"What if I don't remember the words?"

"You always do."

"What if I trip and fall on my ass?"

"You'll be fine."

"What if I fall off the stage?"

"Paul," I told him, after straightening his tie.  He looked fantastic, and so did the other lads.  They looked quite adorable in their matching suits and haircuts.  They had just gotten their hair trimmed an hour before.  With his guitar strapped around his back, he was more anxious than ever.  We could hear the hum of people waiting in the audience.  "You've done countless shows by now.  You shouldn't be worried."

His big brown doe-eyes looked at the curtain that would open in about ten minutes time.  Biting his lip, he said, "I just really want this to go well.  Promise me nothing bad will happen?"

Though I knew it was already a broken promise, for I had no control over what was going to happen, I only knew what had already happened, I said, "Yes.  Of course."

When it was only a few minutes until showtime, the lads walked single-file out to their positions on the stage.  Quietly, I whispered, "Bonne chance," to each other them.  Good luck.

The lads, of course, were fabulous, and the audience went wild.  Another country the Beatles had began to conquer.  Though they were nervous, you wouldn't have been able to tell.  Paul was winking at a pair of French girls in the first row, who were hysterical by the end of the show.  John was as happy as he could get.  George smiled at the audience, sometimes doing some sort of little dance while playing his guitar.  Ringo was flipping his mop-top happily like he should have been.  

And then there was me, about as awestruck as the girls in the audience, taking notes for Brian's reports.  

But I couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.  

The lads, after greeting some fans and doing some interviews, went out for drinks after the show.  Brian was deeply engaged in conversation with a Frenchman who was organizing the lads' shows at the opera house.  I heard Brain say, "The lads enjoyed a great success."

I was writing down the last few sentences for my report when Paul, nodding to John and Ringo, who had a few adoring girls who they were chatting up, said, "We were all thinking we'd go out.  Would you want to come?"

Feeling a bit embarrassed I said, "I've...I've got to see Doctor Baudine tonight."  I looked down at the ground and gently closed the notepad I'd been writing on.  

"Oh," his face fell.  "I'll come with you, then."

"No, go out and have some fun.  I'll be alright." I tried to force a smile.  

Kissing my hand, which made me blush slightly, he said, "I promise you that one of these days I'll take you out and we'll go for a walk in Paris.  Be perfect tourists.  Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"I'll be fine."

He turned back to his bandmates.  George got up to talk to me, for he wasn't talking to any of the French girls.  But I gave him a look that said We'll talk later.

And so I rode silently back the George V with Brian and his companion.  I wished the boys were having a good time, because I felt I was being trapped in that magnificent prison of a hotel.  

It was no secret I was making progress with Doctor Baudine, though he did not know about my attempt a few days before.  Though I wanted to tell Paul first, because I knew he would be angry if the doctor was the one to break the news.  I had to be honest with him some time, and to all the lads for that manner.  

I still hadn't talked to John after he called me insane.  I certainly would if he made an effort to talk to me, but he didn't.  He was so different from the John I had created in my mind before I met him.  Of course, I knew John was bold and brash and had his somewhat dark moments, but sometimes he was downright mean.  

Where was the John that threw a punch for me, but also kissed my cheek that day in the rain?  Where was the man who could be gentle when he wanted to, and rowdy to make you laugh?  

It wasn't the first time John had said something like that to me, but it stung on a deeper level.  After seeing a softer side of him, and experiencing it, why would he suddenly say something so cruel?

"Comment êtes-vous, mademoiselle?"  Doctor Baudine had began to speak some subtle French to me in our latest sessions after he found out I could understand him when he muttered to himself.  

"Je me sens bien." I replied, definitely not sounding fine.  Sitting down in the chair he preferred, he gave me a smile.  

"That is excellent, Elle.  Your progress delights me.  Now," He opened up his files and notepad, "have you had any more dreams lately?"

I shook my head.  When I managed to fall asleep at night, it was always just darkness and nothing more.  Endless hours of darkness.  

He nodded and jotted notes down on his paper.  "Have you been spending time with Paul lately?"

"A bit."

"It is good for you to talk to him.  He is your friend.  The boy cares deeply about you.  He loves you," Doctor Baudine continued to write without looking up.  It was interesting how he stated this so nonchalantly, as if he was discussing the weather.  

I shook my head again.  "Paul doesn't love me.  He's over me.  He fancies other girls."

Doctor Baudine gave me a look that read Silly girl.  "You know what the tourists say.  'The City of Love', yes?  I know what love is.  I am French."  He smiled.  I laughed.  

"Hopefully we can agree to differ, Doctor.  I am afraid I cannot believe you," It was true.  Paul had been noticing other girls, and he had to be out that night when one.  Though there would most likely be a language barrier between them, he would woo her with his wonderful accent and his dreamy brown eyes...

The doctor interrupted my uncensored thoughts.  "You are certainly progressing.  You have a...illuminate look in your eyes that I have not seen before.  I think that if we keep working on this things will get even better."

I nodded, smiling, but the pain on my shoulder burned with a fiery passion.  

I had to tell Paul.  

Before I tried again.  

That night there was a soft knock on my door.  Peering through the peephole, I said, "Come in."  

"Hello," George said, kissing my hand, and as he raised it to his lips my shoulder burned, "I've missed you so much.  It's like we've been apart for ages."  He leaned down to kiss me, and I did it quickly, feeling so guilty.

Looking down at the ground, I said, "I've missed you too."

He caught my gaze.  "Something wrong?"

I let out a breath and spoke very quickly.  "George, I've done something terrible.  Something you won't forgive me for."

"Who says I won't?"

"I know you won't."

Paul's POV

Going out with the lads was great, though I felt like something was missing.  Elle was missing.  Things were different without her.  

The girl I had met was lovely.  Adele was beautiful, and she had curly cream-colored hair that she loved to twirl in her fingers.  I was too busy watching her that we missed the cab that Ringo and John took off in.  Blushing, I asked her if she would like me to hail another one.  

"Walk me," She said, kissing my cheek and leading me down the street.  

Though the Paris air was crisp and cold, I felt warm with her so close to me.  There were many things I loved about Elle, I loved Elle, but I couldn't deny that I loved the feeling of a girl being so close to me, resting her head on my shoulder, giggling at my gaze.  It was something I hadn't gotten from Elle in awhile.  

Maybe I was too needy.  It could be the reason why she seemed to avoid me.  

I love you.

We walked past the opera house that was the setting of The Phantom of The Opera.  I almost mentioned it to Adele, though I thought better of it.  I was sure she had already known about it, and it was a story I knew Elle loved.  I had done enough thinking about her.  

"It is lovely out, isn't it?" I asked her.  

She wrinkled her nose for a moment, as if she couldn't understand me, but then nodded.  

As we neared her apartment, without warning, she pushed me against the wall and kissed me passionately.  After a moment, she pulled away, blushing scarlet at her actions.  I gave her a smile small so she wouldn't be embarrassed.  

Obviously feeling braver after my encouragement, she wanted more.  Placing a hand on my shoulder and running the other slowly through my hair and onto my back, she kissed me once again, bringing herself closer.  

Her kisses were sweet, but nothing like Elle.  

Elle.

Before her hands could wander any lower, I pulled away, running a hand through my tousled hair.  "I-I am sorry.  I cannot.  I am sorry."

Her eyes fell to the ground, her face flushing.  She did not look up at me for about a minute, and when she did her kind eyes were filled with tears.  "Paul..."

Adele ran towards her door, and I ran after her for a moment, but the final slam of the door spoke volumes.  "I'm sorry." I whispered, 

The City of Love.