Taylor took a look at her watch and ran through the airport, her platform shoes in one hand, so she could run faster. Her dress was shaking in every direction, following her hurried steps through the airport. A voice came out of the speakers in the huge hall, telling that the plane coming from Sydney had just landed; she had to run faster, so she would not miss him.

On her way, she clumsily bumped into many people, probably waiting for their flight, making them grumble and yell at her. But she had no time to waste to argue with any of them: John was coming back from Australia! She finally reached the hall full of people expecting their friends or family. She stood there, at the back of the big crowd, turned to the windows, showing the plane. Many started to shout and bang on the windows to catch somebody's attention. Taylor sighed and quickly made her way through the crowd, reaching the windows. She looked outside, blushing at the idea of catching a glimpse of her friend. Unfortunately, all the passengers had already reached the hall where they could take their luggage back.

Taylor was dying to see John again and spend some time with him. Luckily, they had the chance to call each other and spend hours of chatting about everything and nothing. In the meantime, Taylor celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday all on her own, sad that John was not here to party with her. They would have laughed so much, she knew it, and her birthday would have been happier. However, John took the time to call her before a gig, sending her his best wishes. He promised her that they would make up for lost time: how? He did not say.

After a few minutes of waiting, some passengers joined their friends, family, wives or husbands. Some cries of joy sounded in the hall, making the others smile or grumble impatiently. Taylor sighed, leaning against a wall, putting on her shoes again, looking up to see if John was coming. Everybody found who they looked for, and left the hall, leaving Taylor all alone. She sat on the floor, fearing that she might have missed him. When she was about to stand up and leave, she heard hurried footsteps coming from the long corridor that led to the hall. She turned her head, and finally saw John, wearing light clothes, carrying his heavy suitcase and his plane ticket in one hand, with his camera hanging at his neck.

Taylor shouted happily and jumped on her feet, threw her coat on the floor, along with her handbag, and ran to him. His face lit up with a smile, and he put down his suitcase, removing the camera strap from his neck, putting it down too. He stepped forward and let Taylor throw herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. She put her arms tightly around him, pressing her lips against his, stroking his hair.

“Oh gosh, John Deacon, I missed you so much, you have no idea!”

“My Taylor, it's so good to see you again! I missed you a lot too, you know!” he smiled, before clutching her. “I missed your pretty face! It was so sad not seeing it for so long!”

“Oh, stop pulling my leg!” she laughed, before her smile vanished. “John Deacon! You tanned!”

“Is that this surprising? I can tan like anybody, you know! I'm not that pale, am I?”

“No, of course not!”

They laughed, and Taylor landed back on her feet. She grabbed John's camera, hanging it to her neck, and stepped back to take back her coat and handbag, which she had thrown before. She asked him if he needed more help, but he refused, and gently took her hand, stroking its back with his thumb. They quietly walked out of the airport, finding John's car, which he left for her while he was on tour.

Taylor unlocked the car and opened the trunk for John to put his suitcase in it. She closed it, and kissed his cheek.

“Do you want to drive?”

“You can, if you want.”

“I know that you missed your car, and that you missed driving. Come on, get on the driver seat. Here's your key!”

She smiled and gave him the key, before bypassing the car and opening its door, sitting on the passenger seat. John got into the car and put on his seatbelt, sighing with satisfaction. He started up the car and drove away from the airport, heading for the core of London.

Taylor was watching the London landscapes passing by, a smile pinned to her cheeks. John was back, and she could not get any better. He stopped at traffic lights and gently took her hand.

“So, did you celebrate your birthday?”

“No, I just took a muffin and blew a candle, just to say that I blew one.”

“Ooh, really? Anyway, do you remember that I promised you that we would make up for lost time?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I'm taking you to the restaurant tonight. I'm driving you home, I'm going to let you prepare yourself and maybe rest for the afternoon, and I'll pick you up whenever you want. What do you think?”

“John Deacon, you're crazy. After so many hours of flight, you want to spend the evening with me in a restaurant?”

“And why not? Now that I'm back, I want to spend a lot of time with you! And I missed your birthday, so I have to try my best to be forgiven!”

“But it wasn't your fault.”

“Shh, I want to be forgiven! So: I drive you home, you take your time to prepare yourself, you give me a call when you're ready to go, and I pick you up. Alright?”

“Alright, alright. Is there any dress code in this restaurant? Or can I come with my flare jeans?”

John chuckled and turned right, entering South Hampstead, driving in its long streets. His laughter made Taylor more curious. He shook his head and glanced at her.

“No flare jeans tonight, dear! Put on your most beautiful dress, or outfit, and be gorgeous, as usual!”

“Stop pulling my leg, John Deacon! Where are you taking me?”

“I won't tell you.”

“Come on, tell meee!”

“Nah, nah, nah! That's a surprise!”

Taylor pouted and laughed, staring tenderly at John.

She suddenly felt an odd feeling invading her. Her eyes followed the lines of John's face, tracing the delicate line of his nose, this of his lips and chin... She imagined herself painting, or simply drawing him. He was handsome. During all this time that they knew each other, never had she noticed it. She spent so much time to see how beautiful his soul could be, that she forgot to look carefully at what she could directly see. She felt like making him stop and park somewhere, just to admire his face and kiss him. For the first time, she wanted to kiss him for real. However, she refrained from doing it, as he turned his head to smile at her, blushing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, I don't know. I wanted to, because I hadn't seen you for so long. Can I be honest with you?”

