Florian (Augarten Book 4) Read online

  Our last day was a chaotic rush. Michi had one last chance to look at the second book, and because he had fallen behind, he now had a record number of pages to memorize and no further chances if he made mistakes. I sent my haggard boyfriend out the door with the promise to return "at exactly two, Florian" with his notebook and pen so he could copy the last pages down. In the meantime, I had to close out our apartment and scrub it thoroughly so we got the deposit back.

  I arrived at the university library with our backpacks and suitcases in tow. Lightheaded, I realized in the rush I had forgotten to eat and had left our packed lunches in the fridge. At least I'd made sure Michi ate some breakfast. I was exhausted, but not nearly as exhausted as my partner looked when he stumbled down the steps of the library, trembling from head to toe.

  I rushed up the stairs and kept him from falling. "Let's sit for a few minutes, Michi."

  "I have to do this now."

  "Please, be reasonable. Don't fight me."

  "Then I'll do it here."

  He sank to the steps and reached for me. I grabbed his backpack and Michi withdrew his pen and notebook with quaking hands. "Hold me."

  "Okay." I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Michi looked like he was in some kind of insomniac trance, his movements jerky and almost manic.

  "Hum to me," he begged. "Do the tune you use in the middle of the night. That melody holds a spell that makes me relax."

  Tears burned my eyes. I had not known he'd heard me, all those nights. "Okay, honey."

  I draped my jacket over him, blocking out the sun. Michi hunched at such a harsh angle I worried it hurt him. He scribbled frantically and rocked back and forth. I hummed a melody, hoping it was the right one, wishing I had wings so I could better shield him from the mid-afternoon sun and the rest of the world.

  An hour passed this way, then another. Finally, when I grew worried he would faint, Michi shut his notebook with a sigh.

  I helped him stand on creaky legs and get down the remaining stairs. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. "Let's go to a café and recharge." We needed food, water, and caffeine.

  Michi shook his head, grabbed a suitcase and started down the sidewalk. He took no notice that I rolled his suitcase and he had mine. "We'll get something to take with us. I want to be back in Paris, in our home, in bed with you."

  Chapter Six

  The Toulouse trip changed something in Michi. After we returned to Paris and caught up on sleep, his smile came to him more freely, his countenance almost airy in its lightness. I figured he would tell me what was going on when he was ready for me to know. Our lease ended and we moved into a larger apartment with high ceilings and hardwood floors. Michel mortgaged it instead of renting, saying he'd always wanted to own a place so he could have custom bookcases installed. His late partner Robert came back to protect us—Michi used his inheritance as a down payment.

  Lunches with Klaus continued, and I worked through the entirety of his prescribed curriculum on the Stoics. Michi and I spent quiet evenings, reading on our couch together.

  The next summer, we took a trip to North Wales to visit Michi's uncles Rhys and Gethin who lived in Robert's old house. Michel explained to me that they were not blood relatives, but people who had helped Robert extricate Michi from his abusive childhood home, one of them a lawyer and the other a social worker at the boarding school Michi had attended. After spending a couple of happy weeks reminiscing with them, Michel booked us a few days in a bed and breakfast on the coast of the Celtic Sea. We spent an incredible string of days walking along the cliffs holding hands.

  On our last full day in Wales, we paused on our walk to weather a strong wind sweeping off the water and I pulled him into a hug. "This trip has been wonderful, honey. Thank you."

  Michi let out a huge shuddering breath and hugged me back. We stood there a long moment. Even just from basic meditations and my study of the Stoics, I was beginning to feel what Michi meant by romantic couples sharing their energy from spending so much time in contact. Now more than ever, I understood why Michi had asked me to deal with my anger over the shop back in Vienna.

  Michi wore a rich cobalt blue robe that stood sharp against his pale skin and black hair. Though I knew the color of the pastures and the sea would outshine our clothing, I wondered at the significance of Michi's robes and his color choice. He had seemed thoughtful this morning, as if every gesture held weight.

