Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss #1)(44)
Author: Stephanie Perkins

Josh and Mer follow her exit, and we’re alone. Just the way I like it.

“Ha!” Étienne says. “Just the way I like it.”

He pulls me onto his lap, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His lips are velvet soft, and we kiss until the streetlamps flicker on outside. Until the opera singer begins her evening routine. “I’m going to miss her,” I say.

“I’ll sing to you.” He tucks my stripe behind my ear. “Or I’ll take you to the opera. Or I’ll fly you back here to visit.Whatever you want. Anything you want.”

I lace my fingers through his. “I want to stay right here, in this moment.”

“Isn’t that the name of the latest James Ashley bestseller? In This Moment?”

“Careful. Someday you’ll meet him, and he won’t be nearly as amusing in person.”

Étienne grins. “Oh, so he’ll only be mildly amusing? I suppose I can handle mildly amusing.”

“I’m serious!You have to promise me right now, this instant, that you won’t leave me once you meet him. Most people would run.”

“I’m not most people.”

I smile. “I know. But you still have to promise.”

His eyes lock on mine. “Anna, I promise that I will never leave you.”

My heart pounds in response. And Étienne knows it, because he takes my hand and holds it against his chest, to show me how hard his heart is pounding, too. “And now for yours,” he says.

I’m still dazed. “My what?”

He laughs. “Promise you won’t flee once I introduce you to my father. Or, worse, leave me for him.”

I pause. “Do you think he’ll object to me?”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.”

Okay. Not the answer I was looking for.

Étienne sees my alarm. “Anna. You know my father dislikes anything that makes me happy. And you make me happier than anyone ever has.” He smiles. “Oh, yes. He’ll hate you.”

“So that’s . . . a good thing?”

“I don’t care what he thinks. Only what you think.” He holds me tighter. “Like if you think I need to stop biting my nails.”

“You’ve worn your pinkies to nubs,” I say cheerfully.

“Or if I need to start ironing my bedspread.”

“I DO NOT IRON MY BEDSPREAD.”

“You do. And I love it.” I blush, and Étienne kisses my warm cheeks. “You know, my mum likes you.”

“She does?”

“You’re the only thing I’ve talked about all year. She’s ecstatic we’re together.”

I’m smiling inside and out. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

He smiles back, but then his expression grows worried. “So will your father object to me? Because I’m not American? I mean, not fully American? He’s not one of those mad, patriotic nuts, is he?”

“No. He’ll love you, because you make me happy. He’s not always so bad.”

St. Clair raises his dark eyebrows.

“I know! But I said not always. He still is the majority of the time. It’s just . . . he means well. He thought he was doing good, sending me here.”

“And was it? Good?”

“Look at you, fishing for compliments.”

“I wouldn’t object to a compliment.”

I play with a strand of his hair. “I like how you pronounce ‘banana.’ Ba-nah-na. And sometimes you trill your r’s. I love that.”

“Brilliant,” he whispers in my ear. “Because I’ve spent loads of time practicing.”

My room is dark, and Étienne wraps his arms back around me. We listen to the opera singer in a peaceful silence. I’m surprised by how much I’ll miss France. Atlanta was home for almost eighteen years, and though I’ve only known Paris for the last nine months, it’s changed me. I have a new city to learn next year, but I’m not scared.

Because I was right. For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It’s a person.

And we’re finally home.