“Sure.”

“I've never realised how handsome you are. It's blowing my mind right now.”

John's eyes widened and he pouted lightly, his eyes focused on the road again. He shrugged and shook his head lightly, chuckling quietly.

“Sorry, Taylor, but you must've mistaken me for Roger.”

“Bullshit! Roger is cute, it's true, but it's not him that I prefer. And I'm fully honest!”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. He turned right at a junction, and parked before a tall building of red bricks. He coughed and got out of the car, bypassing it. Meanwhile, Taylor sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Why did I say that? Now he's all embarrassed. Congrats, Tay'!”

Taylor jumped when John opened her door, reaching his hand to her, which she took with a grin. She got out of the car and tripped on the pavement; he caught her before she could fall and hurt herself. Blushing and stuttering, she thanked him, planting a warm kiss on his cheek. She slipped a hand on his cheek, making him turn his head. Then, she pressed her lips against his, closing her eyes and blushing even more... giving him a friendship kiss, no more, no less.

John wrapped his arms around her, smiling while returning her friendship kiss. He pulled away slowly, stroking her cheek and putting one lock of her hair behind her ear. He tenderly kissed her forehead, poking the tip of his nose.

“I'm leaving you here” he whispered “so you can prepare yourself for tonight. Wear anything you like, I will have dinner with the most beautiful girl anyway. This is an honour, already!”

“Stop that!” she giggled nervously. “I'm not beautiful, not even pretty. And please, don't protest!”

She laughed and gave him another friendship kiss, stroking his hair. She freed herself from his arms, poking him in the ribs.

“So, all I have to do is to give you a call as soon as I'm ready?”

“Exactly!”

“But where are we going?”

“I won't tell you! I told you it was a secret, you'll see tonight. Now go and get ready. Call me whenever you want, okay? Wait, what time is it? My watch is in my suitcase.”

“What is your watch doing in your suitcase?” she giggled, before looking at hers. “It's almost five in the afternoon.”

“Hurry up, then, princess!”

He smiled and kissed her forehead, letting her go back home. She waved at him before getting inside the building. He blushed heavily and got back to his car and drove away, heading for his house, to unpack his stuff and get ready for her surprise.

Taylor unlocked her door and sneaked inside her flat, closing it behind her, and pressing her back against the cold wood. She sighed and buried her face in her hands. Why did she say such a thing to John? If she wanted to be ridiculous, she had succeeded. She did not understand why she made such a fuss about those simple words she told him. She only complimented him on his appearance: was it any kind of crime? Would she be thrown in jail for that? Of course not. Then, why did she worry?

She stood still and headed for her bedroom. No flare jeans for the evening. She simply had to put on her most beautiful outfit or dress. She suddenly remembered what John said. “I will have dinner with the most beautiful girl anyway”. Taylor sighed and rubbed her bottom lip nervously. “If only I was beautiful. That would be easier.”

She entered her bedroom and tripped over a record. She grumbled and picked it up: it was Love Me, Please Me by Michel Polnareff, a record she found randomly in a record store, a day when she absolutely wanted French music. Of course, just like all her records, she had never listened to it.

Taylor clapped her hands loudly and walked up to her wardrobe, opened its doors and looked at the few dresses she owned. Many times she told herself to become a bit more feminine, as she was used to flare jeans and weird shirts or colourful tops. Nothing too manly in that either, though, but she was not attractive enough, according to her. But she did not want to be attractive, she did not want to wipe desperate men's tears either, because she wanted to remain single.

How difficult could she be.

She grabbed the newest dress she bought and which she never wore. She kept it aside, just in case of a chic dinner. It was a dress that looked like one from the 1940s: it was all red, with long sleeves, following her thin figure. She nodded: it would be good.

After she picked the dress, Taylor hung it to a door and ran to the bathroom. She removed her clothes and let her hair fall on her shoulders and in her back. She stepped in her bathtub and turned on hot water, letting the drops pour all over her thin, naked body. She took a step back and closed her eyes, washing her face at the same time. She grabbed her soap and rubbed it on her skin, thoughtfully staring at the long scars that came across her hips and her right thigh. Just by thinking about how she got them made her feel the pain again. She pulled a face and rinced the soap.

She turned off the tap and took a clean towel, wrapping it around her. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, waiting to dry. Every time she took a shower, she was too lazy to dry herself with her towel: therefore, she always sat somewhere and waited.

Once she got completely dry, she picked clean underwear in her bedroom: a red bra with white ribbons, with the matching knickers. The only sexy stuff that she owned. She never wore them either, and actually, she did not know why she purchased them. She often bought things just for the pleasure of buying something. Weird habits, as usual!

She put on her underwear and walked back to the bathroom. She plugged her hairdryer, drying her hair lightly, letting it a bit wet. She grabbed hair pins and rolled locks of hair around her finger, before pinning them to her head. Once her head was covered with rolled locks, she walked to her living room and sat on the couch., looking at all the postcards from Japan that John bought her. She covered two walls with them, removing the old postcards and sticking them in the corridor's walls. The living room would be Japanese. In the middle of the postcards, the photograph of John and her. She wanted to frame it in the empty room, it was not the first time that she would feel the need to do it. However, she wanted to frame the first thing with John. Not alone.

