Page 64 of The Last Kiss

“You know, unbrushed hair, talks like a Neanderthal mainly in grunts and screams.”

Henri reaches forward and tucks a wayward lock of my hair in place. “Sounds like a fun party.”

“Oh, I can guarantee you Liv will have tried to put her in a posh party frock, and she’ll be tearing around in her knickers and vest by the time we get there.” I slurp my milky coffee, looping my hands around the warmth of the mug. The day isn’t cold, but my fingers are numb almost. Pushing the observation away I ask, “Have you got any nieces or nephews?”

That shadow flickers across his. “One, although I think Maman has given up hope of her kids having anymore.”

His gaze flickers to mine and I instantly look away. There is no future in that conversation at all.

“Brother or sister?”

“A sister.” A firm press of his lips makes me want to know more. I lean forward waiting for more titbits about his life like a puppy waiting for training snacks. “She’s not keen on settling down. Lives in Paris.”

“Ah, Paris.” I stare wistfully out of the window.

“You like it there?”

“Never been, but my heart tells me I would.”

Henri’s face folds in distaste. “Too touristy.”

“More so than London?” I laugh louder now, waking up the waitress from her doze behind the counter.

“I think so. There are some good places to eat, but you have to know where to look. Everything else is cheap tourist fare.”

“Heaven forbid cheap tourist fare.” I grin into my coffee.

He mutters under his breath in French. I’m guessing disparaging remarks about said tourist fare while I muse on his words. “So, your ‘contact’ you stop in and check up on in Paris is actually your sister.

He meets my gaze again. “Very perceptive.”

“I try.” I smirk back but then I drop the smile while I try to piece my mystery man together. Sure, he’s sitting right here, and I could ask him, but I have a feeling his answer would be very evasive and French if he wanted them to be. “So, you go from here, to Paris, and then on to your home all to see your sister?”

“Yes.” He pretends to read the paper, his fingers curling a little into gentle fists.

“You must be the best big brother in the world.” I take another sip of my coffee. “You are the big brother right?”

“Yes,’ he repeats, looking up in surprise and I point to myself.

“Big sister. I can tell the signs.” I try to smile but it sits lopsided on my face.

“Well, my little sister is the devil’s mistress in disguise. And your sister sounds relatively sensible, no? Apart from marrying a man not worthy of her.”

I get that empty sensation in my stomach again. “She went off the rails once. When she was fifteen or so.”

“What happened?” He links his long fingers together, expression expectant.

“It was my fault. My parents were really strict: always wanted us to do better, to do more. I rebelled against it.” I chew on my lower lip. “Then I guess Liv just copied me. She got in a bad crowd, usual teenage stuff. Mum and dad blamed me; their perfect blonde angel was ruined because of me. They’d always been tough on me anyway. I never got the rope that Liv later used to suspend herself from disaster with.”

Henry tilts my chin with a finger, and I look up in surprise, not even realising I’d dropped my gaze. “Then what happened?”

I do my best French shrug. “I moved out. They wanted to blame me for things that were half their fault. If they hadn’t had been so bloody awful to me then I wouldn’t have behaved the way I did and then Liv wouldn’t have copied me. Words were said.” I swallow hard. “I haven’t really spoken to them since. Maybe the first couple of Christmases, but I quickly realised they had nothing really to say to me. They didn’t get me.”

“And who are you, Julianna Brown?”

Another impressive shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You tell me that you used to rebel, but yet you live in a flat devoid of all colour. That wrap is the brightest thing I’ve seen even close to you, and you talk about your cat like he’s a live-in-lover.”