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CHAPTER 28

Two weeks after we met baby Albus, we were settling into life in Paris. The apartment that was to be our temporary home was much smaller than what we were used to, but since we were only to live in it for two months, neither of us were concerned.

Housed within an early 19th century typical Parisian building, our third floor apartment was comfortable and cosy, and located just a 15 minute train ride from the ballet. Several other apartments made up the complex, and much like our flat in London, the building surrounded a central garden which — despite winter closing in — I had already fallen in love with. And while the area was busy, our apartment was located at the back of the building making the street noise almost non-existent.

Hermione's concerns regarding how I would fill my days were alleviated the day after we arrived and we took a walk around the area. The Marche Popincourt, an open air market, and an amazing collection of restaurants and cafes were nearby to keep me occupied. As was the National Library, with its 15 million works and only ten minutes away. The Musée d'Orsay was just another few minutes commute past the ballet, as was the Louvre. Plus, my obsession with antiques would be put to the test after having already spotted several small shops I could pass hours in.

My biggest dread, however, was that I only had two weeks with her before my own workload increased and I would be required back in the UK. I would only be gone for two and a half weeks, but I already hated to be so far away from her. She'd lived alone in Paris the entire summer before I met her, however that fact did nothing to alleviate my concerns. We'd not seen nor heard from Charlie since he walked out of our flat months ago, and I was sure Narcissa had no idea Hermione was performing with the Opera Ballet. I doubted either would cause any issues, but I was still nervous about leaving her.

"Perhaps I'm the one who should be nervous," Hermione said as she sat on the opposite of the small kitchen island watching me make tea. "I mean, all those women wanting their books signed and hoping to also get a piece of you?"

"I'll ensure they see this." I held up my left hand. "And book signings are never as exciting as you're imagining."

"Oh, come on!" she laughed. "You with your hair in a knot and your thick-rimmed glasses." She leaned forward and traced a finger across my jaw, "And this scruff… you just need to roll up your shirt sleeves and you'll have every woman — and probably a few guys — wet and desperate."

"That's a horrific thought," I answered, cringing.

"It's true though." She took the tea cup from me and shrugged. "I'm nearly always wet and desperate whenever I'm near you."

"Is that a fact, Ms Granger?"

"It is. I mean, you could test it out." She pursed her lips and blew a soft breath across the top of her tea. "You could come around here and put your hand down my pants. You might be surprised."

I shook my head, laughing. "Nice try. You've not distracted me enough to give up considering hiring security for you."

"It was worth a shot," she replied with a sigh. "I'll be perfectly fine, Lucius. This place is a palace compared to where I usually stay."

"A palace?" I asked, glancing around the small apartment. The kitchen/living area was not much bigger than our bedroom at home. A short passage led to the bedroom, which also had a bathroom with a shower but no bath — which, with her gruelling schedule, she'd already bemoaned. I would have been happy to stay at the Ritz for our duration, but she shut that idea down immediately. The expense, she had said, would be insane.

"Yep," she answered. "A studio apartment thirty minutes away. One single space that would barely hold your ego."

"Ha ha," I drawled then moved around the island to sit on the stool beside her. "I worry about you. And not in a creepy, stalkerish way." I touched the diamond on her finger. "I worry about you because of this. Because I love you."

"I know, Lucius," she smiled. "And you know that Laurent and Jean-Claude won't let anyone near me."

Our second floor neighbours had fallen in love with Hermione the moment they met her; her flawless French had caused them to swoon more so. The two men appearing at our door the evening after we arrived with a bottle of 2013 Chateau L'Evangile to welcome us officially made me swoon. They were charming and hilarious, and I knew they would watch her like hawks when I left, but I couldn't suppress the insecurity I felt.

"I don't doubt that, but also, we barely know them."

"I feel safe with them, though. I feel safe in this building. And even if Charlie and Narcissa know we're in Paris, they don't know exactly where."

I nodded, conceding her point, but I was still unsure.

"Lucius, worrying about this isn't going to change the fact you have to leave. I don't want you to go any more than you do, but it's your job. You have a book to promote, and it better not be a flop. I don't want to be married to a pathetic loser."

"It's already getting rave reviews," I told her. "You would know that if you would actually read it."

"I will read it," she said. "When you leave. It's too weird when you're here."

She'd refused to even look at the advanced copies I'd received, explaining in her own mad way that she didn't want the pressure of me waiting for her opinion. She would read it when she had space on her own to do so, and give me her unbiased review. And the space she needed was apparently when I left her in Paris.

"Well, I'll be gone soon enough," I said, squeezing her thigh. "I just hope you have enough energy to read it."

"I'm fine, Lucius," she assured me for the hundredth time. "I'm still adjusting to their schedule. It's more demanding, that's all. And I'm coming off two lazy weeks in the South Pacific, remember?"

"Oh, I definitely remember," I replied, smirking over my tea cup.

"Well, Mr Malfoy." She placed her cup on the counter and slid her palm along my thigh. "Think about what I might let you do to me after two and a half weeks of not seeing you."