She spent so much time thinking about Japan and John, that she forgot about her curls. She lightly touched her hair: it was completely dry. She stood up and ran to the bathroom. She grabbed her hairspray in her cabinet and spread some over her whole hair. Then, she removed each pin, one by one. The locks fell on her shoulders, forming very elegant and graceful curls. When all the pins got removed, Taylor took her hairspray and spread some on her head again. Right after that, she carefully combed her curls, arranging them in a beautiful hairdo. She rolled her fringe backward, pinning it to her head, and did the same for another lock.

She spread hairspray on her hair one last time, before looking at herself in the mirror.

“Very 1940s-ish.”

Her lips stretched into a wide smile, and she started to apply makeup on her eyes, cheeks and lips. For the first time in her life, she wanted to be pretty for somebody. For a man. For her best friend. For John.

John tried one last time to tie his bowtie. He grumbled, struggling with it before his mirror. Why couldn't he do the simplest things? Knowing where they would spend the evening, Taylor and him, he had to be classy. He wore his cleanest suit, a white one, he tamed his hair and managed to keep it well combed.

He sighed and gave up. He removed the bowtie and threw it across the room. Nevermind: he would spend the evening without it. He walked to his living room, grabbing his pair of black shoes in the corridor on his way. He sat on the couch and spread a rag on his lap, before waxing the shoes. The leather was now shiny, and it looked perfect to him. He put them on and stood up, leaving the rag on the couch. He walked up to the table, on which a small flat box wrapped in a silver gift wrap had been put down, along with a large envelope. John took them both and slipped them in the pocket of his jacket, slipping his wallet in this of his trousers.

He looked at the clock: it was almost seven. He sighed and sat on the couch, wondering what he could do. He went to the corridor once again and looked at himself in the big mirror. He inspected every detail of his outfit, making sure that he had forgotten nothing. As his eyes laid on his jacket, he gasped loudly. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed a pair of scissors, cutting the rose he had bought on his way home. He slipped it in the small pocket on his chest and arranged it well. He smiled at his own reflection.

Suddenly, the telephone rang. John's heart leapt in his chest: he ran to it and picked the handset up, pressing it against his ear.

“Hello, John Deacon here.”

“Hey, it's Taylor.”

“Are you ready to go, princess?”

“I... I think I am. I am not so sure” she chuckled nervously. “And you?”

“I am. Can I leave my flat and pick you up, then? Won't I disturb you?”

“Of course not. You can come, I'm waiting for you.”

“Perfect! I'll drive as quick as I can.”

John did not lie. No more than fifteen minutes after he hung up, he rang Taylor's doorbell. She grabbed her red handbag and put her wallet in it, along with a mirror and her red lipstick. Suddenly, she wanted to step back and lock herself in her flat. Why did she wear that dress? Why did she pick these underwear? It's not as if she would show them to John. Why did she take this bag? Why did she wear those stilettos? Why did she do her hair like that?

So many questions that she could not answer. John was here, she could not cancel the dinner. She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, and switched off all the lights of the flat, took her keys and walked out, locking the door behind her. She slowly went down the stairs and quickly looked out of the door to see John leaning against his car, wearing his white suit, his black shoes, having his hair less messy than it usually was. She smiled and blinked. “I'll look ridiculous next to him! Oh my, I want to step back right now!”

An invisible force pushed her out of the building. She stood there, outside, pressing her handbag against her stomach, blushing with shaky knees. John was looking away, and did not realise that she had gone out. She stepped forward, her heels hitting the cold ground. This time, he turned his head and stood still, his mouth wide open and stretched into a smile.

“Oh, princess... You sure look like one. You're... You're stunning, really.”

“Am I? Because you look absolutely perfect in this suit, I feel ridiculous, as if I'm dressed to go to a weird party, the kind of parties where you wear a Halloween costume or something.”

“You're not ridiculous. You're gorgeous. This makes all the difference. Am I allowed to give you a friendship kiss, or will it remove your lipstick and you will slap me?”

John's joke made Taylor feel less embarrassed: she laughed and stepped forward, pressing her lips against his, stroking his cheek. When she pulled away, she chuckled quietly, noticing some lipstick that remained on his mouth. She wiped it with a handkerchief, and followed John, who opened the passenger door for her. She thanked him and got inside the car, sitting comfortably, putting on the safety belt. He sat on the driver's seat and drove away from Whitechapel, a grin pinned to his rosy cheeks.

“So now, are you going to tell me where we're going?” she said.

“We're going to one of the most respected chic restaurant.”

“WHAT?”

She did not realised she shouted. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes widened and staring at John in disbelief. She slowly shook her head, making her curls bounce.

“No, no, no! John Deacon, I can't go to a place like that! I can't!”

“Why not?”

“Because of my status! I'm going to be ridiculous amongst all those people! Can't we go to a pizzeria instead? Or a Japanese restaurant?”

“No, I already booked us a table, my dear! You don't turn twenty-six everyday, we must celebrate it properly.”

“Oh my goodness...”

Taylor inhaled and sighed deeply, tapping her fingers on her thigh. She could not go to such a place! Never had she been to a chic restaurant, and she felt like she would need special lessons to learn how to behave in this kind of place. She tried to calm herself, closing her eyes and breathing slower and slower. Stopping at traffic lights, John gently took her hand.

