Dedication

To finding love and never letting it go, no matter how scary or how much it might hurt!

Prologue

Vivienne

Ten Years Earlier

“Happy Birthday,” Karrie says, holding up a glass of champagne with a smile. I raise my glass of champagne with my own megawatt smile and clink it against hers. “Twenty-one and legal.” I nod and bring the glass to my lips. Karrie has been my best friend since I transferred to America from France when I was a senior in high school. We clicked as soon as I bumped into her on the first day.

“Merci.” Thank you, I say in French. Even though I’ve been in New York for five years, I still slip into my mother tongue. I take a sip and then close my eyes as the sweet bubbly hits my tongue. “God, this is so much better when it’s legal.” I laugh.

“So, what are you doing tonight that you couldn’t go out with me?” Karrie asks with a smirk as she takes her own sip.

I shrug my shoulders and try not to smile as though I’m hiding something. “Nothing.”

“Nothing, my ass,” Karrie says, putting down her glass and leaning over to me. “Is it your mystery guy?” she whispers.

“He’s not a mystery guy,” I say, taking another sip to hide my eyes.

“You have been with him for over two year, yet I have never met him,” Karrie points out.

“He’s busy with work,” I tell her, swallowing down the champagne that a minute ago was sweet and is now a touch bitter and sour. “Besides, I need to make a dent in my American Express this month, and no one does it better than you.”

“Changing the subject now, are we?” She smirks and then holds her hand up to get the bill. “I do need to get myself a graduation present,” she says, pushing herself from the table to sign her name on the bill. “Let’s go shopping.”

We spend the next six hours doing all of Fifth Avenue, and when I kiss her goodbye, she gives me the biggest hug with promises to call her tomorrow. As I make my way back down to my apartment, I spot something out of the corner of my eye and turn, not sure if I actually saw it. But I did, and my heart sinks.

I stand here for a minute taking in the scene before turning and walking back to my apartment. The doorman, Harold, spots me and smiles. “Ms. Vivienne,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “I heard happy birthday is in order. Or as the French say, Joyeux anniversaire.”

I smile at him. “Merci or, as the English say it, thank you.” He grabs the bags in my hands. “I am expecting more,” I tell him as he walks me inside the marble entrance toward the waiting elevator.