As Amélie slid into the plush, velvet seat of the booth, she felt a sudden rush of self-consciousness wash over her. The weight of all those appreciative stares and hushed whispers hung heavy on her shoulders, and she couldn't help but blush at the attention. She had always been a private person, not used to being the center of so much male admiration.
As soon as the maître d'hôtel stepped away to fetch her a glass of the house sparkling wine he had promised, Amélie covered her burning face with her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to compose herself. She could feel the heat of her blush spreading from her cheeks down to the base of her neck, no doubt painting a vivid picture of embarrassment and a touch of excitement.
"Mon dieu, I can't believe I'm blushing like a schoolgirl," Amélie muttered to herself, a note of self-reproach coloring her voice. "I'm not some naive ingénue anymore. I should be used to this kind of attention by now." And yet, despite her words, she couldn't seem to stem the tide of red creeping across her skin.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm her nerves and regain her composure. As she did, she caught a whiff of the bistro's rich, savory aromas - the garlicky scent of fresh baguettes, the earthy musk of aged cheeses, the crisp, tangy notes of a fine French wine. The combination of smells was both comforting and invigorating, and Amélie felt a flicker of anticipation for the evening ahead, however, that didn't help with the rapid beating of her heart.
"Jesus Christ, why am I so nervous?" Amélie muttered to herself, her heart pounding a staccato rhythm against her ribcage. "It's just a blind date, nothing more." Yet, even as she tried to convince herself of this fact, she knew there was more to her anxiousness than mere pre-date jitters.
As soon as Camille had mentioned the name of her date to be Julien, a flood of memories had come rushing back to Amélie, each one more bittersweet and nostalgia-laced than the last. She remembered the way Julien had looked at her all those years ago, his dark eyes filled with a love and a longing that had stolen her breath away. She remembered the way his hand had felt in hers, his fingers intertwined with her own as they walked through the campus quad, a pair of star-crossed lovers lost in their own little world.
And so, as she sat there in the candlelit booth, Amélie couldn't help but want to look her absolute best, to dress in a way that would make Julien's jaw drop and his heart race, regardless of the fact that the chances of this man being the Julien she knew were slim at best. She had spent hours agonizing over her outfit, trying on dress after dress until she found the perfect one - the red silk number that hugged her curves like a second skin and made her feel powerful, desirable, and irresistible.
"I don't know why, but the possibility of seeing Julien again, of him laying eyes on me after all these years... it makes me want to be the best version of myself," Amélie admitted, her voice a soft whisper in the hushed atmosphere of the bistro. "I want him to look at me and see the woman I've become, to regret that he ever left me."
Almost unconsciously, Amélie's hands drifted down to smooth the fabric of her dress over her thighs, the silky material cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She adjusted the neckline, a subconscious desire to display her assets to their best advantage. She even reached up to check her makeup in the small compact mirror she had brought with her, a fierce determination glinting in her green eyes as she ensured that not a single detail was out of place.
As Amélie fussed with her hair and makeup in the compact mirror, a sudden deep, rich voice broke through her thoughts, sending a shiver down her spine. "Bonsoir, Mademoiselle. I apologize for my tardiness." The voice was unmistakably male, and unmistakably familiar, though tinged with a maturity that Amélie had not heard before.
Amélie's head snapped up, her eyes widening in shock as they landed on the man standing before her. She blinked once, twice, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing. The boyish charm and youthful exuberance that had once been a hallmark of Julien's appearance were gone, replaced by the rugged, handsome features of a man who had lived and loved and lost. His once unruly dark hair was now neatly trimmed and styled, a few strands glinting at his temples. The soft, plump cheeks of his youth had given way to a strong, angular jawline. But the eyes... oh, those eyes. They were the same eyes that had once gazed at Amélie with a love so pure and all-consuming that it had taken her breath away, the eyes in which she had once lost herself in for hours on end... they were now framed by a few fine lines, a testament to the passage of time and the experiences that had shaped him into the man he was today.
"Julien?" Amélie breathed, hardly able to believe her own ears. "Is it really you?" She stood up slowly, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribcage as she took in the sight of him, searching for any sign of deception or trickery. But as she looked closer, she knew with a bone-deep certainty that it was indeed him, her first love, standing before her after all these years.
Julien stood frozen, his dark eyes wide with disbelief and a flicker of something else, something that made Amélie's heart race and her breath catch in her throat. He stared at her, his gaze roaming over her face, taking in every detail, every curve and angle that he once knew by heart. Amélie could feel the weight of his stare, the intensity of his focus, and she wondered with a sudden, desperate ache in her chest if he even remembered her after all these years.
"Julien?" she whispered again, a note of uncertainty and a touch of fear coloring her voice. "Say something, please..." She searched his face for any sign of recognition, any glimmer of the love and devotion he had once held for her. She'd be damned if he had forgotten her, if he could look at her now and not see the girl he had once promised to love for eternity.
Time seemed to stretch out before them, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness as they stared at each other in silence. The bustling atmosphere of the bistro faded away, the chatter and clink of cutlery against porcelain dimming to a distant hum, until all that remained was the pounding of Amélie's heart and the rough, ragged sound of Julien's breathing.
And then, just as Amélie was about to lose hope, to crumble under the weight of her own desperate longing, Julien spoke. "Amélie," he breathed out, his voice a low, hoarse whisper that sent a shiver cascading down her spine. "Mon dieu, it really is you..." His words trailed off, a note of awe and a touch of disbelief coloring his tone.
Julien's eyes locked with hers, a fierce, intense gaze that seemed to pierce right through to her very soul. Amélie's breath caught in her throat, a sudden lump forming in her chest as she drowned in the depths of his eyes, the same eyes that had once gazed at her with a love so pure and all-consuming that it had stolen her breath away.
The initial shock and longing that had washed over Amélie was quickly replaced by a surge of anger and disgust. How dare he show up now, after all these years, without a word of explanation or apology? The memories of the pain and heartache he had caused her came rushing back, a tidal wave of emotion that threatened to drown her in its intensity. Amélie's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms as she fought the urge to lash out, to scream and rage at the man who had once promised her the world and then taken it all away without so much as a goodbye.
Julien seemed to sense her fury, his gaze dropping to the floor as he shuffled awkwardly in place. "Amélie, please..." he began, his voice a low, hesitant murmur. "Won't you sit down? We need to talk..." He gestured to the empty chair across from her, a silent plea for her to hear him out.
Amélie hesitated for a moment, warring with herself as she debated the wisdom of staying or the satisfaction of walking away. But in the end, her curiosity and her desire for answers won out over her anger. With a sigh of resignation, she sank back down into the plush velvet seat, crossing her arms over her chest as she fixed Julien with a baleful glare.
"Talk?" she scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "After all this time, you think you can just waltz back in here and we'll have a nice little chat?" She shook her head, a look of disgust and a touch of incredulity playing across her beautiful features. "Fate is such a bitch, isn't it? Reuniting me with the man who left me high and dry, the one who made me promises he had no intention of keeping." Her voice was low and hard, each word dripping with a venom that was as painful as it was honest.