Prologue

Julianne Arabella Sanders walked the streets of the city she loved the most—Paris.

Her family owned a glass factory here and her father often came. Sometimes, he took them with him. And every time she went, she would fall in love with the city over and over again.

But this particular visit to Paris was special. This time she was all by herself.  She was free to be who she wanted to be and do whatever she wanted.

She only had two weeks left of life as she knew it. She could have an adventure, assume a different identity, make mistakes, fall in love and make her dreams come true.

But once her time was up, she would no longer be free to decide her own fate. She would pledge all her days, all her tomorrows—her present and her future—to a man she had only met twice, and didn’t really like. She would follow her stupid family tradition of arranged marriages and be miserable for all eternity.

She tried to fight her fate, but her father had always been known to be a stubborn man. When he made up his mind, that was it. No turning back, no reasoning with him, no changing his mind. Not even her twin brother, Gian, heir of their business empire and future head of the family could do anything about it.

This vacation was the most that Gian could do for her. He had a long discussion with their father and he managed to bargain for her temporary freedom.

She remembered the day before she left for her vacation. She received a strange and annoying phone call from Patrick McAllister, her would-be fiancé.

“I don’t really agree with this adventure of yours,” he told her.

“Well, unfortunately, you have no say in the matter,” she replied dryly.

“Yet,” he emphasized.

‘This guy has some nerve,’ she thought angrily, but she managed to keep her voice cool.

“Is there a real purpose for this call?”

“Well, yes,” he replied. “I called to say that while you’re on this little adventure of yours, you must mind your actions.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean, you always have to remember that you will soon be a McAllister. Whatever you do in this little trip of yours may catch up with you in the future. And whatever happens to you affects me and my name. Whatever affects my name, affects my family. I think you know where I’m going with this.”

“I think I do. Luckily, I’m still my own person. And I will do whatever I want. Because as far as I know, I’m still Julianne Sanders. Not Julianne McAllister.”

“Whatever. Just make sure that you do not drag my name through the mud if you screw up. Or better yet, think about your family name too. I order you to use a different name, assume a different identity. As any other person you’re free to do whatever you want. As Julianne Sanders and soon to be Julianne McAllister, you know the society has rules, darling. Be mindful of who you are and who you are about to marry. I hope I’m making myself clear.”

“Well, you don’t…”

He hung up before she could even finish that sentence.

“What a despicable creature!” She fumed.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine how the rest of her life was going to be, married to that man. But no matter how much she hated that Patrick McAllister was already dictating her life, she still did as he asked. When she travelled, she used a different name.

Arabella Adams.

In a way, using a different name and assuming a different identity had an appeal to it. For the next three months, she could be whoever she wanted to be. She was truly free.

But sadly, all good things must come to an end. She was now at the end of her journey and she intended to make the most of the last two weeks of her freedom.

She walked the streets of Paris without a particular destination in mind. She smiled at the people who walked past, saying ‘Bon jour,’ which was one of the only ten French phrases she knew. People must think she was overly friendly, or a little bit cuckoo, but she didn’t care.

She passed by a small shop that sold trinkets and souvenirs.

“Bon jour,” she greeted the lady in the counter, who looked up at her from head to feet, as if judging if she was a potential shoplifter.

The cashier muttered something in French, which was too fast for her to understand.

“Um, I’m just going to look around,” she mumbled.

Her eyes drifted to the shelf with mouth-blown glass perfume bottles. They were handmade, with excellent craftsmanship.

“Holy cow!” she breathed in excitement.

 She had been collecting handmade glass perfume bottles since she was in high school. She was so fascinated by the intricacies of their design, particularly those with wirings and colorful stones. During her trip, she had collected at least two from each city she went to. Someday, each one would remind her of her adventure.

She found porcelain glass bottles, as well as beaded ones. There were antiques as well. She gathered eight bottles with the best designs. One was a blue bottle with intricate silver wirings and crystals shaped to form a crucifix. It looked ancient and special and she knew exactly where to put it on her collection shelf.

When she went to the counter, the lady started speaking to her in French.

“What?”

The lady took the bottle with the crucifix design and set it aside.

“Excuse me, I want that,” Julianne protested.

The lady started muttering something. She raised her voice and she looked aggravated, but Julianne could not understand a word coming out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry. I. Don’t. Understand. What. You. Mean,” Julianne said as slowly as possible. “Please. Speak. English.”

The lady snapped at her, or it seemed like she did. Her expression was so cross, she looked like she would call the police on her any moment.

“Hey, I just want to buy those. I cannot understand you.”

The lady was waving her hand in front of her now. Julianne was getting frustrated. She wanted to walk out of the shop now, but that particular glass bottle seemed so much worth the trouble.

Just then, another customer stood beside her and started speaking to the lady in French. He sounded like he was intervening for her.

They discussed for a few minutes, and finally, the lady started to calmed down. She packed the glass bottles and the crucifix one separately. She turned to Julianne and spoke in French. Julianne raised a brow.

“One hundred twenty dollars,” the guy told her in English.

Julianne quickly handed her the bills. The lady raised a brow at the guy beside her. He said something to her in French before she finally handed the bags over to Julianne.

Julianne turned to the stranger beside her. She didn’t know what he and the cashier talked about and why she seemed aggravated, but she was thankful for the help she got.

