As expected, his father objected to his plans, and after the argument, the worst they ever had, Alfred moved out to stay with two of his former classmates. Every night, Mr. Jones would sit in his armchair, waiting for his son to return home, but whenever Matthew got Alfred on the phone, he would refuse to talk to him. Despite his earlier anger with Alfred, Matthew continued pleading with them both, trying to get them to reconcile their differences. For a while, it seemed like his words fell on deaf ears, but Matthew never gave up.

On their birthday, Alfred finally came back home, looking humbled, but still determined.

"Dad, I'm sorry about everything, but I haven't changed my mind. I'm going back to France, and this time I'm going to stay with Marianne."

His father nodded, though he looked as if it pained him. "I knew you would say that. But I could not let you go, not without a fight." He cleared his throat, his expression slightly regretful, then he drew himself up and handed Alfred a sheet of paper. "For your birthday, son…"

"What's this?"

"Your brother Matthew and I saved up enough for an airline ticket… enough to go to Europe. You will have to use it by the end of the year, of course."

It was enough for only a one-way ticket, Alfred realized, and somehow knowing that made the gift even more priceless.

"And the rest of the money will be for when you get settled there," his father added. "You'll need it, living in Paris is not cheap."

"Thanks, Dad, and thank you, too, Matthew. Gosh… I can't thank you two enough for this."

"Saying sorry would be a good start, except you already said that," Matthew said quietly.

Mr. Jones snorted, but could not help beaming in satisfaction. "This French girl of yours, she does speak English, right? I want to be able to communicate with her when I meet her."

"Dad, she speaks perfect English!" Alfred said, almost giddy with relief.

"Hmph, she can't possibly be that French then."

Matthew laughed and hugged them both, and the three of them went out to the backyard to celebrate as a family one more time, with a dinner of grilled burgers and chicken and corn on the cob and a store-bought American apple pie. In deference to his time in France, Alfred added fancy fixings to the hamburgers - Provençal seasonings, dark ground mustard, fresh greens and even some capers, which made for a delicious, if somewhat different meal. The mood was a little bittersweet perhaps, but Alfred thought it was the best birthday they've had in years. And that was before their dad brought out the alcohol for an impressively-worded toast he must have spent hours composing.

Later that night, Alfred searched for flights from John F. Kennedy to Charles de Gaulle on his laptop, and this time, his father and brother were there with him.

Alfred took the stairs two at a time, so eager to see Marianne he didn't stop to eat dinner, but he stopped halfway once he realized Marianne's door had been left wide open at this late hour. He heard voices coming from her flat, her voice and that of a man's, sounding low yet tense, as if they were arguing, and he climbed the rest of the stairs slowly. After a few moments, a tall man emerged from the doorway, looking visibly upset from the encounter.

Their gazes met and although the other man's pale eyes widened slightly in recognition, Alfred knew he had never met him before.

"You must be Alfred F. Jones," the man said quietly, coming down the stairs with a heavy tread.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"I know you, and you must have heard of me, yes?" The accent was unmistakable, and Alfred realized with a start that this must be Ivan Braginski, Marianne's ex-boyfriend, the Russian ice-skater one D.C. had mentioned.

They stared at each other for a minute, two rivals sizing each other up, and finally Ivan broke the tension, smiling and clapping a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"Take care of her," Ivan said at last.

"You don't have to worry about that," Alfred replied, a little insulted to be seen as the kind of guy who wouldn't take care of the woman he loved. "I love Marianne."

"As do I. I will know if you have hurt her. We have our ways of finding out. Good bye, Alfred F. Jones. …For now."

Wide-eyed, and maybe just a little disturbed, Alfred watched as Ivan left, and then raced up the rest of the stairs.

"Marianne? Are you okay?" Alfred called out, peeking through the open doorway of the apartment.

"Alfred!" Marianne exclaimed, her eyes reddened from crying but looking otherwise fine. "Wh-what's going on? When did you arrive? Why are you here?"