“Don't worry, Taylor. Those people won't laugh at you, they can't know about your status, it's not even written on your forehead, so relax. And if you really feel uncomfortable, just tell yourself that you're with me. I can afford it. I want this birthday to be the best to you. If during the dinner, you really feel bad, just tell me, and we'll go elsewhere. Alright?”

“Alright. Thanks, John Deacon.”

They smiled at each other, and the lights turned to green. John kept driving, a bit worried about his friend. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, driving through the streets of London, turning to Taylor from time to time. She was sitting still, looking out of the window, watching people passing by, watching the high buildings and the small shops everywhere. Her fingers were clutching her bag nervously, as she pursed her lips.

John sighed and stopped at traffic lights. He gently touched her shoulder, making her jump in surprise.

“Sorry. I can see that you feel really uncomfortable. Do you want me to go to the restaurant and say that we're not having dinner there after all? I want you to enjoy your birthday dinner, not to live it as a punishment.”

“John Deacon, you're so sweet. But no, let's go to that restaurant. I guess that it will be my only chance to go to a chic place in my life!” she laughed. “This won't be a punsihment, because you'll be there with me. It can only be good, mmh?”

“I can't tell. I don't know. But are you sure that you don't want me to cancel the dinner?”

“Sure, sure, sure.”

She smiled at him and leant in to kiss his cheek, holding his hand for a second, as she saw the lights changing. Then, the blushing John kept driving until they arrived to the restaurant. John parked the car on the parking lot and stopped it.

“Don't move out from the car” he said to Taylor with a grin.

Taylor shrugged and watched him go out of the car, closing the door behind him. She sighed and heard his footsteps around the car. In the rear-view mirror, she saw him walk away, turning to a nearby street, disappearing.

“What the fuck is 'e doin'?”

She frowned and blinked, coughing a bit. He was not going to leave her in the car, was he? Taylor sighed again and grabbed her pocket mirror out of her back, checking her hairdo in it. Perfect! It had not moved! She checked her makeup after that and added a little bit of lipstick to her mouth, so it would be as red as her dress, bag and shoes. She did not even recognise herself in her movements. Was it her outfit that made her act like a lady? Instead of sitting lazily on the passenger seat, her knees spread, she was sitting still, with her knees stuck against each other. Her hand moves used to be abrupt and clumsy, now they were delicate and graceful. “Dang dang dang, am I this chick?” she told herself with a grin. She always felt like a young adult who did not want to grow up, now she felt mature and fully grown-up.

She took a look at her watch and noticed that John had gone for five minutes already. Where was he? Looking again in the rear-view mirror, Taylor eventually saw him appear at the corner of the street, one hand holding something behind his back. He ran to the car and unlocked the trunk, opening it widely, putting something inside it. After that, he closed it and walked to Taylor's door, opening it for her and stretching out his hand for her to take.

“Sorry that you were kept waiting, darling. I had to do one last thing before we go. Are you ready?”

“I am! I was scared for a moment, I thought that you were going to abandon me in your car, in the middle of London, I don't know where!” she chuckled, kissing John's cheek. “Let's go, now. What was this thing you had to do?”

“Oh, nothing particular, just buying something for Roger.”

Taylor nodded with a smile and shrugged. She lifted up her chin and looked at the restaurant. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. It looked like a small version of a French castle, with huge marble columns holding a part of the roof. There was a red carpet spread before the door, and there was a sort of groom opening the door for people coming and leaving.

She instinctively grabbed John's hand, squeezing it. He chuckled quietly and stopped walking for a minute, turning to her and poking the tip of her nose.

“I'm going to cancel the dinner, alright? You look absolutely nervous.”

“Oh no, no, don't! I'm just... astonished. I didn't know that there were such places in London! I thought that the city was only made of old mansions, old flats and Victorian buildings! Apparently, I was wrong!”

“It has just been built, actually. It's Freddie who told me about it when I talked about your birthday. The food they serve here looks absolutely delicious.”

She smiled at him and admired the building one last time before walking on the red carpet. The groom greeted them with a smile and opened the door for them. They thanked him and walked in, finding themselves in a sort of waiting room, with red carpet everywhere, and a couch which looked like it dated back from the 18th century, but still in a very good state.

A man with a French accent, wearing a dark suit welcomed them behind a tiny counter with a booking list on it. He grabbed a pen and smiled at them.

“Good evening, sir, madam! Welcome to La Cour du Roi. Did you book a table?”

“Good evening. Yes, I did. My name is Deacon. John Deacon.”

The man put on glasses and looked at the booking list, reading every name with the help of his pen. He whispered each that he read, before he stopped, with a grin.

“Here! John Deacon. Very good, monsieur. Let me bring you to your table.”

John nodded with a smile, and Taylor slipped her right hand under his arm, following him, walking at the same rhythm. They walked through a wooden door, which was opened by another groom. Finally, the dining room spread before their eyes, leaving them in awe. The walls were all white, with French paintings in golden frames nailed to them. Tall marble columns were standing in line, holding a painted ceiling: it represented angels playing trumpets on top of columns, some sitting on clouds, pointing at the sunny sky, giving the impression that the roof was open, as it looked so real. The tables were all covered with bright white tablecloth, with candles and flowers in the middle of each of them. In the back of the room stood a small wooden stage with a clean black piano in the back, and a microphone at the front.

