Almost Forever: An emotional debut perfect for fans of Jojo Moyes. Laura Danks

strands as if he spent his days on the beach and not in an office, and I thought back on all of the incredible memories and moments we’d shared together. I knew, just from the way his eyes held mine, that we both loved each other unconditionally.

      ‘I could just look at you forever,’ he said and, damn it, I almost fell off the chair, his words made me so dizzy with emotion.

      We were having an amazing time, and with every smile we exchanged, the atmosphere between us seemed to grow more and more romantic. The wine was making my limbs loose and my spirit soared. Paul kept looking at me as if I was the most beautiful woman on Earth. He leaned over often to kiss me and softly stroked my fingers, creating a pleasant tingle of excitement in my belly.

      ‘This weekend in Paris is exactly what we needed,’ I said, but the excitement I’d felt earlier was slowly turning into an overwhelming feeling of discomfort. Everything had been so incredibly perfect until now, when an inexplicable sense of apprehension sparked from the pit of my stomach. I felt uncomfortably hot as well, but I blamed the wine.

      Unwilling to let these little details ruin the evening, I just decided to ignore them.

      We worked our way through the ‘plateau de fruits de mer’ in front of us, but truly Paul was the one doing most of the eating while I just nibbled without much excitement.

      When a cramp turned the top of my stomach into a knot, I took a deep breath and shifted my attention back to Paul, hoping that the whole thing would just go away.

      ‘Try at least one,’ Paul asked, offering me the last remaining oyster, but the sight of it was enough to make me go pale.

      ‘No thanks,’ I said as a sense of nausea rose up from my stomach. It was suffocating.

      I leaned away from the table, feeling slightly better only after the waiter finally came to take the tray away.

      ‘God, Fran, I love you so much,’ Paul said, leaning across the table to kiss me. The unease ebbed away and I felt weightless with joy. When he was only inches away I closed my eyes and sighed when his lips gently pressed against mine.

      The dreamy buzz inside me was crushed by the salty taste of seafood that lingered in his mouth and I felt my stomach roll.

      I retreated back against my chair, inhaling deeply and hoping to calm the queasiness that hit me.

      ‘Fran, are you all right?’ Paul’s worried voice came across to me in waves.

      I shook my head, then picked up my glass and drank some water, hoping that it would help, but I realised immediately that it just made things worse.

      I stared at him, scared that I was about to throw up in the middle of the restaurant. I was light-headed, my ears were ringing, and I felt cold sweat dripping down my back. My face was burning, while violent shivers shook me from head to toes. I prayed quietly that I’d manage to get back to our room before it was too late.

      ‘We need to go,’ I said quietly, already standing up and collecting my handbag, forcing myself to take deep breaths and avoid making any sudden movements.

      ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Fran?’

      ‘No, I’m not. Please let’s go, Paul!’ I begged him.

      ‘Sure, of course,’ he said, signalling to the waiter for the bill, then took enough money to cover the cost of twice what we ate from his wallet. He pushed the euros into the waiter’s hand as we rushed out the door and into the street.

      ‘Mille fois merci,’ we heard him shouting as the door closed behind us.

      The fresh air helped but I knew I only had a few minutes before my body would win the battle of wills.

      ‘Wait, Fran, what’s going on? Did I do something wrong?’ asked Paul as we rushed back to our hotel, which luckily was less than a block away.

      ‘No,’ I said and clamped my mouth shut again. ‘I think I’ve got food poisoning,’ I said, striding fast, pressing my lips against each other as firmly as I could while inhaling deeply through my nose.

      ‘Are you sure? I’m feeling fine.’ Paul squeezed my hand gently as he matched the speed of my walk.

      ‘Yes … pretty sure …’ I said, swallowing the saliva that was already filling my mouth, aware that I wouldn’t be able to keep my stomach under control for much longer, and once the sickness started there would be no stopping it.

      I’d had food poisoning once before, a few years ago, when I was working on an excavation in South America, so I recognised the symptoms immediately.

      I fidgeted while Paul fumbled with the antique lock of our room and wished that for once we’d stayed at the Radisson where they used key cards on their doors.

      ‘Quick, Paul. I’m going to be sick!’ I said, knowing that I had very little time left before the contents of my stomach made an appearance on the floor. Then, the second the door opened in front of me and, holding my hand over my mouth, I ran to the bathroom.

      Once the first wave was over, I was so weakened that even getting up from my kneeling position in front of the toilet seemed too much effort for me to accomplish, so I just stayed where I was, leaning against Paul’s chest, while he stroked my back.

      ‘Are you better?’ he asked in a soothing voice that was my only comfort as another bout started. When he offered me a glass of water, I took a tentative sip, but as soon as the liquid hit my stomach, I was sick again. It took four goes for my body to believe that the poison had been cleared out of my system.

      Paul endured it without flinching or leaving my side.

      When it was finally over, Paul took me into his arms and carried me to the bed. I felt like a ragdoll when he laid me down gently against the pillows.

      ‘Sorry …’ I whispered, closing my eyes.

      ‘I should be the one to say sorry for forcing all of that seafood on you,’ he said, kissing the top of my head.

      ‘I’ll forgive you, if you don’t mention the word seafood ever again,’ I answered. I remained, for a very long time, quiet and immobile, with my lips firmly shut, trying to stop the shivers and hoping that the stomach cramps would subside soon too.

      Paul took my hand in his and massaged it gently, stroking my skin with the soft touch of his fingers. Eventually, the shaking subsided and my knotted stomach seemed to be less achy.

      When I started to feel better, even if only slightly, I murmured against his shoulder as I snuggled closer to him, ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Dans la maladie et dans la santé …’ he said solemnly.

      I looked at him and the intensity in his eyes made me quiver. I knew that sentence. I understood its meaning. It was part of the French wedding vows, the equivalent of the English ‘in sickness and in health’.

      I didn’t quite know if Paul had chosen those words for any reason other than they fitted the situation; so unsure of how to respond, I said in admonishment, ‘Paul … This is not the time for jokes.’

      He wasn’t smiling; he just kept his eyes fixed on me until my heart started to beat faster and faster with anticipation. He pursed his lips, slowly touched my cheek with the backs of his fingers.

      ‘Marry me?’ he said eventually, and my heart stopped. He made it sound like a question, but there was strength underneath his gentle plea. I swallowed just as my throat closed up.

      ‘Marry me, Fran,’ he repeated, lowering his forehead to my clammy one.

      I was pulled in so many different directions, I had to close my eyes to regain some balance. Excitement, and fear, and joy, and more fear were a whirlpool inside my chest, so I took a minute to collect all of those conflicting feelings and find the courage to answer him.

      ‘I’ve thought of proposing to you for so long, Fran, that I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t have