I would love him forever for that.

I relaxed into his patience and slept.

The next morning, we rode the train to Paris. Then an open fiacre to the cité Pigalle where we were to live.

“This way, you can see your new neighborhood.” Theo pointed out all the shops I might visit. He thought of everything.

He couldn’t stop talking as he led me up to our fourth-floor apartment on our short, dead-end street. “I do hope you’ll like your new home. I inspected a great many. How I wished you were here. This one truly seemed the best. And it’s close enough to Goupil’s so I can come home for lunch every day, dearest. It will be our quiet nest in the city.”

“All the tiny gardens with their lilac trees are lovely. We shall be spoiled with blooms in May. Was that an artist’s studio across the street?”

“Just so. I’ll introduce you to the neighbors tomorrow.” He unlocked the door. “Ladies first.”

I moved tentatively into my new life.

Standing in our home made our marriage seem more real somehow. More irrevocable. My prewedding worries came rushing back.

“I know little of keeping a house of my own.” I whirled back to him. “And I have so little French. How shall I manage the market? And I’m not as sweet natured as you might think. I had disagreements with my sisters all the time. What if I don’t make a good wife?”

“Our home will be full of happiness. We will make it so, Jo. Surely, it is up to us?”

His self-assured manner settled my nerves once again. He was right. Of course, he was right. We would be happy here.

Brilliant sunshine filled the living area to the left and the kitchen to the right. This high up, the building across the street didn’t throw its shade on our windows.

“You can change anything you wish.” Theo tossed his hat onto the sofa, next to a pile of books and blankets. “And buy anything you think we might still need. Just before I left for Amsterdam, I received three hundred francs from an English friend, repayment for a favor in the past.”

“How good of him.” But where would we put anything else? The apartment was already crowded.

A multitude of paintings hung on the walls, a riot of sky blue and petal pink, flowering plum trees and peaches. Here and there, gold glinted among them, vases upon vases of yellow-petaled blossoms.

“Why does Vincent paint so many sunflowers?”