Page 63 of Enemies to French Kisses
He takes in the longest breath as a voice comes over the speakers, first in French and then in English. “Ladies and gentlemen, please join the couple of honor in the main ballroom, gather close to the stage for their discourse on love.”
“Should we go?” I don’t want to stop Marc from coming out of his brain fog, but from what he’s told me, these are not the kind of people to look kindly on anyone who doesn’t follow explicit instructions.
My throat is burning. I must have really done a number on it. I’ll have to try Natalie’s mom’s recipe for sore throats when I finally get home.
“This is important,” Marc takes hold of my arm and a wash of heat comes over me.
But I don’t think it’s his touch.
“These last few days,” he continues, “I owe you so very much, and I’m just beginning to understand all you mean to me. But this so-called marriage—"
“Everyone to the area in front of the stage.”
“Marc, we should talk later.” I have to sit down. There are no chairs available anywhere. Darn standing receptions.
“I didn’t know all I needed,” he says, coming closer but my eyes are going fuzzy.
“Everyone,tout le monde, to the ballroom!” Capucine walks past but her voice echoes in my head.
“Laura, this can’t wait. Wait… Laura? What’s going on?”
It’s all mush and blizzard. Snow over my eyes and I can’t wipe it away. I can’t breathe in the heat but for the wheeze that escapes my lips.
“Laura!”
“The ballroom!”
Charlotte’s voice emerges but I’ve lost my peripheral vision. “Marc, Laura, qu’est-ce qui ce passe?”
“Marc?” I don’t see him anymore, but I’m sure my eyes are open. Or maybe not. Everything’s hot, and this wheeze is the only sound, enough to fill the room as a last cry in French dances to my ears.
“Appèle les pompiers!”
* * *
I am surroundedby handsome young men as far as the eye can see. They lean over me, dark eyes, blue eyes, caramel-colored eyes and skin in every shade of beautiful.
I am in heaven.
That’s it, I’ve died and this is the afterlife. There is no other explanation for this. Paradise is supposed to be everything we dream of, and perhaps that’s what this is, but there’s only one thing I want…
“Marc…”
One of the young men moves aside and is replaced by him.
“Marc, you’re here.”
“Of course I am.”
“We’re dead.”
He runs his hand along my hair. “We are not. But you did give us a scare.”
“But all these men… I’m not in heaven?”
Chuckles emerge along the lot of them, nervous laughs of relief as they pack up kits.
“Come along,ma chérie,” Marc reaches his arm under me. “We need to go to the hospital to make sure you’re alright.”
