The Three Lives of Alix St. Pierre

by Natasha Lester

When she reached him, he said, “I think that dress will be just extravagant enough.” Then his mouth lifted upward at last. “I know you said we’re not partners of the kissing kind but we’re going to disappoint our audience if I don’t at least kiss your cheek.”

For five long seconds there was nothing at all in Paris except Anthony March and Alix St. Pierre standing in the Piscine Deligny, staring at one another.

Screaming and crying 😭😭😭

In that moment, there was only closeness and heat and silence and fire. Her eyes held by his, his falling just once to her lips.

“A woman can be ruined so easily by a man, Anthony,” she said, her voice so thin it was almost transparent, the weariness setting in as she returned to the place where she’d started.