Taylor was turning her head in every direction, admiring the restaurant. She felt like a lady, a very important guest, for whom everything had been prepared. But after all, she was not a lady of any kind, and she was not the only guest. The waiters would remember her face for the evening, and then forgetting it forever.

The man in the dark suit brought the two friends to a table for two, with a candle already burning between the two plates. He carefully pulled Taylor's chair, waiting for her to sit. She thanked him, her cheeks turning red, and sat down on it, feeling the red velvet warming her thighs and back. John sat in front of her, removing his jacket, which he arranged on the back of his chair. He looked at her tenderly.

“Do you like the place, milady?”

Taylor giggled and looked down, a wide smile pinned to her rosy cheeks. She nodded shyly, and her green eyes stared right into his.

“I do, sir. You definitely are crazy! This place is absolutely breathtaking!”

“I knew you would like it! Freddie was right, the restaurant looks wonderful and enchanting! I only saw the waiting room when I booked our table. I'm astonished as well.”

Taylor stretched out her arm and grabbed John's hand, which was resting on the table. She intertwined her fingers with his, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, without looking away from him.

“Thank you, John Deacon. I never really celebrated my birthday. Actually, it's the first time. And it's the best birthday I could ever wish for.”

“You never celebrated your birthday? Oh, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry. I always wanted to celebrate it for the first time with the person I like the most in my life. And my wish is being fulfilled.”

“Am I this person you like the most in your life?” he chuckled in disbelief, his eyebrows raised.

“You are this person, John Deacon.”

John's heart leapt in his chest. He wanted to bypass the table and kneel down beside her, to take her in his arms and to kiss her passionately. He bit his cheek very hard instead.

A waiter came to them, with two menus in hand. He gave one to Taylor and one to John, grabbing a small notepad with a pen.

“Would you like to order drinks first?”

“Sure” John smiled. “Do you like champagne, Taylor?”

“I never tasted champagne. It is now or never.”

“We will have a bottle of champagne, then.”

“What brand?”

John sighed and blinked. He pouted and frowned.

“Do you have some Moët & Chandon?”

“We do, sir.”

“We will have a bottle, then, please.”

“Sure.”

The waiter smiled at them and gracefully made his way through the tables, heading for the kitchen. Taylor opened the menu and took a look at the food they served. The starters were mainly salads or fish, they had a lot of toasts or other things cooked with caviar and other very expensive products. Taylor did not look for the desserts yet, as she knew that if she did, she would drool over them and waste the previous meals.

John tapped his bottom lip with his index, reading the menu and wondering what he would take. He sighed and looked up from the menu and smiled at Taylor.

“Would you like a starter?”

“Oh, no, I've never been really fond of starters. And I don't eat salad.”

“What? But I always thought that you would be a very pretty turtle!”

“Stop pulling my leg!” she laughed, her shoulders bouncing up and down. “I can't be a turtle, I move too much for that. A turtle can't go to India, to Japan, to Switzerland, to Norway...”

“Oh, really, you did all that?”

“In my dreams, of course.”

They shared a laugh and saw the waiter coming in their direction with an ice bucket in which a fresh bottle of Moët & Chandon was buried. The waiter put it down on the table, took out the bottle from its ice bed, popped the cork. The waiter grabbed John's glass and filled it.

“Here is your glass, Mr Deacon.”

He took Taylor's and did the same with hers. He smiled at them and put the bottle back in its ice bed, leaving it for them.

“And here is for you, Mrs Deacon.”

“Oh, uh... But I'm not Mrs...”

The waiter had already left, taking care of another table. Taylor was blushing heavily, stuttering a bit. She looked down and did not even touch her glass. John laughed and quickly took her hand.

“Is being Mrs Deacon a shame?”

“What? No! Of course not! I never said that! I'm sure that the future Mrs Deacon will be very honoured. She will be lucky, I tell you.”

John smiled, blushing too. He imagined her being Mrs Deacon, and laughed internally: oh no, this could never be. Taylor was alright with being single, why would he imagine such things? Plus, it was giving him hopes that he did not want.

Taylor coughed and looked at her menu again, realising that she still had not decided what she would have. She frowned, rubbing her bottom lip; luckily, her lipstick did not go away with it. She sighed, understanding absolutely nothing to all the things that were suggested.

“What will you have, John Deacon?”

“Mmh, I don't really know. I tasted caviar, and I don't like it at all. I think I'm going to have this salmon mousse with those vegetables.”

“It's funny because for a chic restaurant, their menu doesn't blow my mind. I expected way more... exotic things, you know. Things that you're not used to in real life. You can buy salmon mousse in a supermarket.”

“Of course you can, but the taste will be completely different.”

“I'll have this salmon mousse to, just to check.”

He laughed and closed his menu. At the same moment, another waiter came to them, with a notepad in hand, ready to take notes. He smiled at them.

“Good evening! May I take your orders?”

“Sure. I'll have a salmon mousse with its bed of seafood, please” Taylor answered with a smile, handing him the menu back.

“And I'll have the salmon mousse too, but with its bed of vegetables, please” John smiled.

“Very good choices, I must say. Thank you, your meals will soon arrive.”