  The sky was a pale yet vibrant blue, the wind cascading over the meadow grasses a pattern that caught my eye. Michi was in no rush, so as we walked along, I placed the feeling coming over me—the energy in the air was saturated with the smells of nature, and underneath it was the same feeling I got in both apartments in which I had lived with Michel. Even in his dingy, cramped apartment, the air had felt so clean and bright.

  We left the embankment and stepped onto the last patch of meadow before the cliffside. The wind rushed to greet us and whipped my hair into my face. Shielding my eyes against the spray, I stopped and gazed at the water.

  "The sea level used to be much lower. It allowed Celtic people from as north as Wales to as far south as coastal Spain to hold trade routes and visit each other. That's how the insular Celtic languages remained so similar: Cornish and Breton, Manx and Welsh. People knew each other, and intermarriages allowed genetic diversity even after the Romans conquered and isolated them."

  Michi glanced over when I didn't react, and that was when I made the connection: the sea had chosen the color of his eyes.

  "Can I pray here?" he asked. "Do you mind?"

  "I don't mind, sweetie," I replied, knowing how much prayer meant to him. "Go ahead."

  The grass wafting against my legs and the call of gulls in the distance centered me such that I wasn't troubled when Michi's soft-sung prayers did not lead to visions of home in Vienna, but instead to my full experience of this place. I let them come and go, riding on the soaring dragon of Michi's singing voice lilting on the wind.

  When Michel turned to face me, there were tears in his eyes but not a hint of distress on his face. He wore a calm, completely clear expression. He came to stand in front of me and I uncrossed my arms and reached out to him, wanting to know the reason for those tears. A strong gust off the sea billowed Michi's robes.

  "Is something wrong?" I asked, afraid to end the quiet moment from his ritual.

  "Nothing is wrong," Michi answered, taking my hands. "Nothing is wrong," he repeated, even though the tears had renewed, pooling in his clear green eyes and spilling down his cheeks.

  My chest clenched, aching for him but not knowing why. "Please tell me."

  Michi sank to his knees and cradled his cheek on the backs of my hands. I felt his warm tears searing my skin, my own heart hurting in response to my partner's pain.

  "We met one year ago," Michi said with emotion choking his voice. "Klaus introduced me to you that morning. I took you to dinner at a café that is now our favorite, a place of so many happy memories. We live together in our home, hundreds of quiet evenings spent reading on the couch. I never grow tired of your body, of your voice. I always want to know your thoughts, how you think and what you feel."

  "Michi." I sank to the grass so I could get a look at his face, carding his hair back with my fingers. "Tell me what hurts so I can fix it."

  "You don't hurt me, Flor." Michi said through his sobs. "You heal me, but let me get at what I'm trying to say."

  I squeezed his shoulders, my heart imploring him to not be sad. "It's not worth saying if it makes you like this."

  Michi laughed, tilting his face to the sky. "You're so dense."

  He took my hands and pressed them together between us, his covering mine as if in joint prayer. "I want to marry you, Florian. I know you're young, but I'm willing to wait. As long as I know you want to someday marry me, I'll wait as long as you need."

  Adrenaline surged through me and ran away with my thought process. "What? We're not legal to marry in Austria or France."

  "Our
countries aren't the world," Michi said softly. "The Netherlands legalized gay marriage in 1989. Let's get married on the way home, then we'll take the Dutch certificate to a lawyer in Paris and see what it can get us."

  I kissed his tear-soaked knuckles. "I'm not too young. Why do you want to get married?"

  "Because I want to be with you forever."

  Now it was my turn to chuckle. "I had already planned on that. I guess I'm one step ahead of you. I don't see how approval from a government vindicates how we feel."

  "It doesn't, but it protects you. It ensures that my assets are legally yours, that I can visit you if you're sick."

  Now tears burned my eyes at imagining being blocked from seeing him in the hospital. I nodded. "I want that too."