"I came back for you." He ran to her, embracing her, never wanting to let go.

"Why didn't you tell me? Mon dieu, this is a bad time, I look like a mess," she complained absent-mindedly, attempting to compose herself as he buried his face in her hair.

"Hey, it's still your birthday, right?" Alfred said gently, letting go of her just long enough to pull out a box of chocolates from his bag. "Bon anniversaire, Marianne," he said, taking off the lid and smiling at her shyly, hopefully.

She sniffed, eyes brimming with tears again as she picked up a chocolate. Biting down, she made a questioning noise, then pulled out the piece of paper from inside the chocolate. "Je t'aime," she read aloud.

"I know I've got to finish school first," Alfred began, stumbling over his words in his excitement, "but I've worked it all out. I'm coming back to France, I've got a job with a university newspaper lined up while I finish my degree. It's going to work, Marianne, I promise."

"Oh Alfred, you silly fool," she said, even though she was smiling through her tears. "But… thank you. I admit, I have missed you, too, and seeing you again is the best present I can ask for."

"I know," he replied, and he kissed her until they both ran out of breath and had to close the front door before the neighbors complained.

Even after they spent some time getting reacquainted with each other, something was still bothering him. Alfred gazed down at Marianne curled up beside him, her hair tousled and her cheeks prettily flushed, so gorgeous it made his heart ache. But he had to hear it from her.

"So, who was that guy stomping out of your apartment, your ex-boyfriend?"

"You are not jealous of Ivan, are you, Alfred?" Marianne murmured knowingly, turning to face him.

"No way, what are you talking about? Pssh, don't be crazy!" Actually, he was extremely jealous. Ivan was very tall, and an ice-skater, too.

"You can be sure Ivan won't bother us again," she reassured him. "He came to my apartment uninvited and told me he still loved me and would take me back if I asked. But I told him you were the one I loved. He was angry, he does not like you very much, but he accepted it, in the end."

"Oh, so Ivan was jealous of me?"

Marianne had to laugh at his relieved expression. "Yes, you could say that." Kissing his cheek, she said, "You are my sweet American boy, Alfred. The only one for me."

"So does that mean… you wanna do it again?"

"I thought you would never ask," Marianne breathed, moving to straddle him.

His proposal of marriage was over-the-top romantic, complete with expensive champagne and roses, the Eiffel Tower lit up like an extension of the starry sky in the background as he got down on one knee and asked if she would marry him. She said yes almost before he even finished asking. Bien sûr.

He swore he had no part in the fireworks display afterward, however.

Even Alfred's father was charmed by Marianne's flawless elegance once he met her, and approved of her knack of dishing out insults in French and English with exceptional finesse. Matthew got along astonishingly well with her odd yet lovable family, who had invited everyone to a countryside villa in southern France. There, they were treated to night after night of delicious cooking in the Mediterranean tradition, courtesy of her many relatives of Italian and Greek origin.

Alfred had the dubious privilege of meeting Marianne's best friends from university, who turned out to be the punk rocker and equestrian from her storied past.

"Alfred, darling, this is Gilbert Weilschmidt and this is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. These two have been my friends ever since I was a girl. Naturally, do not believe everything they tell you about me."

The two of them sat down on either side of Alfred, grinning mischievously, undoubtedly checking him out.

"So you're the American stud our Marianne decided to settle down with?" Gilbert said. "You must be loaded."

"Well-endowed, perhaps?" Antonio continued blandly.

"I'm no Rockefeller, but my family came into quite a bit of money-" Alfred started before realizing that was not exactly what they were talking about. He blushed, but went ahead and told Gilbert and Antonio he was not interested in threesomes with two other guys, at least, not without checking with Marianne first. The two burst into laughter.

"You're awesome!" Gilbert cackled, holding up his fist for an epic bro-fist.

