The Memory of the Alps

I was stunned for a moment, and he had already strode out of the revolving door.

The people around looked at me curiously.

The ringing of my phone pulled me back to reality.

It was an international call from Luke Shaw; he must have discovered my disappearance from New York.

I walked out of Sebastian’s building while swiping the screen to answer: “Luke.”

“Why?” he growled, suppressing his anger over the phone. “Haven’t I treated you well enough? Why did you run away from the wedding?”

“I just wanted to go back to Paris to take a look, the wedding can be held anytime.”

“How can it be the same?! Lily Evans, can you stop acting like a spoiled brat? The whole upper class is waiting and watching this wedding. You ran away like that, where do you want me to hide my face?”

My steps halted, and I started to get angry too: “When deciding the time and place of the wedding, you didn’t bother to ask my opinion, you decided everything alone. Since that’s the case, why should I ask for your permission when I leave?”

“…So you don’t want to marry me, to be Mrs. Shaw?”

I didn’t answer, because I saw Sebastian’s tall figure again.

He was standing next to a convertible, having not left yet.

Our eyes suddenly met. I thought he would ignore me again like before, but unexpectedly he walked straight up to me.

His deep voice rang out: “Didn’t you want to see me? Now, get in the car, are you coming or not?”

I was stunned.

Even Luke on the phone, hearing Sebastian’s fluent French, was so angry and shocked that he couldn’t form a proper question.

Sebastian stared at me, his eyes commanding me to hang up the phone.

I obediently hung up, opened the door, and got into his car.

Yet the man who just invited me into his car, after I settled in and buckled up, didn’t say a word, focusing solely on driving.

The expensive black shirt was worn neatly, showing off his broad shoulders and tight masculine profile. Under the yellowish streetlights of Paris pouring in, it created an indescribable charm.

I quietly observed him from top to bottom, extremely carefully.

Finally, he seemed to lose patience, frowning and opening his mouth: “Why did you come back?”

“To find you.” I blurted out honestly.

The hand holding the leather steering wheel trembled slightly. He turned to glare at me with a pained expression, as if he had just heard a cruel joke.

I felt a bit wronged.

He pulled the car over to the tree-lined street along the Seine, loosened his silk tie, turned his head, his gray eyes already red: “Lily Evans, what kind of trick do you want to play this time?”

Under the bobbing Adam’s apple, the skin peeking out from the slightly opened collar looked so sexy. I stared blankly.

Until my chin was lifted by long, slender fingers: “Where are you looking? Look straight at me and answer the question.”

I blinked my long eyelashes: “I don’t plan to do anything. I had an accident and lost my memory. I happened to see your picture on a magazine cover, thought you looked familiar, so I came back to ask if we knew each other before?”

“Amnesia?” He sneered coldly. “Is this the script you came up with for your complete disappearance over the last seven years?”

“You don’t believe me?”

I hurriedly pulled my phone out of my Chanel bag: “I have medical proof!”

I opened the photo album, intending to show him the English medical records from my hospital stay in the US.

He only glanced at it, then turned his face away, pressing his thin lips tightly: “You’re really thoughtful, even preparing fake documents to trick me.”

Above those red, suppressed eyes, his eyelashes trembled slightly.

I was a bit confused by this stubborn and strange man.

The delicious smell of garlic butter wafted over from a French restaurant across the street, making my stomach rumble.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, and just as I moved slightly to get out, he suddenly locked the car doors with a click, looking at me with eyes carrying a hint of poorly concealed unease:

“You said you have amnesia, so you traveled all this way to find me to do what? Rekindle our old flame? Then what about your billionaire fiancé? Or are you planning to two-time us, keeping him in New York while you have fun with me in Paris?”

Old flame?

I sharply caught the keyword: “So we used to date?”

He was speechless.

I moved closer to him, looking straight into his eyes: “I knew it, my taste in men couldn’t be bad. This look is exactly my type.”

“…”

The tips of his ears turned bright red under the lights, not knowing if it was out of anger or embarrassment.

“But why did a couple like us break up? Who suggested it first?”

“Think about it yourself?” He snapped, turning away.

I hesitated, pointing at myself: “…Don’t tell me I dumped you? How could that be?”

