Fine, fine. The situation was vastly different from Clay. He hadn’t even known how she felt, and he never reciprocated. With Jack, she knew he cared. She knew he wanted her. But was he even capable of love? That’s what terrified her. He hadn’t returned her words the other night, and he certainly hadn’t left her with any reassurances this morning either. He’d only said You are.

A slight reassurance, but it didn’t cut it.

She understood why he’d left Aubrey, and she didn’t fault him for that. But she had to wonder if the man could ever take a big step, and she needed a big step. She’d taken it with him. Not through sex, but by loving him. Loving him desperately. She didn’t want just sex with him anymore. She wanted it all, and she barely had anything.

But that was her own fault, wasn’t it? She’d overstepped the conditions of their deal.

Typical. So damn typical of her. She always fell for the wrong guy. She always felt too much. She needed a straightjacket for her heart. Cage the damn thing up, and wrap chains around it. Stupid organ was working overtime, and she needed it to work less.

She marched past a cafe with a red awning, and peered inside at the plates of eggs and bread being served. Her stomach rumbled. She was hungry, and she was mad for being hungry. Didn’t her stomach know that her heart and her head were a terrible mess?

She spotted a couple in the corner, the man happily feeding the woman a slice of potato. The woman rolled her eyes in pleasure. His arm was draped over her shoulder.

Michelle wanted to hiss at them.

She looked away, resuming her walk, but suddenly lovers were everywhere. Around every corner. On every bench. In every cafe. She didn’t want to be surrounded by lovers. She wanted to escape from her head, and all these thoughts pounding at her, begging for attention.

At the next taxi stand, she grabbed a cab, and sped off to Gare Saint Lazare. An hour later, the train rattled into Giverny, and she caught another taxi to Monet’s Gardens.

She bought a ticket, and crossed into another world, a kaleidoscope of colors with reds, yellows and oranges that blazed under the sun. She wandered through lush fields of purple tulips, red irises, pink poppies and reached the pond where the water lilies floated lazily in the glassy blue waters, under the watchful gaze of a weeping willow.

She walked through the fall morning mist, staring at the endless beauty before her, at the pinwheel of colors—rich purples, pale blues, emerald greens. She wished love were as easy as this garden. As easy as knowing this was as close to perfection as the world would ever get.

But love was not a garden. It was a war zone right now, and she had no notion of whether to retreat or rejoin the battle. She only knew that it would be wise to have her own hotel room. She phoned the Sofitel and booked a second room for the next few nights, biting out the words so she wouldn’t break down and sob. This was not how she’d planned to spend five days in Paris with him.