Viva la France
Geneviève Moreau and Enjolras d'Aiglemont had always been an 'us'. Their names, spoken in tandem, were as ancient and inseparable as the sprawling family estates that bordered each other, the same estates from which their fortunes sprung. Both families, old money with newer ventures that only solidified their wealth, had been intertwined for generations, their friendship a tapestry woven with shared history, triumphs, and the occasional scandal. From the moment Geneviève and Enjolras had tumbled from their respective nannies' arms into the same sandbox, their future had been implicitly understood: they were destined to marry. It was not a fate resigned to, but one they both actively desired, for they were not merely childhood sweethearts or convenient alliances; they were, in the truest sense, best friends, and deeply, irrevocably in love.