We walked hand-in-hand towards the Metro station, her bag slung over my shoulder, despite her protests of being quite capable of carrying it herself. I'd waved off her protests, explaining that since I only had six more days with her, I would spend every second of those days spoiling her. She'd huffed her disapproval, but her barely contained smile gave her away.

The simple life she enjoyed hadn't changed since Bora Bora. I did, however, ensure I spoiled her in small ways. I rose every morning with her, made her breakfast and tea while she showered. I made the short commute with her a few days a week, and had dinner prepared when she arrived home. I'd also arranged a surprise spa day for her with Laurent and Jean-Claude, just so she could soak her tired muscles in a giant tub. I would have preferred to go with her myself when I returned, but the two men had been so enthusiastic when I enquired as to where they thought I should send her, I hated to disappoint them by cancelling.

"Are you meeting me after rehearsals?"

"If you would like me to," I answered. As much as I wanted to spend every possible second with her before I left, thoughts of replicating the actions of her abuser — following her incessantly and not giving her space — had stopped me from becoming her shadow.

"We could have dinner at Publisher's," she suggested, and I realised I hadn't been as covert in spoiling her as I thought.

Publisher Pub was much like my favourite haunt in London. Cozy and welcoming, and Hermione had taken great joy in the aptness of the name. In just two weeks we'd eaten there three times already, and her suggestion to do so again was how she was spoiling me.

"We can eat somewhere else," I told her. "I'm sure you're eager to try something different."

"Perhaps," she said, leaning into me as we walked. "But if you get to spoil me, I get to return the favour."

I chuckled, "I've not been as stealthy as I thought."

"You really haven't," she agreed. "But I've appreciated the gestures."

"I was trying not to hover too much," I admitted. "I didn't want you to think I was trying to control your every move."

She smiled up at me. "You hover in a different way. I know what you're doing comes from your heart, not from wanting to control me."

I lifted our joined hands and kissed the back of hers. "I'm glad I've succeeded in something."

She laughed. "You succeed in so many things. And you know we'll talk every day while you're gone."

"Is it the same though?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Perhaps not. But, there's always video calls."

It took a few seconds for her words to make sense. "Are you suggesting…?"

"That you can see me every day."

"Yes, but what exactly would I be seeing?"

She grinned at me, pausing at the entrance to the Metro station. "My sweet, smiling face."

I shook my head, laughing. "My life would be extremely dull without you in it."

"I know," she said, wrapping her arms around my middle. "I'd be willing to show you more than my smile, though. Is that too weird for you?"

"I believe that's something I could definitely participate in," I answered, grinning at her surprised expression. "But, perhaps we can discuss that this evening, somewhere a little more private."

Hermione glanced around, huffing a quiet laugh. "Yeah, that's probably more appropriate."

I let her bag slide off my shoulder and handed it to her then gripped her hip gently. I lowered my voice and bent down to her ear, "As much as I love and adore the real thing, I'm certain I would enjoy seeing you like that."

Her breath hitched and her hand fisted against my chest. "I thought we were going to talk about this later."

"We will," I assured her. "I just wanted to make sure you know I would be open to watching you anywhere."

"Keep talking like that and I'll drop to my knees right here in the street. Give the Parisians a show."

I laughed, taking half a step back. "I'm not sure they'd even care."

"Probably not," she agreed, pressing up on her toes to kiss me. "I'll see you at seven?"

"I'll be right out the front. Possibly with an embarrassingly large bunch of flowers."

"Is there any point in me telling you not to do that?"

"Absolutely no point at all."

"And everyone says I'm the mad one."

She kissed me again and I wished her a good day then watched as she bounced down the stairs, once again marvelling at my mad ballerina.

Pulling the collar of my coat up against the cold air, I turned and retreated back towards our apartment, hardly able to believe my own words to her. I wasn't so naïve that I wasn't aware of phone sex, but video phone sex hadn't truly occurred to me. And the ease with which I agreed astounded me. I had enjoyed watching her, but on a screen? I wasn't sure what that would exactly entail. Or exactly what I might have agreed to. Or if I truly wanted to participate.

My life since meeting her had lost most of its rigidity. And while I still preferred to remain as gentlemanly as possible in public, behind closed doors I was more than happy to let the gentleman mask slip and give in to my every desire. However, giving in to those desires wasn't something I thought I could do over a screen. Two and a half weeks wasn't a long time, and it certainly wasn't the end of the world. I could cope without sex for seventeen days — had coped without sex for much longer. And besides, that wasn't the reason I would miss her.

The simple fact was, I would miss being near her every day and hearing the madness that always made me smile. As much as I tried not to hover, she had become my anchor, the place I knew was safe and sure. She was my strength and my resilience, and she complimented me in a way she hadn't thought possible. My stiff upbringing had dissolved completely with her, and I could finally relax. And the simplicity she enjoyed in life was now the exact life I wanted to live.

I pushed open the door to the cafe I had frequented most mornings since our arrival, and Julien and Colette — the delightful young owners — greeted me like they had known me my entire life.