  Michi reached into an inner pocket of his robes and pulled out a box. Inside it held two rings: thin bands of gold. I held my hand out, and Michi slipped one on my ring finger. It was lightweight but strong. Then Michi held his hand out and I slipped the other ring on him.

  My lover's eyes were red and swollen from all his crying. "I love you, Florian."

  "I love you too, Michi. And I want to get married right now. Let's change our tickets and go to Holland."

  My lover smiled. "Tomorrow, love. We can wait one day."

  The final morning of our trip, we watched the sunrise at Stonehenge in a foggy quiet too profound for words.

  Sol flipped to the next tab and a note from Florian fell out: Here it is, ten years later. We passed a quiet decade, working and traveling to special collections libraries. We were both such bookworms, we didn't really have friends outside of Klaus and James at work. All I wanted to do was work and then go home and curl up with a book. Michi and I would take long walks after dinner, and what with our trips around Europe, we were content. I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything; in fact, I was completely satisfied with my life.

  "Is that it?" I asked. "There's no more happy entries after this?"

  Sol heaved a gigantic breath, scanning the page. "I think it's darkness from here on."

  We took a quick break. I brushed my teeth and mentally prepared myself for what Sol was about to read. When we reconvened at the kitchen table, I wanted to cuddle, but I didn't want to read about Michel's death and Florian's broken heart while snuggling on our bed. So I scooted right next to Solomon, our chairs pressed together, and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. Solomon kissed my forehead, then touched eyes with me, his gorgeous face filled with trepidation, and began to read.

  August 20th, 2015

  On our ten-year anniversary, we took the subway across town to our favorite café. Once seated on the train, Michi fiddled with my collar—patterns amused him, and this collar had a frill pleat—while I leaned close and let him think, loving him patiently and silently.

  I regarded my husband for a long moment, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. When I was young, I had always felt like an adult in a child's body. The longing to be regarded as an adult, so common among teenagers, manifested twice as strongly in me than my peers. I had settled into a stable relationship right out of the gates, instead of jumping around to see what the world had to offer. I had gotten married at twenty, and had never regretted it, not even for a moment.

  At dinner, Michi gazed across the table, the candlelight reflecting off his glasses. "I'm remembering our first date here."

  I smiled bashfully at my wine. "Nineteen to twenty-nine is a long time. I was so young."

  "You were so young, evidenced by the fact that when I pointed it out, you got so mad."

  I laughed. "I'd just wanted you to take me seriously."

  My husband reached out and took my hand. "I love you, Flor."

  Heat raced up my arm to my cheeks. "I love you too."

  He twined our fingers together. "Till death do us part, yeah?"

  "Or unhappiness. I don't want you to stay with me if I make you miserable."

  Michi chuckled and shook his head. "Ever the practical one."

  "Always."

  He sobered, his gaze on our hands but looking off into a different time. "You're so good to me."

  My stomach dropped, because although his words were sweet, I knew what he was really talking about. "Have you been getting scary readings in your cards again?" I asked softly.

  Michi let out a long, shaky breath, stretching the silence between us. I waited him out.

  My husband nodded slowly, his expression darkened. He swallowed, touching eyes with me briefly and then glancing away. "Dark readings in the cards, and there's so much at stake. I have a family now—you."

  This wasn't the first time Michel's tarot cards had told him something gruesome, but things always turned out all right. I thought back to the time he'd begged me not to go to work one day, but I'd stubbornly refused to call James to take my shift. The milk steamer on the espresso machine had blown up and burned my hand, which had hurt but wasn't the end of the world. So much for spooky cards.

  "Everything will be okay, honey," I said, stroking the back of his hand with the pad of my thumb. "Everything will be fine."

  Chapter Seven

  In the months following our ten year anniversary, Michel became increasingly insomniac and I spent many nights comforting him from nightmares. He even went so far as to ask me to stay with Klaus one night. The next day, Michi draped a pale blue amulet on a silver chain over my head. He said it held his protective magic. It clearly made him feel better to make it for me, so I wore it. Furthermore, the amulet felt…loaded. As if I could tap the stone, and a huge river would come roaring out of it. His nightmares calmed significantly after that.

