Walter de Ville's Advocate

Epilogue 2/2

We've been in Paris for the last three years, and the basic French that Evie knew upon her arrival has blossomed into near-fluent speaking. I often find her talking to others at the markets, always so excited to strike up a conversation with a local or anyone visiting the city.

And just as I ended up suggesting on our flight over here, Evie resumed her MFA from her university in New York, albeit through mostly online courses. She did take a few solo trips back when she needed to do special presentations or participate in various events, but even the close watch our private investigator had on the three families didn't fully sway my worries.

Logically, I knew that there was no way to live without any risk of harm or danger, but after spending so long as an immortal, and always needing to be the protector for those in my life . . . I was still adjusting.

Then there were those lonely nights in our 38 square meter apartment that had me wishing for simply someone, something to be close to me. I craved the comfort of physical proximity, and I couldn't quite understand why.

Sure, I knew I loved Evie, but why did I desire her touch so badly?

Halfway through that final year of her degree, Evie arrived home with two gifts. Well, one gift and one idea.

"So, I know it's last minute, but I have to fly back to New York on Wednesday," she said carefully with her shoulders raised timidly.

I paused stirring the new sauce I'd been working on, having found out that my hunger for human food – now finally able to truly taste the wonder again – had turned into a passion for making food, especially unusual cuisines. Not everything turned out great, but Evie was almost always kind about what I served.

Almost.

"You just went last week for three nights. How long is this trip?" I had spooned some of the pasta sauce from the pan a moment prior, and now it was just cooled enough to test. I motioned her closer to me, and she disembarked the stool for a sample.

Evie moaned almost immediately. "It's so warm, like, the flavor is warm. What's in that?"

"Cardamom," I replied as I gave it one last turn before cutting the heat. "I thought it would round out the tang of the tomatoes and garlic, and bring in the coziness of the holidays."

Evie nodded as she went back behind the kitchen island.

"Well, Grace's birthday is in a few days, and it's the big 3-0," she muttered as another noise echoed throughout our small apartment. "Um, anyways, she's got the weekend free, so I was thinking that I could head in for a counseling session to firm up graduation, meet with a couple professors about the upcoming midterms, then she and I could – um – come back here?"

I furrowed my brow, "Grace wants to stay here? In the same place that I am?"

Evie shrugged, "She's coming around, you know? And I think you both being in the same place, talking face-to-face, is the only way we are going to get through this."

"I wasn't aware that there were more than two in this relationship, getting to make decisions," I trailed off. Evie caught my eye, and the stare she gave me – coupled with a raised eyebrow – told me exactly what card she was considering playing against me.

Luckily, another sound broke that tension.

"What is that?" I asked, wandering over to the balcony to see if little Neva had escaped from Monsieur Barre's apartment again. That cat was quite the tricky thing, but I did enjoy petting her when she stopped by occasionally.

"Oh, so I bought a cat," Evie announced, lifting up a little caboodle. "He doesn't have a name yet, but I know that you don't sleep great whenever I have to leave, so—."