The Face of Heaven (The Malevolent Sacrifices Novella)

Je T'aime

Juliet stood on the Alexander III, her brown hair dangling over the railing as she stared down into the water of the River Seine. Her hands trailed over the cold, feeling the texture of metal under the tips of her fingers. The river ran a dark blue, like ichor slowly oozing out of the many demons she's killed. Paris would have been more cheerful if she ventured out during the summer months, but knowing well enough she couldn't, Stephen decided to bring her in the heart of October, when France was quite chilly. Not as chilly as it could be, Juliet knew France could be quite cold in the month of December, so it was either freeze in December or slightly freeze in October.
"River Seine is quite beautiful, but I promise you that there are plenty of other beautiful places to stare at, my Juliet." Stephen came up beside her, each hand carrying to-go cups filled with hot chocolate. While Juliet had been staring out at the river, he had paid mind to a cart selling hot beverages, such as warm cider, coffee, tea, and of course, hot chocolate. She looked over at his hands, then took his offer, feeling the warmth of the cup hit her palms.
"I was told that hot chocolate from Paris is unlike anything else." Stephen said and took a sip. Juliet watched him as he considered this for a moment. "It's not bad." He shrugged. Juliet laughed.
"Don't lie, you read that off the brochure you found at the bodega around the corner." She nudged his side with her elbow. Then she sipped her own hot cocoa, pondering that maybe it just became the best hot chocolate she's ever tasted. "I mean, it's really good." She eyed Stephen for a moment. "We should bring some back home with us." She suggested. He nodded in agreement and took another sip of his drink.
"Where does Juliet want to go today?"He asked looking over at her. She had turned her head back to face the water, looking down once more into the dark water. If she squinted, she could see Andrew's face ingrained into the details of the waves. It hadn't even been 3 months since he died, since Ariel died, since Juliet drove her fingers into Leviathan's flesh and ripped his heart from ever being allowed to beat again. When Juliet showers, she scrubs at her nails until she swears she no longer feels the caked flesh stuck up under them. Yet, that is every shower.
"I'm not sure." She said softly. A part of this trip feels wrong to her, trying to find happiness in a world where her brother did not die happy, where her other brother locks himself away in his room in despair. She feels guilty for it. She felt Stephen tuck her hair behind her ear, then felt his fingers traced the contour of her cheekbone.
"We could stroll, admire the boats sailing along. We could go to museums, or even visit historical sites." He suggested, although Juliet heard that slight tone of doubt. He could tell her mind was somewhere else. "Or, we could not do anything today. We can go back to the hotel room, I can start us a fire, you can play away at your cello, then tomorrow we can venture about." He said softly, his thumb tracing the curve of her jawline. She shut her eyes, then leaned her face into his hand like a depressed cat. He did not ask what was wrong. Their relationship had succeeded past asking what is wrong, but instead resorting to comfort and gratitude. She moved to lean against the railing, Stephen's free hand finding its way through her hair, the locks twirling about like ribbon curling around a banister. Stephen pulled his hand away, then wrapped it about her waist, hulling her up and against him. She let her weight fall against him, then he managed to convince her to start walking with him, the breeze of River Seine kissing her cheeks to a soft red. They did not speak a word as he let her fret like a miserable cat.
This always happened. Juliet would do something exciting besides sitting in her room, and she'd feel guilty for having fun. She did not believe Andrew would like to see her mopey or sad, but she truly felt defeated. She murdered Leviathan, yet Andrew couldn't be saved and he's gone, turned to dust by the same fire that burned the remains of her Aunt Livia. Every day Juliet felt this part of her chest open up the same wound, over and over. It's gotten to the point to where she is immune to being restless.
They made it back to the hotel, soundlessly riding the elevator up to their room. Stephen didn't let go of her, his fingers fixated in the fabric of her winter coat, as if he was afraid of letting her go.
"I'll be okay." She reassured him. Though she could hear the slight tremor of doubt in her voice. She turned to look at Stephen then. He gave her a disbelieving glance. A line creased between his eyebrows as he furrowed them together.
"You said that yesterday and the day before. You said that when we boarded the plane and you promised your father you'd enjoy yourself. Juliet," he moved to run his hand through his hair. "You don't need to lie."
She bit the inside of her cheek. The elevator slid open, saving her from having to gift him a response. They moved together out of the space then down the corridor to their prestige suit.
The Hôtel Plaza Athénée relished in its exquisite decor.  The walls weren't bare nor were they overly decorated. Everything was modern and quite lavish.
Their room was even more gorgeous. Stephen didn't want to stay at the Paris Institute. The institute was crowded with Shadowhunters that neither of them knew. Plus, they weren't on a mission, they were on vacation.
They reached the door in silence and Stephen reached into his coat pockets for his key card. She heard the jingle of keys and watched him with his head tilted upward as he dug around for it. Finally, he pulled out his key card, slid it into the slot and the door clicked open. He took a glance at her then pushed the door open.