"Flat white and pastry for Monsieur Englishman?" Julien asked in his stilted English, as Colette began to make my coffee without waiting for my confirmation.

"You don't even have to ask," I replied, nodding towards Colette and picking up a newspaper before pulling my wallet from my pocket. "Although, these pastries aren't doing anything for my figure."

I poked at my stomach causing them both to laugh.

"I am sure that beautiful wife of yours keeps you fit, no?" Colette asked with a wink.

"Indeed she does," I agreed, swiping my card and tossing ten Euros in the tip jar. "She has more energy than a three year-old."

I frowned to myself as I sat at the table by the window. She hadn't had that much energy since we'd arrived, and a niggling thought formed in my mind. Was she sick? Was she simply putting on a brave face and hiding the fact so I wouldn't cancel my book tour? She'd been forcefully adamant she would be perfectly fine on her own, but I wondered if there was more going on. I hated to have the doubt in my mind, however her usual vibrant, bouncy energy was severely lacking.

Perhaps I was overthinking and she had been correct. Two weeks in the tropical heat followed by the steadily freezing temperatures of an early European winter was possibly harsher on her than I realised.

"Coffee and pastry, Monsieur Englishman," Julian said, placing both on the table in front of me.

I thanked him and opened my newspaper, pushing the niggling thoughts away, and assuring myself I was simply being overprotective and projecting my own anxious feelings onto her.

I stepped out of the bathroom in our small apartment and smiled. She'd shifted to my side of the bed, her arms curled around my pillow, her eyes blinking slowly open and closed. It was four AM and she was fighting sleep. I had an early flight home, and while she was typically an early riser, four AM was far too early.

Squatting beside the bed, I ran my palm down her bare arm and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Sleep, darling."

"I wanted to say a proper goodbye," she mumbled sleepily.

"We said a proper goodbye last night."

"Hmm, yeah." Her heavy eyes closed and she exhaled, snuggling into my pillow.

Leaning in again, I pressed my forehead to her temple, breathing her in. Four weeks had flown by and I still wasn't eager to leave. She was exhausted; ten hour days, six days a week at the ballet company were taking their toll. And with performances beginning the day after tomorrow, those hours would most likely become even longer.

"Laurent and Jean-Claude have promised to cook for you every night until I get back," I reminded her and she nodded without opening her eyes. "And stay in bed today, you need to rest."

"Yeah," she agreed, the single word little more than a breath.

I watched her for another full minute, not wanting her to stay awake for me, but also not wanting to leave her. The hollow feeling in my chest wasn't of mistrust — Narcissa's actions had certainly planted seeds — instead this feeling was one of longing, of needing, of simply knowing I would miss the woman I loved.

"The boys have promised to spoil you while I'm away."

"Yeah," she sighed, blinking her eyes open to look at me. "I've no doubt they will."

"I love you," I whispered, kissing her temple.

"I love you too," she murmured sleepily, her eyes closing and a long exhale relaxed her body. "Go. I'll be fine."

"I know."

I kissed her again, and whispered my promise to call her as soon as I landed. I watched her for a few more moments then stood, forcing myself to walk out the door, closing it quietly behind me.

In the kitchen I retrieved the basket I'd hidden, placing it on the counter. I'd managed to replicate her welcome gift to me — as close as was possible, at least — and hoped she'd get a laugh out of it. Muffins, Belgian chocolate, small bottles of wine. Gummy bears. And her favourite: blueberries.

It also contained my book, which I'd signed for her — not with my pseudonym, but with my real name. I picked it up and opened it to the dedication page. I ran my fingers over the words, hoping they weren't too much.

The late night noise, the daily quiet.
The messy hair, the pink hoodie.
The random insanity, the gentle calmness.
The madness.

The inspiration.

My wall-thumping, metal-loving, hellcat ballerina, this is all because of you.

This book is yours.

Draco and Katie had assured me it was perfect. They had been my sounding board throughout this book and Katie had teared up when she saw the dedication. She'd told me she saw light in me again, saw happiness and contentment, and that only one person had done that for me.

And I had to agree.

I replaced the book back into the basket and wrote a simple note: I love you. Enjoy xx

Picking up my carry-on bag — I had enough clothes in London to not have to completely re-pack — I glanced down the hallway. It had always been easy to leave for assignments while my ex-wife stayed home. I had never had the hollow feeling in my chest, or the feeling of missing her before I'd even left.

With Hermione though…

Now my feet felt like lead. I wanted to climb back into bed and wrap myself around her, and say screw my book tour. She'd have none of it, of course, but I knew the feeling wouldn't leave me until I returned.

She'll be fine, I told myself, then corrected. You'll be fine.

I nodded and huffed a quiet laugh at how insanely sentimental I was being.

You'll be fine, I told myself again, triple checking the lock as I left the apartment, knowing she would be safe on her own.

A/N: Once again, I want to say thank you to everyone who is still reading this fic. This year has been not great health wise, and I appreciate your patience xx