“Pierre…I…erm…” I stammered, trying to conjure up all the honesty I could, “No, I don’t love you.”

“Oh,” he said, almost if the words had punched him.

“But,” I said, touching his shoulder, “That could change.” He lifted his face towards mine, and his lips parted as if from an immediate shock.

“Marguerite…” He said, reaching out to find my face, which he felt, up and down gently with his fingers, as if he were trying to see my face through them, “I love you.”

“Are you sure?” I said, a little taken aback, “We haven’t even had a real conversation, you don’t know anything about me, and I have no idea who you really are…”

“That could change,” he said with a smile. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh in response.

“Pierre,” I said, “right now, lets forget all about love, and everything and start over fresh.”

“Alright,” he said, “starting fresh.” He pulled me into a kiss. We were shortly interrupted, when we heard the flat door open and close.

“Its John,” Pierre said grumpily.