Chapter Seventeen

The Love Conquers All Sentiment

Paris, 1832

Clementine was kissing him.

He wasn't sure what to do. He'd kissed women before – not many, he was no Courfeyrac, but he'd had relations with women in the past – but this was different. This was completely unexpected. It wasn't necessarily something that he didn't want, either; in actual fact, he'd been waiting for it to happen, he'd just never thought she'd be the one to initiate the kiss.

Her lips were soft against his, and they tasted sweet, like sugar. He kissed her back, opening his mouth to trace the seam of her lips with his tongue. He slid his hand up from the side of her neck to cup her jaw, tangling his other hand in her fair hair, the flaxen strands winding around his fingers.

She moaned against his mouth and inched forwards, pressing her body flush against hers. He pulled back in surprise, still not expecting her to be so forward; before he knew it, he was lying on his back on the bed, her hands on his face. He was aware of her hands leaving his face and playing with his cravat, loosening it.

He placed his hands over hers and, as gently as possible, pulled her hands away. He tipped his head back, ending their kiss. The expression on her face was adorable, he reflected; she looked a little bewildered, her eyes blinking fast and her lips still pouting.

"Clementine," he said, feeling a little breathless. He wasn't sure if the breathlessness was from the actual, physical kiss or whether it was from the fact she was so close to him and her hands were lying flat on his chest. He could feel the heat of them through the cotton of his shirt.

"Yes?" she said, biting her lip. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes looked glossy.

He went quiet, not sure what to say. She was still sat over him, her knees aligned with his hips. He placed his hand on her cheek again, and brushed her hair out of her face with the same movement.

"Did – did I do something wrong?" she asked, leaning into his touch.

"Not at all," he replied. "I was just a little surprised."

Her blush deepened, and she ducked her head. He bit his lip. With the softest of touches, he brushed his fingers under her chin in an attempt to lift her head up so he could meet her gaze.

Their eyes did meet, and he kept his eyes firmly on her and slowly sat up. They were pressed flush against each other, so close, that he could probably count the freckles on her cheeks and count each individual eyelash ringing her eyes if he wanted to.

She let out a small sigh as he brushed his hand through her hair. She tipped her head forwards, resting her forehead against his.

"We're in a mess, aren't we?" she murmured.

"I wouldn't call it a mess," he said. "That implies this is a bad thing."

She looked at him with big eyes that were trying to tell him something, but he couldn't work out what. She smiled. It was a sad smile, and it cut through him like a knife. He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head.

"This isn't a bad thing," she whispered. "This isn't a bad thing. But it doesn't mean it's not messy."

"Complicated," he corrected. "It's just complicated…"

"Complicated is a complete understatement," Clementine said, resting her hands on his shoulders and neck. "We're from different times, Jehan. I…I'm from the year 2013. You…You're from 1832. We are separated by over…nearly two hundred years. That's so many years."

"And yet, here we are." He wound strands of her hair around her fingers, gold against pink. "Somehow, we're together. I can't begin to understand how or why you're here, Clementine, but you are and we…We undoubtedly have feelings for one another. Isn't that enough?"

"Enough?" Clementine closed her eyes. "Is this some…love conquers all sentiment?"

"Something like that," he admitted. "Gods, that sounds…"

"Cheesy," she said, but he had no idea what that word meant. He cleared his throat.

"What I mean to say is…Just because it's complicated doesn't mean it can't work."

"Doesn't it?" She opened her eyes. "I would say that being separated by nearly two hundred years and only being able to communicate through dreams and a book of Aeschylus plays is a very big –"

He kissed her, taking the words out of her mouth before she could say them. He peppered her mouth with soft, light kisses until she stopped making any effort to speak.

"Don't be negative," he whispered. "It's happened for a reason." He let go of her hair, and covered her hands with his, linking their fingers together. "Something – some force – is forcing us together. Why should we fight it just because it's complicated? That something has given us a way to meet each other – why won't it find us away to be together?"

As he spoke the words, his lips brushing against hers, he realised that was what he wanted. Somehow, he wanted Clementine. He wanted to be with her, whatever that would mean for them.

She squeezed his hands, and she opened her mouth to say something. But then, all of a sudden, she was fading away from him until she wasn't there any longer. He sat, almost feeling like he had lost a limb; but he wasn't sure whether this feeling of loss stemmed from the lack of her presence or the fact that their conversation wasn't over yet.

III

Paris, 2013

Clementine woke up, blinking. Her eyes burned and felt damp as her lids closed; all she could think of was Jehan, and his small, kind smile, hands smoothing her hair, the feeling of being sat on his lap whilst he said such sweet things to her.

That something has given us a way to meet each other – why won't it find us away to be together?

There had been a confidence in his words that she desperately wanted to mean something; she wanted those words to be true.

Why won't it find us away to be together?

She blinked away the hot tears, dashing them off her cheeks with her hand as she sat up.

What if that was what this was all about? Them, being together? She thought back to her meetings with Margaux the fortune teller; the verse of Jean Prouvaire must not end…you will not be happy if his verse ends.

What if that was what the fortune teller had meant? What if Jehan wasn't supposed to die because he was supposed to be with her?

These thoughts racing through her head, Clementine jumped out of bed and began to get dressed, a plan forming in her mind.