My Only Wish Cette Annee

My Only Wish (Cette Année)

This is a sequel to my '

All I Want for Christmas C'est Toi

' . I recommend that you read that first, as this story heavily references the events in Lyon that first bring the main characters together, as well as establishing their connection.

If you choose to skip reading the first part, it's good to keep the following in mind: The story follows Julie, a waiter at the prestigious Hotel-Dieu in Lyon, and a hotel guest visiting from London that she first met at work over Christmas - a very beautiful woman Julie calls 'Madame'.

'All I want...' takes place in Lyon over the course of 48 hours, but 'My Only Wish...' stretches over two years, skipping between Julie's and Madame's points of view in Lyon and London. Don't let the jumps throw you.

I didn't originally intend 'All I Want...' to have a sequel, but the characters and their chemistry just wouldn't leave me alone. There was a story there to be told, so here is my version of it.

Big thanks to the great @

SugarStorm

for Beta reading this and picking up all the things that I'd missed. As usual, all the wrong or strange bits I decided to keep are mine, not theirs. I heartily recommend that you check out their stories.

-----

+++++

Madame

+++++

Lyon, Boxing Day morning.

Her quiet, rhythmic breathing was the only sound in the room.

Steady. Deep.

A teasing ray of sunlight sneaked between the curtains into my room at the Hotel-Dieu de Lyon, kissing her pale shoulder, playing in the pink coloured streaks in her hair.

I lay perfectly still and traced the lines of the small tattoo at the nape of her neck with my eyes. A little bird, wings spread in flight, drawn in simple outlines. It was beautiful, like her.

I drank in her warmth, and the slight rise and fall of her chest under my hand, possessively draped over her body. The simple touch of her soft skin to mine felt grounding, felt right. Her ass nestled back into my hips, her back against my breasts, the back of her thighs touching the front of mine.

Close. Connected.

It was a feeling I desperately craved after too many years lacking. A feeling I hadn't been expecting to find. At least, not here. And it wasn't just physical.

I felt... whole.

My eyes wandered to where her neck met her pale shoulder, where yesterday's bite mark was starting to bruise. The red teeth marks slowly turning blueish. There were more, on her breasts, her ass. I couldn't help feeling ashamed of having given her those but also aroused at having given pleasure with pain so freely accepted. Yearned for.

Another feeling I hadn't expected to find here.

I bent my head to her shoulder and lightly kissed the bruise.

She slept in my arms. Still, peaceful. Trusting.

I wished I could stay with her like that.

I wished I wasn't leaving.

---

The security check line at Lyon-Saint-Exupéry was long and slow going. Families travelling home after the holidays in France, children crying, parents fudding with their clothes and bags, people fishing out their laptops and iPads and trying to make heavy skiing coats fit in the plastic screening containers. The French security officers boringly reciting the usual mantra of liquids and electronics.

She was on my mind as I waited. Her sapphire blue eyes looking in mine as she pulled away from our goodbye kiss, happy for our time together, sad that it was over. The sway of her sexy ass as she hurried away down the corridor, hoping not to be seen. That last flash of the pink streaks in her dirty blonde ponytail as she disappeared around the corner towards the elevators.

I wished I could stay.

But it wasn't to be.

I was going back to London, back to my daughter. Back to my life.

Her life was here, in France.

It had been a magical two nights.

A Christmas miracle.

But as the plane rose towards the skies, and I watched Lyon fall away, her last words echoed in my mind.

"

Au revoir madame. Au revoir... mon amour.

"

Until we meet again, my love.

---

London, Boxing Day evening.

Edward opened the door with a smile.

"Hey, happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas Ed."

"How was Lyon?"

"It was surprisingly nice, better than I expected really. A bit strange being there by myself, but all in all it was great. It's a beautiful city."

"That's good to hear, Sophie was a bit worried you'd be miserable on your own." He turned towards the kitchen.

"Fancy a cuppa? She's getting her stuff together."

"Yes please."

I took off my coat and followed him. It was still strange coming to this house as a guest, having lived in it for six years as a family. I reached for a mug in the cupboard and held it out for Ed to pour. He passed me the sugar.

"So how was your Christmas then? Everything good?"

