Twenty years ago, Pierre LeRoux came to Australia, following the stunning Aussie girl he’d fallen in love with and married. He and his wife put their personal lives on hold, determined for Pierre to take Sydney’s culinary society by storm. Just as his bright star was on the upswing, tragedy claimed the woman he was hopelessly in love with. He had been known as a Master Chef, but since his wife’s death he has become known as Monster Chef.Can two broken people rebuild their lives and find happiness once more?
“Eva, are you here?” I wait for a few moments to pass, praying she’s not really gone, that she’ll appear beside me and wake me from the nightmare I’m stuck in.
“What do I do? How can I come back to living? I have nothing left, mon amour. You left me and took my heart with you. I know you didn’t want to leave, but you’re gone and I don’t know what to do. You were the only thing that ever made sense, and now you’re no longer with me. I don’t know how to go through the next forty or fifty years without you.”
I look up at the majestic moon. Maybe she can give me some insight as to why I’m still breathing.
“I’m struggling, mon amour, really struggling. Every moment of the day I think of you, and I pray my time to find you is near. Please tell me, whisper a word, touch me with your warmth, anything. I just need you to guide me through this. I need my angel’s soft voice to take my pain away.”
A gentle wind kisses my cheeks, softly drifting around me, caressing my skin with tenderness. I blink quickly and stand, leaning my arms against the railing.
“Are you here?” I ask quietly, hoping to hear her voice just one more time. “What can I do to touch you? Even for one short moment, to see you, to hold you, to kiss your warm lips, just one more time.”
The wind tenderly embraces me, enveloping me in a sensation so intense my heart begins to pound inside my chest.
“Show me what I need to do,” I beg the breeze.
It continues to dance around me, stopping for a moment only to start again with the same delicate choreography.
She’s here, she must be. I’ve called on Eva for help, and she’s here to save me.
“Mon amour,” I whisper as I close my eyes.
A delicate floral scent floats past me. I catch just a small whiff of it and know my love is near.
“Help me survive,” I sigh, hoping Eva can help me rip down the walls I’ve built so high around me.
I stretch out my arms while tilting my head up toward the sky. “Show me,” I say in a breathless whisper.
A tingle runs over my exposed throat, a soft, small brush awakening the life inside me. Buried deep inside this dead body, a tiny flicker tries to illuminate my dying soul. The curtain of gloom is struggling to lift. Deep inside, I can feel it trying to fight the pull of the heavy weight.
A flashback to our wedding takes me back to the day Eva walked toward me, her hair loosely falling over her shoulders, a ring of daisies around her head, her feet bare as she walked in the sand holding one single yellow tulip. Her smile was so beautiful; her eyes alive and full of love.
Eva shyly lowered her gaze as she glided to me, the rays of the sun sweeping over her blonde hair and making her look like she had a halo guiding her to me. The smell of the ocean intoxicated us as the salt clung to our lips.
“I’ll never fall as long as you are near.” It was a sentence I had meant with every fibre of my being when I spoke during our exchange of wedding vows.
I can feel the tears breaking through. I let them roll down my cheeks, allowing me to remember the good times, the loving times. The love we shared, the way my heart ached for her touch, how my blood heated whenever Eva was near me, the small smiles she’d give me when she thought I wasn’t watching, falling asleep holding hands and knowing we’d never let go.
“I’m sorry I let you down. I’ve fallen and I don’t know how to stand again.”
The wind swirls around me, nuzzling close to me, gently stroking me, encouraging me with love and the strength to rise and finally breathe.
“I will try to stand without you. I’ll try and make you proud of the man you married. I am so sorry for giving up.”
There’s something about the written word that is pure magic.
Possibly it’s the fact there are 26 letters in the English alphabet, and they can create something so beautiful or so empowering they’re capable to change our lives.
How important is it that we break suit and stretch our minds?
I like to think of myself as ‘unique’. My stories aren’t for everyone, and sometimes I may push what you believe to be ‘normal’.
Normal is subjective.
I prefer to be known as a person who’s never been ‘bound by custom’ but is ‘unique by choice’.
I hope you do read and enjoy my stories.