He snorted coldly, looking out the window, ignoring me completely.

On the outside, he seemed very harsh, but overall he gave me the feeling that he was sulking and feeling aggrieved.

“Sebastian, I’m hungry.”

He was a bit stunned, seemingly unable to keep up with the leap in my thoughts as the topic changed so abruptly.

But I pointed to the bustling food street outside: “Let’s go eat something?”

He looked in the direction of my finger, not knowing what past event he remembered, his expression both dazed and tinged with a bit of melancholy.

“A rich miss like you still has the appetite to swallow this cheap street food?”

“For the past seven years, I’ve indeed only eaten at Michelin-starred restaurants. They forbade me from eating street food.”

“They?”

He paused, his voice turning noticeably hoarse: “Your fiancé’s family?”

I didn’t answer, reaching out to press the unlock button and pushing the door open to get out.

He frowned and had no choice but to get out and follow me.

The food street was near the Sorbonne University campus, where I used to study Art.

If I remember correctly, the campus was right around here.

“We used to date around here, right?”

“Not at all.”

“Answering so quickly means we have.”

He choked up again.

I smiled brightly, turning back to look at him: “What did we usually eat here back then? Lead the way.”

His face darkened, looking reluctant and impatient.

But his long legs ultimately still obediently took strides to lead me.

The tiny Escargot restaurant was hidden deep in an alley packed with students.

As soon as he saw Sebastian appear, the pot-bellied owner enthusiastically ran out to greet him.

“Mon ami, haven’t seen you drop by in a long time. Why are you so free today…”

Halfway through his sentence, he froze when he saw me behind him, his tone surprised: “Oh la la? Isn’t this your beautiful college girlfriend? She’s back in Paris?”

As if suddenly realizing something, the uncle patted Sebastian on the shoulder and laughed loudly: “I was wondering why you suddenly called to reserve this familiar corner table this morning, turns out it was to welcome your girlfriend back.”

Sebastian had called to reserve a table this morning?

I was wondering when he had booked the table when Sebastian cleared his throat guiltily, interrupting the owner: “Get us the usual portion, uncle, same old taste.”

He hesitated for a moment, glanced at me, and added: “Less mustard for her portion.”

Upon hearing this, I wrinkled my nose and retorted immediately: “It needs a lot of mustard! How can garlic butter baked snails be eaten blandly?”

The owner, unaware of the situation, laughed heartily: “That’s right, didn’t this little girl used to demand extra mustard until she cried from the spice?”

Sebastian frowned sternly: “Didn’t you have brain surgery? You still dare to eat something so spicy it shoots up your nose?”

“So you did peek at my medical records?”

He was choked up by me for the nth time.

I covered my mouth and giggled secretly.

Earlier in the car, he clearly acted arrogant and didn’t want to look, I thought he hadn’t even glanced at my phone screen.

Unexpectedly, just a glance and he scrutinized even the surgical details.

I discovered that Sebastian Silva, despite his cold exterior, was actually a very meticulous and caring person.

“It’s fine, it’s been seven years, my body has long recovered. You don’t need to worry too much.”

“Who cares about your health… Eat however you want.”

He turned away abruptly like a cat whose tail was stepped on, a bit angry from embarrassment.

But he didn’t open his mouth to stop me anymore.

However, it seemed I overestimated my current tolerance for spice.

After just a few snails, the spice shot up to my brain, I coughed violently, eyes tearing up, and my face turned bright red.

Sebastian cau mày nhìn tôi chật vật, quietly pushing a glass of white wine in front of me.

I took a sip and grimaced: “Why is it warm wine?”

“Drinking cold drinks right after eating hot spicy food isn’t good for your stomach.”

“I’m about to suffocate to death from the spice, who has the time to care about the stomach.” I gasped, tugging at his sleeve, urging: “I want ice water…”

The mustard taste rushed to my brain, making me momentarily forget the seven years of separation and the fact that I was suffering from amnesia.

Almost out of familiar instinct, I grabbed his arm, my tone slurring with a bit of whining and pleading.

Sebastian clearly froze completely, only letting out a sigh of compromise after a long while: “Alright.”

Then he stood up to get a glass of ice water for me himself.