The waiter lightly tilted his head, before crossing the room to reach the kitchen, tearing the page he wrote on.

John nervously touched his pocket, making sure that he still had her birthday presents. He did, and wondered when he would give them to her. He could not wait to see her reaction, but decided that he would give them after the dessert.

Suddenly, customers started to applaude, and Taylor craned her neck to see what was going on. Three musicians wearing suits were walking across the room, one of them holding a violin in his hand. They smiled at the customers and walked on the stage at the back of the room. The first one sat at the piano, playing some random notes to warm himself up, the violin player stood still behind him, and the third stood behind the microphone, tapping on it gently to check the sound. After that, he cleared his throat and joined his hands in his back, speaking with a French accent.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, we hope that you are having a wonderful time in this restaurant, and that you are pleased with what you chose. My name is Simon Petit, and here are my musicians. Tonight, we are going to play the songs of a young French musician who started his career in the last decade, and whose lyrics touch us particularly. Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we are going to play for you: Michel Polnareff.”

Taylor gently tapped on John's hand, making him turn his hand.

“Hey! I own one of his records! It's going to be strange to hear them for the first time!”

“I bet it is! I hope you won't be disappointed, princess” John winked.

The audience cheered, and the pianist started to play the long intro of what seemed to be a ballad. John listened to it attentively, as Taylor blinked. After the intro, the singer started to sing in his microphone.

“Love me, please love me, je suis fou de vous! Pourquoi vous moquez-vous chaque jour de mon pauvre amour?”

Suddenly, two women walked on stage and sang harmonies, bouncing from one foot to the other, following the rhythm. Love Me, Please Love Me... This was the song that fascinated Taylor the most on the album she bought. She was astonished: it sounded even better than she imagined it. The violin part was absolutely charming.

Taylor cleared her throat lightly, and John immediately turned round, smiling at her with a gleam in his eye.

“Would you like to dance with me, Taylor?”

“It would be an honour, John Deacon.”

With a grin, she stood up, and so did John. He put a hand on her waist, holding her hand in his, while she rested an arm on his shoulder. Then, they started to dance slowly, staring into each other's eyes, smiling widely. Around them, the customers looked at them with despise. Some of them grumbled insults, shaking their heads in disbelief. Usually, John would have been hurt by all this attention on him, especially if it was this negative. But right now, he was dancing with Taylor, the woman he fell in love with, and as long as she was by his side, he could not fear any criticism coming from anyone. He barely paid attention to them, in fact: all his attention was drawn on her eyes, and their beauty. The music was like a faded sound, which he could not even hear.

The song ended, and the customers applauded, and so did the two friends. Taylor stood on tip toe and briefly kissed John's lips. Then, they sat again, seeing the waiter coming with their plates. He put them down before them, wishing them a good time. The food was well arranged, which satisfied them both.

“Enjoy your mousse, Taylor Taylor.”

“Enjoy yours and your vegetables, John Deacon!”

They smiled at each other and started to eat in silence, listening to the orchestra. They were now playing Pourquoi Faut-Il Un Jour Se Dire Adieu?, which was so beautiful that Taylor almost cried. She hid her face behind her napkin, until she inhaled deeply and refrained. John noticed it and grinned.

“I agree: the song is very beautiful.”

Taylor's eyes widened, and she chuckled, finishing her plate. She lightly tapped her lips with her napkin and looked at John.

“So? Is this mousse the same that you can find in a supermarket?”

“No, no. You were right, it's way different! What a fool I can be, how could I expect supermarket produces in such a place?”

“I have no idea!” John laughed.

A waiter came to them to take their plates. He cleared his throat and looked at his two customers.

“Would you like a dessert, sir? Or madam?”

“No, thank you” Taylor answered.

“You can take one if you wish” John whispered, wondering if she refused because of the price.

“No, thank you, I don't eat a lot, you know.”

“Sir?” the waiter insisted.

“I won't either, thank you.”

The waiter nodded and brought the plates to the kitchen, where they would be washed. John's cheeks turned red, as he buried his hand in his pocket, touching the box he wanted to give her. She was sitting uncomfortably on her chair, frowning.

“Actually those seats are not that great” she said. “My bottom hurts.”

“Oh, really? I'm sorry. We're leaving soon, don't worry. But first...”

He eventually took out the box from his pocket and shyly handed it to her. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped, looking at it in disbelief.

“John Deacon, the restaurant was enough, I tell you! Oh no, I can't accept that!”

“Please.”

She sighed and slowly took the box, unwrapping it. She opened the top and saw the silver necklace. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. It took some time until she spoke and looked up.

“John Deacon, I swear you're crazy! Oh my goodness! This must cost an arm!”

“Won't tell you. Do you want me to put it around your neck?”

“Sure!”

He stood up and walked up to her, carefully taking the necklace, which he hung to her neck, makign her jump very lightly as its coldness touched her warm skin. She looked at it proudly and took his hand.

“Thank you. Oh, thank you so much.”

“It's not over. Here's one more... little thing.”

John took the envelope he brought with him and handed it to Taylor, standing behind her and resting his chin on her collar bone. He slipped it between her hands, and she looked at it curiously. What could it be?

With her trembling hands, Taylor opened the envelope, and before she even took a look at what it contained, John put his hands on hers, whispering something in her ear.

