Page 115 of A Queen's Match

“You are not forgetting him,” Emanuele assured her. “Not in the way that matters. That is the thing about losing people; even if their faces blur in your memory, you will retain the important thing: the love you shared.”

“I know,” Hélène murmured.

“It is because you loved him so dearly that you hurt so much. But also, this great capacity to love is what will healyou.”

Hélène shot him a look. “You sound very wise.”

“Oh no,” Emanuele said swiftly, the old irreverence returning to his tone. “I just make a point of seeming that way.”

He was right, though. Hélène knew that she would never forget the important things about Eddy, no matter how much time had passed.

“I’m coming, too,” she declared.

“Thank you. It really is quite chivalrous of you, given the circumstances.” Emanuele’s shoe was now in such disrepair that he was half hobbling. He winked at Hélène. “If I don’t get this fixed soon, I may spend our entire voyage with bare feet, which wouldreallycause a scandal.”

“I’m sure you can win your shoes back,” she replied. “But I wasn’t just talking about this visit to the cobbler. I’m coming to Alexandria.”

A slow smile spread over Emanuele’s face. “Really?”

“I’ll have to convince my parents, but I’m sure I’ll find a way. I can be very convincing when I need to.”

“I have no doubt of that.” There was a huskiness to Emanuele’s voice that made her look over at him, but he was turning onto a side street, where vendors sold things from temporary stalls or from the tops of overturned barrels. They shouted their wares in rough voices—bolts of cloth, rope, honey, wax.

Eddy would have loved all of this, Hélène thought. Already it hurt just a little bit less, remembering him.

She glanced back over her shoulder at the harbor. The ocean seemed to stretch out forever, limitless and wild and full of possibility.

“Hélène!” Emanuele stood at a cobbler’s stall. Atop the makeshift counter, Hélène saw rows of men’s shoes, all ruthlessly durable and meant for travel, all the same practical shade of brown.

“I need your help deciding upon the color. Brown, or brown, or…dare I suggest brown?” Emanuele asked.

Hélène made a show of deliberating. “I must say, the brown is quite handsome.”

There was something about Emanuele that reminded her of Eddy. They were both devilishly handsome, though Emanuele’s hair and eyes were darker, his grin a little bolder. No, it was more than that: it was the way they inhabited each moment to the fullest, no matter what other people thought.

Eddy had asked her to live. To explore new cities, and climb more trees, and continue to defy convention. She would do all of that, for his sake.

And perhaps someday—not soon, but eventually—she might even love again. For the first time since Eddy’s death, such a thing felt possible.

But there was no rush. For now Hélène felt the world unfurling before her, vast and wondrous and ready to be explored.