"Yes, I think so. Mother joined us, I think Sophie was happy all things considered."

He looked at his mug.

"It's a little strange of course... for all of us. Different."

I knew what he meant.

"Yeah, I know."

We sipped our tea in silence.

"I wanted to thank you, for... you know... letting me have Christmas."

He had a sincere look in his eyes.

"It means a lot."

"It's not a question of letting, Ed, she's your daughter, and you love her. I know that. It was an easy decision."

"Yeah, well, I'm just saying I appreciate it. Thanks."

"Mum!"

I was suddenly wrapped up in an octopus hug from behind. When it loosened a bit, I turned around and hugged her back.

"Happy Christmas Mum!"

Sophie's face glowed with a big smile.

"Happy Christmas sweetheart, oh, it's good to hold you!"

"Did you open your present?"

"No, I left it at home because I want to open it with you tonight."

"Oh." She had a second of disappointment and then the smile was back on.

"Even better! Then I get to watch your face when you open it."

"You're making me curious now, baby. What did you get me?"

"No, not telling!"

"Well let's get home then so I can open it!"

She let go and jumped out to the hall to put her shoes on.

Ed looked amused. I gave him a pointed look.

"You know what it is, don't you?"

He raised his hands in surrender.

"Oh no, put the thumb screws back in your purse, you won't get a squeak out of me!"

I laughed and put down the mug and gave him a peck on the cheek on my way to the hall.

"See you after New Year's, Ed."

Sophie hugged her dad goodbye, carried her bag down the stairs and threw it on the back seat of the Audi, then sat herself in the front. We waved as we pulled away towards Kensington.

"You came straight from the airport? Did you have a good time in Lyon? Was the food nice? How is Christmas in France?"

"One question at a time! Did you have sugar for breakfast?"

She laughed.

"No, I'm just happy to see you. I missed you. It was weird having Christmas without you."

"Me too honey, I missed you too. But I was fine. You saw the hotel; I was pampered in luxury the whole time."

Many kinds of delicious luxury.

"It looked amazing, was it like an old French palace or something?"

"I thought so, but it's actually an old hospital. Oh, and the food was to die for. So good."

"Maybe we could go there for summer holidays sometime, together."

"Yeah, maybe."

In my mind, I was back there, in her arms, the summer sun playing in her pink streaked hair.

---

The divorce was an amicable one. Edward knew our marriage was over long before I told him. Ours wasn't a love story for the ages. Getting pregnant at 18, just three months into a loosely defined relationship, wasn't a great foundation for a happily ever after.

We got married a year after Sophie was born, and at first, we were happy. Ed's parents were very well off, and they provided us with a small flat and a good job for him in the family firm.

My own family didn't have much in ways of money, but love aplenty, and they helped in every way that they could. Sophie was loved and we didn't want for anything. My mum looked after Sophie when I went back to university to finish my design degree at Goldsmiths and wouldn't hear of us getting a nanny for her precious granddaughter. We were lucky, surrounded by people who loved and cared for us.

But as the years passed, it became more and more obvious that our marriage was based on our love for Sophie, not for each other. We were partners raising a daughter, not lovers.

We gradually found out that neither of us was up for providing what the other wanted in the bedroom. He wanted a willing but dutiful wife for regular but ultimately unprovocative sex. I needed... well... not that.

It added to the general 'not working out' direction of our marriage, and in the end we both just lost interest.

It's a sad thing, not feeling desired.

It eats at your confidence. Wears you down.

Telling Sophie about the divorce was the hardest thing I'd had to do. We agreed on joint custody, so Sophie alternated between a week at her dad's and a week at our wonderful new house on Abingdon Road, which she adored. It was a difficult adjustment for her, but she gradually adapted well to our new reality.

We found Fait Maison on Stratford Road on one of our first walks around our new neighbourhood, instantly falling in love with the beautiful décor and the exotic café vibe of the place. And the food was to die for.

Sunday brunch at this beautiful spot, every week that Sophie stayed with me, became our way of connecting better, a haven away from the everyday hustle and bustle to talk about the week's plans, unload teenage drama or reflect on life in general over French toast or yummy shakshuka.

The divorce was finalised a few months after Sophie's fourteenth birthday.

I was suddenly 33 and single again.