  November 13th, 2015

  I'd just finished drawing the six espresso shots for the accounting team when my husband burst into the library, eyes wild.

  I froze, the bag of espresso beans halfway to pouring into the machine. "Honey? What's wrong?"

  He stormed around the counter and I set the bag down.

  Then my husband wrapped me in his arms, his scent filling my lungs and his soft sweater enveloping me, those long fingers carding through the hair at the base of my head.

  Michi pulled back just enough to grab my elbows. "We'll move to Vienna. Tonight. We'll pick up and go."

  Helplessness doused me like a bucket of cold water.

  "Hey." I clapped my hands on his shoulders, then slid them up to his cheeks. "Focus on me. Breathe with me, nice and slow. Here we go."

  I counted slow beats of a long inhalation, made him hold it for a beat, then counted the exhalation. We did that several more times until my lover's pupils had shrunk back to their normal size and I could see those beautiful green irises again. Whenever I looked into Michel's gorgeous eyes, I remembered the way he'd looked when he'd proposed to me on the coast of the Celtic Sea, ten years ago.

  After a long moment in which thankfully no customers interrupted us, Michi finally breathed normally again.

  "Don't let fear into your heart," I said softly. "Don't let it into our marriage and our home." I knew Michel was more than strong enough to repel it. He'd finally been sleeping through the night the last few weeks. I didn't want to lose this precious, tenuous peace we'd been granted.

  "I'm sorry," Michel said, barely above a whisper. "France is bombing Syria this morning."

  A chill ran down my spine. "That's horrible, but Michi…there's nothing you can do about that. Whoever made the decision, let's vote them out of office. We'll attend a protest and sign petitions, but ultimately you're not the person who made that terrible decision."

  Michi nodded and apologized again.

  I kissed his sweet lips. "Let's go to dinner tonight at our favorite café, just like always. And you can smooch me around the corner and recite German vocabulary."

  At last, he smiled. "Okay."

  That night we settled into patio seats at our favorite bistro and Michi breathed a sigh of relief. I had adamantly spent the day not thinking about whatever was going on in the Middle East. When James had arrived at work, he c
learly had no idea anything was happening, so I took that as tacit permission to sign off and tune out. Klaus no doubt was telling Michi the same thing, to focus on work instead of worrying about possible repercussions of decisions over which we regular people had no control.

  The waiter brought our wine and a breadbasket. I dug in, urging a baguette on Michi. My husband smirked, as if to say he knew what I was doing, but he was a good sport about it and took a piece of bread.

  The next moment, Michi's posture jerked up straight and he looked around as if lost. I blinked at him. What was going on?

  He searched for something in the café, peeking at the glass that separated the patio from the inside. Then he snatched up a knife from his place setting and gazed at it with intention, bringing it nearly to his nose.

  "Michi?" I worried he had cracked under the stress.

  When my husband gazed at me, he did so with eyes tinged grey, like a cloudy sky before a thunderstorm, not the bright emerald green eyes that always reminded me of the Celtic Sea.

  "I love you," he said in a rush, and his voice sounded different.

  I sat arrested, unable to move lest my mind betray my eyes and tell me I wasn't seeing this.

  "I love you, Florian," he said emphatically. "No matter what."

  My stomach dropped. When was the last time he had called me Florian instead of Flor?

  "Michi, what's going on?"

  Then in an instant, between one blink and the next, his eyes changed back from grey to green. As if he had temporarily forgotten himself, Michel relaxed back in his seat, slouching the way I'd grown accustomed to seeing from my beloved librarian.

  "What were you saying?" he prompted.

  From everything that had just happened, I had forgotten that I had been about to say something. I wracked my brain. "Do you think the ominous readings in your cards foretell that we will get divorced someday?"

  Michel's expression went cold as ice. He leaned forward and grasped my hands in his.