“This is something that you can share. I took two, so you'll be able to share it with your friend Suzy, or whoever you want.”

Then, he removed his hands and let her look at her present. She took out two tickets from it, frowning.

“Are they cinema tickets?”

“Look closer.”

She examined the tickets and suddenly threw them on the table, letting out a long shout of joy. Everybody around stopped talking, and even the orchestra stopped playing: all the heads were turned to Taylor, whose cheeks were now drowning under tears. She buried her face with her hands, sobbing loudly. She abruptly stood up and threw herself in John's arms. What were the tickets for? They were two boat tickets for Brittany. For Saint-Malo.

Taylor wiped her tears, removing her makeup at the same time. She cupped John's face and stared at him, her lips trembling.

“You're crazy, John Deacon, you really... you really are! Thank you, oh, thank you so much!”

She broke down into tears, crying on his shoulder. He smiled, squeezing her against his chest, stroking her hair at the same time, rocking her gently. He kissed her forehead many times, waiting for her to calm down. He was far from imagining how deep it touched her. It was her most precious dream that he fulfilled. She could finally see her mother's homeland, discovering the streets that she had walked many years before.

Taylor wiped her tears once again, before sighing loudly. She started to laugh, looking down at her stained hands.

“I'm sorry for the way I reacted. It's the most beautiful present I could ever have. Thank you, John Deacon. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She briefly kissed his lips, before taking his hand, entwining her fingers with his. She stared at their hands, and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat for a minute. After that, she turned to him and grinned.

“I don't want to share this with Suzy.”

“Oh?”

“I want to go to Brittany with you. With you only. I don't want to go with anyone else. You're the person I like the most in my life, remember?”

“I remember. But I want to be sure that you really want to go with me. I don't want to spoil your trip.”

“You won't.”

She insisted, and John sighed, nodding. She jumped in his arms and kissed his cheeks. After that, they gathered their stuff, and John walked away from the table to pay for the dinner. The French man thanked them and they said their good-byes, before the two friends left the restaurant, while the orchestra was playing Ballade Pour Toi.

John unlocked the car and opened the door for Taylor. She kissed his nose and got in, carefully putting the envelope in her handbag. She put on her safety belt, and John did the same, starting up his car and driving away from the restaurant.

Taylor yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. John smiled.

“Now, it's up to you: do you want to go elsewhere, like in a club or anything like that, or do you want me to take you home?”

“I want to be alone with you, so no clubs! We can go to my flat.”

“You're the queen, tonight!”

John smiled at her once again and then focused back on the road. The night had fallen for a moment already, and the street lamps were making shadows dance on the pavement, especially those of people walking by, coming back from work or going to parties or even restaurants. Through the windows of some buildings, Taylor could see figures sitting at desks and reading sheets of paper, writing on some of them. Unfortunately, not everybody had the chance to go out and have fun; some still had to work.

Taylor discreetly turned to John, staring at him with her green eyes. She let her lips stretch into a wide smile. His dark eyes were not leaving the road at any moment, paying attention to every sign they drove by. The street lamps shone over his face, making him look mysterious. She bit her lip and did not take her eyes off him. She watched his long wavy hair falling on his shoulders, moving lightly as he breathed. Then, her eyes slipped to his hands. His perfect hands. His fingers were gently wrapped around the steering wheel, making it spin from time to time to keep the car straight or turn in another direction. Suddenly, he started to smile, though he did not notice Taylor looking at him. When his cheeks turned red, Taylor's heart melted.

She felt awkward. Too awkward.

John's car stopped in Whitechapel, in front of the tall red building where Taylor lived. He got out of the car, and bypassed it to open the door for Taylor, taking her hand and helping her out. She stood on her stilettos, flattening her dress. Meanwhile, John opened the trunk, where he had put something he bought before they went to the restaurant. Taylor did not follow him, and waited for him on the pavement. John took what he bought and hid it behind his back, walking quietly to her after he closed the trunk.

Taylor saw the grin on his face and frowned. What was he up to? He slowly walked up to her and grabbed her hand gently, staring at her with a gleam in his eyes.

“Happy birthday, Taylor Taylor.”

“John Deacon, what are you up to?”

John finally showed what he was hiding behind his back. It was a wonderful bunch of red roses, with a card stapled to its wrap. Taylor covered her mouth with her hands, widening her eyes. She smiled at John with tears in her eyes, taking the bunch and kissing his cheek, stroking the other.

“John Deacon, it's not the first time that you'll hear it, but you're definitely crazy.”

“Look at the card.”

She nodded and opened it, trying not to cry. She caught a deep breath as she saw something in the card. It was a tag for a mailbox, with her name written on it. She read it loud, tears growing stronger and stronger.

“Taylor Taylor, double name, doubly insane, travelling.”

A tear slipped from her eyes and rolled down her cheek. Her lips trembling, she wiped it away and looked at what was written on the card itself. Her face lit up with a smile. “To the wonderful Taylor, whose presence help me everyday. Forever yours, with lots of love, John Deacon.”

“John Deacon, you...”

Taylor laughed and cried at the same time, looking up to the starry sky. She sniffed and squeezed his hand gently in hers, trying to hold her tears. Instead of bursting into tears, she chuckled and threw herself in his arms, kissing his cheek a lot of times.

“You are the best, John Deacon. You're my best friend.”

