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I smiled as I laid in bed about three weeks after he proposed to me. Though I was alone that night, I was still incredibly happy. The shock and joy of being engaged had not quite worn off and I had gone on a small spree with wedding things. I bought invitations even though I knew that we probably wouldn't be married for quite some time. Still, I was excited and too excited to sit still with wedding plans at that. The smile remained plastered on my face as I listened to the soft pop behind my bedroom door. Footsteps followed, as I had expected.

“Good morning,” I said as George opened the door and laid down next to me. His eyes were sad as he looked at me. As I fluffed up the pillows on the right side of the bed so that he would sit down next to me, he took my hand and held it to his cheek. I was, quite frankly, baffled by this. It wasn't the gesture that confused me; it was the way he was looking at me. I felt as though he didn't want to be here or as though he had bad news to tell me.

“Please don't look so sad,” I begged. I pushed him down against the pillows so that perhaps he would relax a bit. He shook his head, but not in refusal. It was as though he was telling me that he wasn't sad.

“I'm not sad.” Sighing, I leaned forward and rested my head on his chest, curling up against his side. His fingers played with my curls distractedly; I chose not to say anything, but rather let him think. I had thinking of my own to do. This thinking didn't have to do with our wedding, though. I'd been offered a job at a new boutique for robes in a Parisian Wizarding village.

“If you're not sad, smile for me,” I whispered, needing his smile now more than ever. I looked up at him and he gave me a half-hearted grin. I'd known him long enough to know that he wouldn't smile unless he was happy, so I was relieved that he did smile at me. It meant he wasn't sad. Perhaps he was frustrated with something.

“I'm just confused,” he said.

“What are you confused about?”

“Life, I suppose,” he laughed.

“I must agree with you; life is very confusing.” I sighed and snuggled my head further into his muscular chest. He continued to play with my hair as we both sat and thought. I'm not sure what he was thinking about, but that dream of a job was still on my mind. There was no way I could take it, though. I couldn't be without George; he was like the air I breathed. But, it was a dream job.

“I got a job offer.”

“That's great! Where in London is it?”

“Love, it's...well, it's not in London.”

“Oh, then where in England is it?”

“It's not in the United Kingdom.”

“Oh.”

“It's in Paris.”

He fell silent, his hands no longer moving but completely still on my back. Neither of us seemed to be breathing; the room was unmoving as I waited for his reply. The only sound was the sound of people below and of children playing ball outside my apartment building. I was, quite frankly, scared. If George was silent, something was terribly wrong.

“This is the job you wanted.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“I don't know; I wanted to talk about it with you.”

“I want you to take it if that's what you want.”

“But I don't know if I want it anymore. When I applied, I wasn't engaged and finally sitting down with you to plan our future.”

“That's true.”

Again, we sat quietly. Occasionally, we stole a glance at each other. Sometimes George smiled at me as though it would help my decision making process. It only made it worse because if I left, I wouldn't get to see that smile ever day. That's when I knew what my decision was. His smile meant the world to me and not seeing it every day would be the death of me.

“I don't want it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I love you too much to live in France. Besides, I don't speak French.”

“I see.”

I laughed softly and sat up straight. He looked at me and chuckled; I grinned, obviously. Leaning forward, he held me in his arms and we talked. Not much came out of my mouth, for I enjoyed listening to what he had to say. He was telling me about what the few things he wanted for our wedding were. He wanted a big wedding cake (I laughed at this) and most importantly and nice place to honeymoon. For some reason, the last part didn't surprise me. Men could be such pigs sometimes.

“You know what else we need to do?” he whispered in my ear. His warm breath was comforting against my neck.

“What?”

“Find a house.”

“A house?”

“We can't live in apartments forever, especially not if we're going to have kids. A flat is no place to raise a family.”

I smiled, and not because he wanted to look for a house. He was warming up to the idea of having children and living a happy life together. I pressed my lips against his chest, the smile still plastered across my face. If this is what being in love was, I hoped that I'd be in love with him for the rest of my life.

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