She clenched her cold fists, fumbling with her own thoughts.
Calm down, breathe. She assured herself as the door opened. She'd take off her coat, relax on the couch, warm up with the fire that Stephen will start, as he always does, and find a way to calm her mind. Stephen was right. She didn't need to lie about her state of mind.
Juliet set her cup of hot cocoa on the kitchen island, before shucking off her coat and tossing it on one of the recliners in the lounge room. As she predicted, Stephen walked over and ignited the fireplace in front of their bed. Juliet leaned against the chair, her hands gripped onto the its edge.
She closed her eyes, thinking of her brother, splashing in the ocean, laughing wild and free, being competitive, training with every ounce in his body to be the best shadowhunter of his generation.
Juliet felt her grip on the chair slip, then she fell to the floor, sobs breaking into the room.
She couldn't make out Stephen speaking to her, her mind drowned out everything but her brother. She felt Stephen's arms mold around her waist, and she gave in, to tired of fighting off everyone who tries to help her. She felt so tired of feeling this way, of the overwhelming sadness that consumed her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, trying to listen for Stephen's voice.
"Juliet." He spoke softly. "Juliet, Juliet, Juliet." He kept speaking her name over and over.
She muffled her sobs to little cries, picking her head up to look at him. He ran his arms up her body, cupped her cheeks and wiped her tears. He kissed the top of her head. "What did you think of this time?" He kissed her forehead again. And again. She didn't stop him. His soft kisses on her skin felt pleasant, as if each kiss were taking the pain away within each touch.
"Steph." She whispered out. "I always think of what I don't have anymore. I thought of Andrew again. I thought of him laughing and training and-" she took a deep breath, her voice going out of her. "I can't keep feeling this way but I don't know what else to feel."
Stephen rested his head against hers. "You have me. Although I may not be enough, I'll do whatever wills me to try to make you happy."
She closed her eyes to that. "Steph." She reached up and took his hands. "You are enough. Baby, you are enough."
Stephen let out a soft hum. "Well thank Raziel I'm enough. He knows you're enough for me." Then she pulled her arms around him. Stephen brushed his fingers along her back.
"He'd want you to be happy as I want you to be happy. I'll help you grieve." Stephen murmured.
"I do want to be happy." She said. "I want to be happy with you." She was sure of it.
"Je t'aime." He murmured to her. "I love you."
She smiled up at him. "Until my very last breath."
"And then even after, my love will remain." He said, his eyes shining pure gold.
"And even when I'm burning at the pyres, my heart will be yours, though it'll be ash."
"For we are dust and shadows, my Juliet. You and I, we will burn together."
"Because we are the metal that welds, we will never be apart."
"So I will say Je t'aime." He murmured. "Je t'aime."
Her cheeks flushed a deep red. "When my ash drifts to the ground like snow, I will still whisper je t'aime."
He leaned down towards her, his lips only a hair from her own. "When we are both gone, when our future ends with us old and almost dead, I will whisper Je t'aimerai toujours." I will always love you.
Juliet knew the poem so well that her and Stephen could recite it back and forth to each other. He wrote it for her in early September when they had gone on a date to Central Park. She was laying in the grass, watching the ducks swim in the pond. He was sitting up next to her, his pen working feverishly in his notebook. He was concentrating in a way that made him vulnerable, as if it was just him and his writing. Nothing, not even Juliet, could be able to break his concentration and separate him from his work. She found that trait of his to be stunning and beautiful. She could hear him quietly whispering out different words to test their sounds, she then heard the slash of the pen across the paper.
It reminded her very much of when she wrote music for her cello, which she had started to play again the day before their date.
Stephen set his pen down then and she looked up at him, looking at the big fat grin spread along his face.
Then he read it out to her and tears swelled in her eyes at how beautiful it was. At how truthful he made it. She pulled herself up and threw herself into his arms, sending them both flying to the ground.
"Je t'aime means I love you in French." He smiled at her. Juliet started to laugh.
"I got that part." And she kissed him.
"Come on a vacation with me." He insisted when they stopped kissing. She blinked dizzily at him.
"Steph, we're nephilim we don't just go on vacations." She said.
"Says who?" He grinned. "It'll be fun, my sweet. Just think, you and me. Traveling all around Europe?"
"You just want to go to France." Juliet teased.
"Yes, so what if I do? We can also visit London, Rome and Berlin. We can go to Amsterdam, too." He tugged on one of her braids, wrapping it around his finger. "Just think on it." He said.
And so she did. Now they were in Paris, the City of Love. In a suite that looked, and was, very expensive. They were in the cold weather where they cuddled together in their bed with the fire crackling in its grate.
Juliet rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes to the beat of his heart against her ear.
"Tomorrow, I'm cool with going to a museum." She mumbled. Stephen laughed.
He took hold of her hand and ran his fingers along her inner palm. It relaxed her very much, so much it brought sleep like a personal rain cloud to her very mind.
So she slept, dreaming of a romantic night in Paris, the two of them slow dancing, having only each other.