It didn’t take long to reach Le Sacré Coeur.

‘For old times’ sake?’ Ted asked, inclining his head to the magnificent cathedral, glowing pale against the sea-blue sky.

Inside it was hushed and quiet as they walked slowly to the votive lights. ‘I’ve been thinking about them a lot,’ Ted said as they watched the small bulbs of flames flickering, tiny fluting twirls of black smoke, like ink from a quill, weaving upwards to the dome. Nina lit a candle and thought of Sylvie. She crossed herself and looked up, sending a silent prayer.

Ted was staring straight ahead, swallowing, eyes blinking, as though he were fighting back tears. She slipped her hand in his and squeezed. He closed his eyes and she saw tears flush silently down his cheeks. Nina knew that they would never mention this moment again. Ted’s pain was too acute, his efforts to hide it too encompassing. She understood how it felt to have missing pieces. She was fortunate, in comparison to Ted; her pain at not having a father in her life had been abated by her mother, Joanie. Granted, Joanie was almost always working when she was younger, but they needed the money and she made sure Nina was safe and well looked after by Niamh and Seamus. She had one parent. Ted had none.

They stayed there together a while, Nina listening to the layers of hushed prayers filling the space around her: French, English, Italian, Spanish. Even though Nina wasn’t sure she believed in God any more, the hairs on her arms stood on end.

*

Outside they sauntered around, entertained by the street artists, and as the light began to dim, they bought a small bag of salted pretzels and two ice-cold beers from a street vendor, sat on steps warmed by the fine weather and watched the sun set over Paris.

‘You’re getting married,’ Nina marvelled. She’d never really believed it would happen. What had she expected? Behind them, a woman began playing the harp, the melody as enchanting as the balmy air and coral-streaked sky. It was so beautiful, it seemed other-worldly.

He didn’t reply, looking at her and away at the view. Once, then twice. He seemed agitated. Nervy. Pre-wedding jitters, no doubt. He placed his bottle on the step and stared again at the horizon, his countenance grave.

‘Do you ever wonder…’ he started. He jammed his hands into his pockets as if at war with them. ‘Do you ever wonder if things might have been different?’ He turned his head to look at her then. Properly. He didn’t need to say anything else. And nor did she. They locked eyes and it was how it had always been. Since the very first time they’d met at le Bal. Questions between them but answers too. An understanding. A connection so deep it made her legs buckle and her heart ache. A connection second only to her love for Alice and Jules.

‘No,’ she said crossly. ‘No.’ She stood abruptly, tearing her eyes away from his. ‘No,’ she said again, standing. Fury in her veins now. He couldn’t do this. It wasn’t fair.