Beyond paradise (39 page)

Sylvie touched her belly and nodded, causing him to lunge into an embrace that swept her off her feet. The harder she laughed, it seemed, the tighter he squeezed. "Oh God," he said, rocking her back and forth, "a baby. Sylvie, I..." He set her down and knelt at her feet. He took her hand and kissed it, worshipping it, loving it. "Well, is it. . . are you sure?" She nodded, still grinning from cheekbone to cheekbone. "Well, what is it? Is it a boy or . . ."

"I don't know," she laughed. "Jacques, you know that I don't know that."

"But it just seems so amazing," he said, gazing at her belly without daring to touch it. "You can make a baby. I just thought you might have other powers as well, you might be able to ... I don't know." He stood up and hugged her once more, a gesture bursting with excitement. "Sylvie/' he "Sylvie, I want you to know. Deaftiess . . . it's not always inherited. The baby, he or she . . . maybe he won't be like me. He'll be able to—"

Elizabeth Doyle

"Jacques." She stopped him with a finger upon his mouth and a loving but scolding look. "I hope nothing more for my baby than that he or she will be in every way like you."

He swallowed, appreciating the sentiment, but added, "I just don't want you to worry."

"Jacques," she said, "have you learned nothing? Don't you see?" She shook her head, her eyes full of tears and love. "There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with me. We are perfect so long as we love. And this baby will be surrounded by love."

Jacques said nothing. He took her hand in silence and with a confident smile that said more than a thousand words, he asked her to take a walk with him. He wanted to take a stroll along the Seine, to bask in the beauty of the moment of this new place they called home. This city in which no one really knew them, where they were forever living an awfully pleasant lie. They strolled hand in hand like a pair of love-struck children carrying a terrible secret. Every now and then, they looked at one another through the evening mist, their eyes full of love and mischief. What a coup they had staged against destiny.