Page 179 of Lovestruck at Sundown
Why are you willing to make all these sudden life changes?
Why are you so fucking perfect for me in every possible way?
“Because a wise, gorgeous, but infuriatingly stubborn woman once told me we should never haggle away our dreams for the sake of comfort,” he said, leaving a trail of kisses down my neck. “And I might have many dreams, älskling, but you’re my biggest one.”
the END
EPILOGUE
February 26, 2013
The opening nightof my exhibit was held on the 22nd, and almost seventy percent of the twenty-seven exhibited portraits were sold that day. The event had been a huge success, and after all the hard work, I was giving myself some time to recover and explore the city with William. I needed to stay in Paris for ten more days, and William would keep me company.
Against all odds, my dad flew to Paris and showed up for the opening. A part of me still doubted he would take the time off his busy schedule to attend, but he did. We were still taking things slow with our relationship. We weren’t talking or seeing each other much, but our interactions felt light, genuine, and peaceful when we did. It wasn’t about trying to rebuild our relationship, but trying to build a new one from scratch.
Leaving my job at Haute Magazine to pursue my personal projects had been worth it, although it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. The change in rhythm was challenging at first, and I missed hanging out with some of my coworkers I’d bonded with over the years. I had to learn how to manage my schedule and keep myself motivated. It’s not the same when you’re just being told what to do all day.
When I started working on my exhibit, the first thing I did was launch a request for participation on my Instagram page to invite people interested in sharing their experience with grief and who were willing to have their portraits taken. William didn’teven have to post the announcement on his feed to give it a little boost because I was flooded with hundreds of emails in the first few days alone.
I was heartbroken and cried reading most emails I received, but I set myself out to reply to every one of them. A week after the announcement, I had to edit my post to remove my email address and inform everyone that the submissions were closed. I was going to have trouble choosing among the people who had signed up.
Diversity was the most important factor for me when choosing the final participants. I wanted to portray how grief is a universal aspect of the human condition that connects experiences and emotions across cultures and societies, regardless of background, race, gender, sexual orientation, or nationality.
There were so many people whose stories captivated me, and I didn’t want to leave them out. So I chose twenty-five extra people to make a single piece out of the twenty-five shots. Meeting and photographing everyone had been an incredible and hectic experience, but I felt so grateful to have had the support of numerous people for this project.
A friend of Lily’s let me use her studio in Chelsea to photograph the final fifty chosen for the exhibit. The show featured two extra pieces: Louis’s portrait and a self-portrait. It seemed fair to include it and share some of my vulnerability with the audience after so many people had done the same with me.
William and I reached Tuileries after walking past the United States Ambassador’s Residence to show him where I lived for four years. William joked about wanting to knock on the Residence’s gate to see if we could get a tour of the place. And I had to pull him away, afraid he might actually do so.
I couldn’t believe how much things had changed sincethe last time I was in Paris. Naturally, I shared many stories with him about my time here.
The afternoon was a bit chilly, so we didn’t stop at the Bassin Octagonal because the only way to stay warm was to keep walking. Of course, the Viking blood running through William’s veins made him feel the weather was wonderful and perfect. And it was, but I thrived on slightly warmer weather that didn’t make my nose runny from the cold.
As we strolled through Tuileries, tourists and locals alike inevitably recognized William and asked for photos. He kept apologizing after every selfie, but I didn’t care. I loved how much people loved him. And even if he had decided to leave acting behind, he would always and forever remain the beloved William Sjöberg.
“I’d probably stop you for a photo even if you weren’t famous,” I teased. He laughed and ran his arm around my shoulders as we walked under the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel.
“Have you been inside the Louvre?” I asked as we reached the Louvre’s esplanade, where the glass pyramid was.
“Don’t judge me,” he warned. “But I’ve never been.”
I gasped with horror. “You haven’t?”
“Feeling judged over here,” he replied with a laugh.
“You are being judged,” I confirmed. “You’ve been to Paris so many times. Aren’t you a bit curious?”
“It’s always full of people, and it would be virtually impossible for me to walk around in peace.”
“They’re closing soon.” I checked my watch. It was 4:30 p.m., and the museum usually closed at 6:00 p.m. “Maybe people are tired by now and won’t notice your presence,” I chuckled after saying that, knowing perfectly well William wasn’t the type of man who could go unnoticed in a crowd of people. “If we hurry, we can do an express visit and see the Mona Lisa and a fewpaintings nearby. A Vermeer, a Caravaggio, a Delacroix, and my favorite painting, the one I’ve told you about.”
“Okay.” He kissed my cheek and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go check it out.”
“Wait.” I took out my phone and snapped a selfie of us with the glass pyramid in the background. The sky had turned a lovely shade of pink.
As we approached the entrance, I stopped walking abruptly. “Shit, it’s Tuesday.”
“So?” William raised a brow.
