Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
I took another breath. “Then, after about a year, I started gaining a little weight. Not a lot—ten pounds, maybe. But the way my ex saw it, I might as well have gained a hundred. He started calling me, his sweet little. . .Butter Ball.”
The line of Fabien’s jaw twitched.
I gave a small, nervous smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “He used to. . .playfully threaten to chain me to the back of his car and drive around the block so I could run the pounds off.”
Fabien’s entire expression hardened. His easy, flirtatious demeanor disappeared in an instant, replaced with something that looked an awful lot like restrained fury. . .as if he were struggling to hold himself back from loudly cursing.
My stomach twisted. “I would laugh it off because, you know, if you don’t laugh, you cry. And. . .besides, it wasn’t like he meant it, right? That’s what I would say to myself.”
My voice softened. “And the funny part? He had gained weight too. A whole lot more than I did. And I think. . .no. . .I know that’s where all the focus on me came from. His own hate for himself. He needed something to project it onto, someone to feel worse than him, someone to take the hit.”
Fabien exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the stem of his glass.
“But because I didn’t love myself enough either, I stayed in the marriage. Even when his words got sharper. Even when his jokes turned into real disappointment, real disgust. Even when I started eating more and more just to cope with it all.”
The silence between us stretched thick and heavy.
Fabien’s voice, when it finally came, was quiet but firm. “You deserved better than that.”
“I know that now.” I forced a small smile. “But it took me a long time after the divorce to figure it out. Years of therapy. A lot of exercise, but not because I wanted to be thin—just because I want to feel good in my own body and be healthy. Also meditation. EFT tapping—”
“What is that?”
I blinked, surprised. “You’ve never heard of EFT?”
He smirked. “French men don’t exactly sit around discussing healing methods over wine and cheese.”
That made me chuckle. “It’s called the Emotional Freedom Technique. It’s kind of like acupuncture but without the needles. You tap your finger on meridian points of your body—like your face, collarbone, hands—while saying affirmations or processing emotions. It helps rewire negative beliefs, ease anxiety. I do it all the time.”
Fabien’s gaze flickered with intrigue. “You’ll have to show me.”
I grinned, arching a brow. “You? Mr. Broody Parisian Playboy? You’re willing to tap on your face for emotional healing?”
His lips curved in amusement. “For you, chérie, I’ll try anything once.”
The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.
I cleared my throat, needing to ground myself before I completely melted in my seat. “Anyway. . .I’ve been divorced for ten years now. And. . .”
“And?”
“Celibate too.”
His brows shot up, and something unmistakable flickered across his face.
Hunger.
Interest.
A deep, predatory sort of intrigue.
His voice was lower now, like he didn’t quite believe it. “No sex for ten years?”
“None.”
His gaze scanned me like he was seeing me in an entirely new light. “Do you miss it?”
“Of course.” I shrugged. “But I won’t let any man into my bed again unless he deserves to be there.”
Those green eyes went wild and I wondered what was on his mind. “Mmmm.”
Cosmo reappeared, smiling that foxlike grin of his as he lifted a delicate golden pitcher. “Now, we begin the true essence of alchemy!”
We both turned Cosmo’s way.
Waiters began placing dishes onto our table.
Cosmo raised his hands in the air. “This is the first of three transformations tonight. We call it Chrysopoeia—the transmutation of the ordinary into gold.”
Before me, a sleek, obsidian-black bar sat in the center of the table.
Next, our waitress placed a small, crystalline carafe filled with a shimmering liquid that rippled between bronze and silver as if caught between worlds.
Cosmo gestured grandly. “Alchemy is about change—about taking what is and seeing what it could become. So, I would like you to do this. Please, pour your elixir over that bar on your plate, and witness the impossible.”
Oh this is so much fun.
I lifted my carafe, the weight of it cool in my palm, and tilted it over the black surface.
The moment the liquid touched the bar, it bled outward like veins of molten metal, shifting from dark obsidian to a radiant, gleaming gold.
Oh shit.
The transformation was instant, mesmerizing, and I couldn’t help myself—I chuckled, giddy with delight.
Fabien didn’t pour his immediately. Instead, he turned toward me, his emerald eyes devouring the way I smiled, the way my joy lit up the space between us.
In fact, he looked enthralled—like he’d rather watch me than the miracle happening on the table.