[ So much all at once becoming real. There is the boat they'd written about, although it's too dark to see the glitter Romain had insisted upon. Then there are Gwenaëlle's eyes, one of them shining with the dampness of emotion, one of them shining an entirely different way that they hadn't written about, and for all the letters they'd exchanged, there is suddenly also their year of untold stories— hers, Gwenaëlle's— slamming into Alexandrie's heart with enough force to push out the breath remaining in her. She thinks, for a moment, that she must have wings made of that breath blossoming from her back as it leaves.
There are things she wants to say. All sorts of things she wants to say. To ask, to know, to have known.
But feeling safe and being safe are very often disparate things, and so all she does for the moment is lean forward to press a kiss to Gwenaëlle's forehead and say ]
It is so good to see you, Gigi. [and then, in a conspiratorial stage whisper, ] Take me to your wine immediately.
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There are things she wants to say. All sorts of things she wants to say. To ask, to know, to have known.
But feeling safe and being safe are very often disparate things, and so all she does for the moment is lean forward to press a kiss to Gwenaëlle's forehead and say ]
It is so good to see you, Gigi. [and then, in a conspiratorial stage whisper, ] Take me to your wine immediately.