It felt liberating and terrifying at the same time.

I tried the dating apps, but I hated the shallowness. No emotion, no real connection. They say blondes have more fun. I found that online, blondes mostly attract more creeps.

So, I stopped. Decided that I would take some time to get my new life on track, spend time with Sophie and work on my business. Love would happen if it happened.

And then, when I wasn't looking, I was struck by lightning.

---

London, April.

"Mum?"

The late April sun shone in the window, illuminating the colourful interior of my favourite café, at our traditional late Sunday mother-daughter breakfast at Fait Maison.

"Mum?"

I picked at my poached eggs on smashed avocado, my mind far away.

"Hey, MUM!"

I snapped back, looking up at the frowning teenager at the other side of the table.

"I'm sorry sweetie, what did you say?"

"I said..." she paused and then shrugged. "Oh, never mind, it's not important."

She stabbed annoyingly at her French toast, doing her best to make me feel guilty. Succeeding as usual. I swear that girl could pout for England.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, just a bit distracted."

She huffed, and I could see the fight leave her shoulders. She was never one to sulk for long. It was one of her qualities that made us able to communicate better than some other mother-daughter teams that I knew.

She looked up again, those bright green eyes and long lashes melting my heart just like the first day I held her in my arms nearly fifteen years ago. She looked a bit worried though.

"You're always distracted, Mum. What's going on with you?"

"I don't know, baby."

I knew.

"Maybe I'm still getting used to it being just the two of us, you know?"

It wasn't that.

Her eyes narrowed. She stabbed at her French toast again.

"Fine, don't tell me then."

Her disappointment was written all over her face, but this wasn't something I was prepared to talk to her about. It was too complicated. I just needed to get over it.

"Can you drive me to Christa's later?"

"Of course, sweetheart, when do you want to go?"

---

'Drip, drip, drop little April showers...' ran through my head as I made the dash from my car to the entrance of the building that housed our small design studio in Battersea. Bambi had been Sophie's favourite Disney film when she was little, and that song got stuck in my mind whenever it rained. And it was even April now, so there.

"Good morning, Jemima, Tom."

"Good morning boss!" Tom was obviously in good spirits.

Jemima followed me to my desk and held out some papers.

"Mr. Andrews would like you to call him about the Whitechapel office redecoration. It's about the meeting room."

"Oh, I wish he would give up on that meeting room nonsense. It will only fit four people anyway and will just crowd the space. There's a perfectly good sixteen chair meeting room on the second floor."

"All the same, he wants you to call."

"Fine, I'll call him. Anything else?"

"I got the Shoreditch job!" Tom had a huge smile on his face.

"You did!? Well done you magnificent scoundrel!"

Tom took a bow. The renovation and reimagining of an old café/restaurant in Shoreditch was an account that we'd had our eyes on for months, after it was bought by one of our former clients.

It was going to be a big job for a small interior design studio like ours, but one that would look great on our résumé.

"They want to meet us next week to go over the details."

"Super! Set it up, there's not much in my diary next week, but I can't on Thursday, I have to take Sophie to the doctor's."

"Everything okay?"

"Yes, fine, just a regular teenage-girl-check-up sort of thing."

"Oh okay, I'll see if I can schedule it on Wednesday then. I've got a full Monday of meetings in my diary, and I have to finish the Morgan pitch on Tuesday."

Tom and I met at Uni after I had Sophie, and we hit it off right away. He was a good friend, a great designer, and an even better business partner. We started our little firm at my kitchen table soon after we finished and used his talent and charm, and mine and Ed's family's business contacts to rapidly grow. We were still small in the grand scheme of things, but we did well enough for Sophie and I to live comfortably and on our own terms.

Ed's mother still insisted on paying her school fees, which obviously made it easier, and before his father died, they had set up a hefty trust fund that she would gain access to when she turned 21. My girl would not have to worry about money in the future, and I was extremely thankful for it.

"Is Benjamin back from Brussels? Would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow for a little celebration?" Tom's husband worked at the Foreign Office and was on a rotation between London and Nato HQ in Brussels.

"I'm picking him up at Paddington at five thirty, I'm sure he'd love to come."

"Great, Jemima, are you free? No hot dates?"