"You don't know how happy we are that Marianne finally found someone she loves, and who loves her back," Antonio added, looking pleased. "You are going to be so happy."

"What are you two telling him?" Marianne called out from the kitchen.

"They're just telling me that I have the most gorgeous and incredible girl in the world for my fiancée, Marianne, and I am totally agreeing with them."

"Oh really? And what else?"

Antonio was shaking his head and Gilbert was making gagging noises, but Alfred couldn't be happier to tell her how highly he thought of her, how lucky he was to be a part of her life.

Graduation for Alfred came and went in a flurry of activity, he didn't even remember the ceremony but had to assume he was there from the millions of photos his father took of him in his cap and gown.

Now it was time to plan for the wedding. Ever practical, Marianne set him to finding a church for the ceremony while she attended to the rest of the details.

"Are you sure this is the place you want?" he asked Marianne as they stopped in front of a likely-looking cathedral. "I have all of these other churches pulled up from Google, we could still check them out. There's the umm… Notre Dame, and this Montmartre."

"I am sure about this one," she replied fondly, "but since we have time, we can certainly take a look at your list."

"Okay! But first, we should stop at your café. I could really use some hot chocolate."

Laughing, Marianne agreed.

"You know, you have a lot to thank Google for," she told him as they strolled down the boulevards, hand in hand, just like they did over a year ago.

"Yeah, if it hadn't been for Google, I don't think I would have ever found you. I sure owe them a lot…"

She shot down his idea of having the Google's logo emblazoned on a banner and hung at the altar however.

The guest list included their families and friends flying in from all over the world, her co-workers, his classmates, who were overjoyed to be included and commendably restrained themselves from telling Alfred what to wear, leaving that to his fiancée. One invitation had been returned, politely declined, but was accompanied by a magnificent set of wine glasses and other entertaining supplies, plus a pair of ice skates specifically labeled for Alfred.

Matthew and Gilbert and Antonio were proud to serve as the couple's witnesses for the civil ceremony. The religious ceremony afterwards was a suitably abbreviated Catholic version, and the flowers and decorations for the wedding day tastefully arranged with everyone's willing help.

All around the church, every single person was smiling, Marianne's mother occasionally drying her tears with a lacy kerchief, while Alfred's father did his best to not get his sopping wet handkerchief even wetter. Then the string quartet started playing the wedding march, and there was an immediate hush as all attention focused on the aisle.

Standing at the altar, Alfred watched his bride approach, accompanied by her majestic father. She looked absolutely ethereal and elegant in a gown of snow-white lace, with fresh lily blossoms entwined into her golden hair and gathered into her bouquet. Though her face was veiled, he could tell Marianne was looking only at him, her smile as radiant as the sun, and Alfred had never felt more honored, more fortunate. It suddenly hit him at that moment, how much his life had been changed by a chance meeting overseas.

He almost missed saying, "I do." But the kiss afterwards more than made up for that.

One year later, at a cozy renovated bed and breakfast in southern France, a young husband was struggling to comprehend an instruction manual that consisted mostly of drawings and numbers. He turned the manual upside down, sideways, right side up, and then threw the booklet on the ground, staring at the pieces of wood and scattered screws as if they personally offended him in some way.

"I don't know why I thought Ikea instructions in French would be any easier to understand! Of course it wouldn't be!" Alfred muttered, frustrated.

Marianne watched him from the doorway, one hand resting lightly on her stomach, smiling to herself as Alfred pulled his laptop closer and Googled, "how to assemble a crib."

[Author's Note: Well, that's the end. I just want to say thank you to my betas for helping me work through the first version, and everyone else who had commented and enjoyed. This is my favorite pairing to write, as rife as it is with incompatibility and difficulty, so I appreciate everyone who took the chance with it. Like I've been saying, I chance upon criticism of my writing on the internet constantly, obviously not directed at me, and so I feel discouraged all the time, but welp, at least I know I've improved, that's some comfort.]