“Thank. You. I. Don’t. Know. What. Would. Have. Happened. If. You. Didn’t. Intervene.” She didn’t know how much English this guy knew, but she needed to thank him.

He stared at her as if she was out of her mind. He didn’t speak at first and Julianne was afraid that his English was limited to numbers and a few phrases.

Then suddenly, he laughed and said, “No worries. My English is just fine, thank you very much.” He spoke English quite fluently and Julianne noticed that his French accent was not as heavy as it was when he first spoke to her. In fact, he sounded like he spoke English frequently.

“Oh my God, thank you so much,” Julianne breathed in relief. “I don’t know what happened back there, but I’m glad you assisted me. I understood zero from what she said, and I’m pretty sure she felt the same about me.”

“You’re welcome. She doesn’t speak English at all.”

“Why did she seem angry?”

“Well, that bottle that you got was not supposed to be there. I think it’s somewhat rare… somewhat old.”

“How… how old?”

The guy shrugged. “Really old. Anyway, I told her that if it wasn’t for sale then she should not have placed it there. In the end, she decided to let it go.”

“It must be more expensive than the other bottles. How much was it?”

The guy shrugged. “I’m sure your payment pretty much covered it.”

“Oh, are you sure? I can give her more money for it.”

The guy shook his head. “She agreed already, that should be enough.”

“Oh, thanks.” She turned to the lady in the counter. “Merci beaucoup.”

But the lady raised her brow and muttered something in French again and then pointed her fingers at the guy beside her.

“What did she say?”

“Ah, she said… you should ah, thank me for putting up a good argument.” The guy turned to the cashier and said something to her. Then to Julianne’s surprise he pulled her by the elbow gently and led her to the exit. “Come, before she changes her mind.”

Outside the shop, Julianne turned to the guy once again and thanked him for intervening. Only then was she able to get a good look at him and realized how gorgeous he was.

Dark copper brown hair and striking blue green eyes, which was pretty rare.  He was more than a foot taller than her, maybe a few inches taller than her twin brother. He had a slight cleft on his chin and when he talked, dimples on both sides of his lips appeared.

It took Julianne a while to realize that he was staring at her too, probably doing the same thing she was doing to him—studying his features.

She shook herself back to reality before she drooled. “Um… again, thank you. It was really nice of you to help.”

“Pleasure was all mine,” he said, giving her a crooked smile.

“Okay, I’ll go. Thanks again.” She gave him one last smile before she turned around and walked away.

He didn’t say anything more. And Julianne thought it would be the last she’d see of him.

She spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the city. Towards the evening, she passed by Pont des Arts, and took a selfie along the padlocks. She spent some time reading out some names and the hopeless romantic in her couldn’t help wondering that if her life had been different, if she had not been Julianne Sanders, then maybe someday, she could be here, writing her name on one of these padlocks with the man she’s hopelessly in love with.

“Are you looking for your name?” Somebody behind her asked.

She turned away from the locks and towards the source of the voice. She found herself face to face with the guy she had met earlier at the souvenir shop.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted him with a shy smile.

He motioned towards the locks. “Were you looking for yours?”

She shook her head. “Oh no, no. I haven’t done this before. But I’m happy for those who have. What about you? How many of these have you placed in here?”

He smiled at her. “Nah. Nothing.”

“You sound like you don’t believe this could immortalize a love story?”

He shrugged. “I don’t believe that love could be immortal at all.”

“Wow. That’s quite cynical and… very honest of you,” she said. “Most guys would do anything to give the impression that they’re in for happily ever afters.”

“Well, I don’t believe in happily ever afters. Or haven’t met somebody who would change my opinion about it. Have you?”

She shook her head. “No. And I’m afraid I don’t have the luxury to do that.”

“Why?”

She shook her head slightly and looked at the padlocks again. “I believe in seizing the day and making the most out of the present, rather than making promises for the future.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he said, “That’s quite honest of you. Most girls would give the impression that they’re looking for a Prince Charming and they expect a ring on their fingers after the tenth date.”

She laughed. “Most girls. But maybe I don’t have ten dates to give away.”

It was true. She said that, hoping he didn’t detect the sadness in her voice.

“Well, maybe I’d be happy with just one,” he said. His voice was sober and when she looked up him, she realized that he was seriously waiting for her answer.

“You don’t even know my name,” she said.

“Maybe I haven’t earned it yet,” he countered.

“Indeed, you haven’t.”

“Perhaps after our first date, I would.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “If fate would allow us to have a first date in the first place.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

“Maybe it’s time you do.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m the girl sent to change your mind about it.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Tomorrow,” she said, her heart pounding wildly in her ribcage. “At sunset, I will be sitting in a coffee shop reading a book, waiting for my date to arrive. Assuming, fate will allow us to have that date.”

“What do you mean?”

“I won’t tell you exactly what time or where. But I will be in a coffee shop. And if fate agrees with us, you will be in that coffee shop too.”

“There must be about a hundred coffee shops in Paris,” he protested.

“Yes. A hundred chances to get it wrong. And only one chance to get it right,” she smiled at him. “If of all the wrong places you could be, you end up in the same place I am… then that’s Fate smiling down upon you. And maybe you’ll start believing.”

With that, she gave him one last smile and turned away to leave.