it's the hardest thing I've ever done other than give up painting. I pull his hand away from my face. "I won't marry Fred because you were right. I don't love him as I should. And you don't love me as you should. You're Jo's."

"Stop, stop", he says softly. "I loved Jo, I still do", he says, and I feel my heart shatter, but just nod my head. "I always will in some ways. My love for her was young...emotional...passionate...spiritual...a dreamlike fantasy of love."

"Laurie, you don't have to explain", I interrupt.

"Let me talk", he says.

"When I was a kid, she seemed perfect to me, so strong-willed..."

"And she's tall and thin and passionate and perfect, an amazing writer, and I've never been her equal...", I continue, "I don't need to hear the details."

"Hey", he says louder, his eyelids suddenly heavy with lust. He puts a hand on my hip, squeezes, and pulls me closer. "What I feel for you is...much closer to earth. My Pocket Venus", he murmurs against my ear, and I lose my battle not to smile. Since the war's over, it's true that the new style has been defined by Queen Victoria, and that a figure nicknamed the "Pocket Venus" is the height of popularity—short and very curvy, softer women are coming into style, which works for me.

"No", I say, and shove him, but it's too quiet and soft to be believed.

"When I saw you again here in Paris, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life. And I've wanted trapped between those thighs for weeks..."

"Laurie!", I shout.

He holds up a hand. "But I thought you were as vapid as I always believed you were. Silly, worried about prettiness, clothes, jewels, and saying everything the right way, the way you prattled on about finally finding a rich enough husband in Fred...I never wanted to shoot a man so badly in my life."

Vapid?!

"But...when you explained. When you told me about a husband taking your money, your children, your mind, your soul, your talent, your future... I couldn't let you marry him for fear that would happen. I know you're safe with me, and I can't take any risks with your safety, because I love you. Let me love you, Amy. It's not the same as what I feel for Jo. She will always be my best friend. But you...you're a wife. His hands wrap around my waist. I'm sorry", he says, releasing me. "I... want you. Very badly." The truth is etched into his face. "I had no idea you had feelings for me."

The boy I've loved since I knew what boys were.

"Aunt March would be screaming at us if she weren't asleep from medication", I gasp out, throatily, my own voice filled with lust. "We need to get going. The carriage will take us to the channel, and on to London where we'll catch the ship back to Boston harbor."

"I know. But Amy...I know you. And I know a simple wedding in Concord with a dinner at home and a ceremony in your parents' yard is not going to make you happy", he says. "Meg, yes, you no."

"I haven't agreed to marry you", I point out with cold assurance.

He smiles like he knows me better than I do. "But you will."

"I will?"

"Yes."

"You certainly have quite a high opinion of yourself. Are you going to spend our lives writing operas? Are we to starve once your grandfather has passed?", I ask.

He sighs deeply. "I will go to work for him, Amy. We're not going to lose the manor. And I'm not going to lose you. On one condition..."

"What's that?"

"You keep painting. I always fancied myself a free spirit and a gifted artist just because all of you are, but I'm not. You're the talent here, not me. In truth, I wasn't made for anything more than a desk job, and I suppose I would have always eventually had to accept it", he moans.

"Stop it, Laurie", I dismiss his mood by waving my hand. "I didn't say you weren't allowed to have a hobby. And maybe someday it will be a career. But common sense says you need to work for your grandfather to make money, and inherit the business from him."

"Common sense. Practicality. You were never that way as a child", he says.

"Of course I was, you were just too busy noticing my faults, like...being "vapid"...and pursuing your Jo obsession to notice", I answer.

"Ooooh, it's cold out here", he mock shivers and wraps his arms around himself. I roll my eyes.

"We have to get moving", I repeat. "Beth..."

He throws his arms around me as a tear drips down my cheek. "She was the best of us, she was. No one was ever as kind or sweet or generous as our Beth."

"We'll be there, to her memorial service on time", he promises. "But we can make a stop first. At the Champs Elysees shopping district, just get the prettiest finished dress you can find that fits, price is no object. I'll catch my own carriage. Meet me at Notre Dame Cathedral in two hours."

"Laurie! First, there are very few finished dresses, they'll all be too long, second, you have to reserve Notre Dame years in advance, and third, my family isn't even Catholic", I boom.

"First, do your best. Second, you're right that money has some advantages. And third, I am. Now kiss me before I become cross with you", he says, pulling me into a kiss.

"Now go on. The Champs Elysees ", he shouts to the driver, and pushes me toward the door. I climb in and watch him as he waves down another carriage. "Two hours", he shouts, smiling ear to ear. The driver whips the horses and I watch out the back window as he slowly disappears.