Stars collided, invisible orchestras trumpeted. I swear there was light surrounding her. It was one of the most incredible moments of my life. As if all roads had led me there, to that very moment, and I knew with utmost certainty my life was about to change for the better. She could have said she wanted to move to Timbuktu and I would have said, ‘May I carry your bags?’ We haven’t quite made it to Timbuktu, but we’re on a holiday in India and that’s been another great gift. I’m trying hard to leave the past behind, but I want the world to experience what I have with Émilienne. I want to sing Paris Cupid’s praises, because I know deep inside my heart, if we hadn’t started slowly, writing like we did, this would have ended the way all my previous relationships did: quickly, because we wouldn’t have had such a deep connection, developed over all those days and months writing about our lives, our hopes, our dreams and all the ways we’d failed. I’m sorry if I’ve broken so many rules, but I’m hoping you can forgive me. I only meant to show my gratitude and give others hope on their journey on the path to finding true love.
My pulse hammers loudly in my ears as I finish reading Emmanuel’s message. Can it be true? I take a moment to reflect to read between the lines and all I can come up with is that it’s a message written from the heart, and he means every single word. Why I’m struggling with such a notion is strange. Shouldn’t I be overjoyed the slow burn method worked? Why do I still have lingering doubt? Perhaps I need to hear Émilienne’s side for my mind to be at rest. Aside from her short texts assuring me she’s happy and in love, I have no real details from her. In writing to Paris Cupid itself, she might be more forthcoming.
Émilienne Lyon:
I’ve found the man I’ve been waiting for all this time. Oui, I fell in love with a man named Remy. A man who had a messy romantic history and a lot of regret about his past regressions. Regrets are such a waste of energy. Mistakes are a way to learn but not if you keep making the same ones. That is then a pattern of behaviour, not an error in judgement. Remy then did the work, facing himself in the mirror and owning his past. It’s a journey of forgiveness, and that work can only be done internally. But he did it. It wasn’t easy but he knew how important it was. There could be nothing romantic between us until the slate was wiped and he was ready to start fresh. For his benefit, not mine. He had a lot of soul searching to do, and so did I.
Over the course of our correspondence, we fell in love in the most organic and natural way. When he finally confessed in a letter to being Emmanuel Roux, that didn’t bother me. We’d worked on our past selves and I felt like we were both coming into this with open hearts. What came before is dust in the rearview mirror. I love him for the man he is now. Thank you, Paris Cupid, for putting the perfect man in my path. I wasn’t ever going to settle for second best, and I felt that mystandards made me unlovable, but now I know better. Staying true to myself has been difficult at times but the payoff is worth it. I’m blessed beyond belief and know that he is my life partner, the man who will stand beside me when inevitable storms come, and be there for the rainbows too.
I’m blown away by how honest they are with me. They’ve shared their vulnerabilities, their flaws, and worked through them together. This is proof that love-letter writing can really be the answer to finding real and lasting love. If a man called the Playboy of Paris can find love and settle down, anyone can.
I’ve always believed in the power of the written word and this gives me a real sense that Paris Cupid might just be as successful as dating apps are, and offers another method for those who want to find love at a slower pace.
I’m proud of Émilienne for sticking to her principles, for remaining true to herself. For not becoming starry-eyed at his celebrity status, and conversely not running away from that when the truth came out. If they make it work, there’s real hope for all of us.
If I’m to continue matchmaking, I’ll need help. Geneviève is a possible candidate. She’s the only person who knows my secret, and I can trust her implicitly. She’s already had a hand in drumming up business and spreading the word because she genuinely loves romance and hearing about happy ever afters. She will think outside the box when it comes to matching couples. And that’s what I’ve been trying to do all along. I often choose them the exact opposite of who they’d normally go for, because why not try to find someone different if what you did before kept failing time and again?
When it comes to matchmaking, I don’t have an exact formula. I don’t key in their heights, their weights, what they look like. I don’t ask for their non-negotiables, a checklistwritten in stone. Instead I focus more on what they felt went wrong in the past. They always become more honest the more they write. It’s like the floodgates open and they share and reflect on the past, includingtheirflaws and faults.
Before I get back to applications, I call Geneviève.
‘Lilou, to what do I owe this great honour?’
‘Would you like to help me with Paris Cupid? I mean, really help me as an employee.’
There’s noise in the background, laughing, talking, like she’s at a bar. ‘What made you decide this?’
‘I heard from Emmanuel and Émilienne. They’re in love. I sort of knew how Em felt from her texts, but I wasn’t sure about him. What they wrote was so heartfelt and honest. There is no question it’s real. Whether it goes the distance is another issue, but I’m hopeful it will.’
‘I’m happy for them, for you. I’dloveto help with Paris Cupid. What do you need me to do?’
‘Become a matchmaker extraordinaire!’
‘I hoped you’d say that! It’s like a romance novel coming to life! What fun we shall have!’
Geneviève’s enthusiasm is contagious. I get the feeling Paris Cupid might just have a solid future. ‘When can you start?’
‘Is tomorrow soon enough?’
‘Perfect. I’m going out with Felix tonight.’ If I don’t mention it and she finds out, she’ll wonder why I kept it to myself.
‘Felix? He’s lovely of course, but…’
‘But what? You were certain he sent the Cupid card the other day.’
‘It’s not that. It’s more, isn’t he the type you always go for?’
‘He’s similar, but clearly nicer. Anyway, it’s not exactly a date. More just two friends catching up.’
‘OK. I just don’t see fireworks between you two. Not even a little flicker of a flame.’
‘Well, I guess we’ll see.’
After we end the call, I reply to both Coraline and Kiki, advising them that Paris Cupid is once again open to matches, if they’d like to formally apply, but with the caveat we cannot guarantee a timeframe, and I ask them to be as patient as possible as we work to find them a most suitable match.
20
The humid August morning has me dragging my feet to meet Guillaume at Montmartre cemetery. It’s nearing the end of the month and soon it will be autumn. I’m torn between rushing to make it on time and slowing my pace so I don’t arrive a sweaty mess, weighing up whether the lecture will be worth it. I’m keen to quiz Guillaume on where he’s at with his letter writing after he admitted he was grappling with guilt. I stop on the bridge to wave – as always – to the ghosts who I’m sure hover below and then continue on, hoping today I’ll see Minou, who has been absent the last couple of visits. While the cats are wild, often locals fall in love with them and catnap them home, to live a safer more luxurious life in a Parisian apartment. I can’t begrudge them this, but the idea of not saying goodbye and never seeing him again hurts more than it should.