"Not this weekend, I'd love to, thanks."

Tom sat down at his desk on the other side of the studio space.

"Speaking of hot dates, how did things go with the hot architect?"

Jemima raised her eyebrows.

"Hot architect? How come I haven't heard of this?"

I rolled my eyes.

"It was nothing, just drinks with someone Lennon set me up with. Works with Oliver. I suffered the obligatory two drinks and superficial chat and then fled."

"So, what was wrong with this one?"

"Nothing, he was just... really boring." I wrinkled my brow. "What do you mean 'this one'?"

"I mean that you are very good at finding something wrong with pretty much everyone you go on dates with. Not that there are many of them. I saw the picture of this one... he was a right dish."

"Shut up Tom, it's not... it's just not what I'm looking for right now."

"So, what are you looking for then, if it's not 'hot, smart and rich'?'" Tom was tilting his head looking at me curiously.

My mind was suddenly filled with beautiful small breasts and pinkish nipples, a hot, full arse and a deliciously wet pussy.

"Erm..."

"Interesting."

"What?" I tried to shake the silly feeling that he knew exactly what I had been thinking about.

"I think you know exactly what you want."

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Yes Boss!" He saluted stupidly and chuckled as he turned back to his desk.

"I'm not your boss, you clown."

"Whatever you say, Boss."

Jemima smiled and hurried to the front room to grab the phone.

"Wallace and Parker Interior Design; How may I help you?"

As I dialled Andrews' number for yet another explanation of why adding a meeting room would ruin the first floor of his new offices, the images evoked by Tom's questions lingered. A pink streaked, dirty blonde ponytail. Warm sapphire eyes.

I shook my head, as if to shake her loose from my mind.

She held on.

---

London, May.

"Can Christa sleep over on Tuesday? We need to finish our history presentation."

"Sure sweetheart, if you promise you won't stay up all night."

"We're not ten anymore Mum." I could hear her roll her eyes at me.

"I know," I chuckled, "it's much worse. You're that terrible thing that comes after ten-year-olds, teenagers!"

"Har-har, very funny." She liked to pretend that mum jokes were even worse than dad jokes, but I could see her smirking out of the corner of my eye.

We drove in silence for a bit.

When we got to the townhouse in Clarendon Road she leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"So, you're sure Christa's mum is going to drive you home after dinner?"

"Yes, Christa said she promised."

"Okay baby, have fun. I'm going to meet Aunt Lennon for dinner, so I'll be home around ten. Text me when you're home safe."

I waved goodbye and waited until she was indoors before I steered the Audi towards home again.

The Colliers were good people. Sophie and Christa Marie had been like twins since elementary school, and I felt lucky that my daughter had such a good friend. I knew how important it was to have someone you could trust and talk to about everything. I had one of those myself, and she'd gotten me through some rough spots.

After a quick stop at home to get my coat, I headed for the Tube. I mainly kept the car to be able to transport Sophie around, and taking a car into Soho and Fitzrovia was just asking for a mental breakdown, even on a Sunday afternoon. Plus, since Anne was driving Sophie home, I could have a few drinks.

I got off at Tottenham Court and walked the few minutes to Berners Street, to our favourite drinks-before-dinner spot. As I turned into the fancy glass entrance at the Edition the doorman nodded a welcome and held the door for me.

I spotted Lennon in the sofa on the right-hand side and plopped down beside her, mercifully facing away from the dreadful giant chrome alien egg that dominated the space.

"Hey Len."

"You're late. I started without you." She sipped her Pink Bicycle unapologetically.

"Sorry. I had to drop Sophie off at Christa's and then get the car home."

"May I get you something?" A crisp waiter slid soundlessly to my side. She was eying me expectantly with a polite smile.

I started to ask for a prosecco to start with, but Lennon cut me off.

"No, no, we need something stronger than that today. Give her a Pink Bicycle please and don't hold back on the gin. And be a darling and bring us some olives as well please. Thank you."

She put down the menu as the waiter nodded and slid away towards the bar.

"Oliver is driving me mad!"

I chuckled.

"What has the poor darling done now?" I loved Oliver. He was the sweetest, calmest, most caring man I knew. How on Earth he ended up married to my hurricane of a best friend was a mystery to all but them.