John smiled and pressed her against him, kissing her hair, stroking her back. However, he kept a certain distance between them, as she was still holding the flowers against her. She pulled away slowly, staring at him with her still teary eyes. She made two steps back, letting go of his hand. She looked down at the flowers and gently pressed them against her heart, before putting them down on the bonnet of the car. She shyly turned to John, her cheeks burning and her eyes shining. John stared at her, a bit confused, blushing like her and feeling his heart racing.

Taylor slowly took two steps forward and stood before John, her eyes staring into his. She smiled at him heartily, holding her tears again. She made sure that her handbag would not slip from her shoulder, and looked at him again. John shyly took her hands and stroked their back with his thumbs, gulping. He felt his cheeks going warm, and wanted to hide it. There was a long, very long silence. It was not reassuring, but it was at the same time. How odd.

“John Deacon” she whispered “can I ask you something?”

“Sure, dear.”

Taylor smiled weakly and stood on tip toe to kiss him on the lips: the friendship kiss. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, as he wrapped his around her waist. She slowly pulled away and stuck her cheek against his, not daring to look into his eyes. She blushed again, glad that he could not see her like that. She gulped and whispered in his ear.

“Do you allow me to... to deepen the kiss?”

John widened his eyes and smiled uncontrollably. He pulled away and looked at her tenderly, stroking her cheek and nodding slowly. Her face lit up and she stood on tip toe again, hesitating a bit, finally pressing her lips against his. At first, they kissed just like they did their friendship kiss, but then, they let their lips stroke one another tenderly. John's hand pulled her closer to him, as he heart leapt in his chest, and Taylor tightened her embrace, snuggling against him.

This felt just like electricity.

As soon as their lips started to dance, John held his breath, feeling all his senses awakened. It gave him the impression that he had been struck by thunder, making his limbs dumb but also so strong. He suddenly felt like he could lift up a whole building, that he could lift the Eiffel Tower, the Parliament, the Taj Mahal, Mount Fuji. Under his eyelids, it was an explosion of colours and shapes. In his heart, it was an explosion aof sensations and feelings. He could feel his heart beating in his fingertips, which were tenderly put on Taylor's shoulder blades and waist.

John thought it was the climax, but it was only the beginning.

Taylor cupped John's face with her hands, her eyes still closed, and stroked his tongue with hers. John joined her in this dance, letting their tongues be partners. The kiss started to grow warmer and more passionate, and John felt like he was about to cry. This moment was beautiful. Purely beautiful. His mind was flying, not caring anymore about all the pressure he could have with the band. It was when his love for Taylor was at its best.

After a few minutes of kissing, Taylor slowly pulled away, her face being red as a tomato. Her grinning lips were trembling, and her eyes were shining bright, staring into John's soul. John could barely talk, still shaken by what had just happened. That was it. Taylor and him were more than best friends, he was sure about that. There was something else.

John leant in to kiss her again, wanting to make sure that she would deepen the kiss once again. And she did.

John's lips slipped to her cheek, then to her neck, before he hugged her, squeezing her against his heart. He tried to calm his heartbeats, so he could talk again. He pressed his forehead against hers, gently taking her hands and entwining his fingers with hers.

“Taylor” he whispered “can I tell you something?”

“Sure, John Deacon.”

“Don't think that I say that only because we deepened our kiss. I couldn't be more sincere. But... I'm in love with you, Taylor. Deeply in love with you.”

Taylor's eyes widened and she stepped back, freeing his hand from his. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. She slowly shook her head, gulping.

“John Deacon, I'm sorry, but...” she hesitated for a long minute. “It's my fault, it's all my fault!”

John frowned, watching her bury her face in her hands. He walked up to her and softly took her wrists, removing them from her face. He looked at her and saw a tear rolling down her cheek. He immediately wiped it away and kissed her forehead.

“You're guilty for absolutely nothing, Taylor. It's something that neither of us can control, you know. Don't feel bad.”

“By kissing you like that, I gave you false hopes!”

“It's true, but I'm alright.”

“John Deacon, I'm hurting you. I am guilty!”

John shook his head and kissed her forehead again, pressing her against him, trying to comfort her.

“I'm not mad at you, Taylor. I just want you to know that. Please, don't feel guilty, I'll hate myself if you do. And if you don't want to see me ever again, Taylor, I'll understand. And if you want to go to Brittany with Suzy, I'll understand too.”

“John Deacon...”

She dried her tears, which made her makeup flake. She shook her head and looked down. She opened her bag and took the envelope containing the two tickets for Brittany.

“This is the best present I could ever wish for. And I want to share it with only one person. I want to share it with you. If you don't want to come, then I'll give you those tickets back. I won't use them if you're not with me.”

“What will happen when we get there?”

“I don't know. But I still like you all the same.”

John hesitated and then smiled. He nodded, looking up briefly to the sky. Then, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

“I will come, then. I think that I'm going home, now. I need to... think.”

“Sorry... I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. I need some rest anyway.”

Taylor nodded and kissed him on the cheek, before taking the bunch of flowers and walking him to the door of the car. He opened it and hugged Taylor briefly.

“Good night, Taylor.”

“Good night, John Deacon... By the way, there's no date of departure on the tickets. When are we leaving?”

“Whenever you want. If you want, we can leave tomorrow.”