R Is for Richer

by Tara Hart

He smiled. I noticed the skin around his eyes crinkling as he did so. He’d aged, but he was as striking as ever and his dark hair now featured natural silver highlights. Only he could make aging look so damn effortless.

  His gaze subtly traveled over my body. I wondered if he was still attracted to me as I was him.

  “We should get a drink, for old times’ sake.” I would never get sick of hearing that accent. It was perfection, and if possible, he sounded even more French than he did ten years ago. His voice was smooth and confident and I couldn’t say no to him.

  “I would love to get a drink.” I twirled my hair around my finger. The one flirtatious habit that I could never quite shake.

  “I know a cafe nearby.” His hand pressed against the small of my back causing my whole body to tingle.

  “Follow me.” He took the lead, clutching his book against his chest as his worn brown satchel hung loosely over his shoulder. Both of our shoes clicked against the uneven cobblestone path as we walked.

  When we reached the corner of the street, a beggar shook her paper cup, causing the coins inside to jingle. I took a step sideways, consciously not making eye contact. It surprised me when he stepped forward, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash.

  He said something in French and the lady nodded at him as she grasped his hand. “Merci. Merci,” she cried.

  We crossed the road and continued our walk in silence. I offered him a sideways glance and caught him smiling to himself.

  “What did you say to her?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  He smiled again, looking at me as he walked. “I wished her well and told her that God loves her. I made her promise to buy food with the money I gave her.”

  I found it hard not to smile but felt like a charlatan for doing so. After all, I was the one trying to avoid her and there he was, the true gentleman offering her kind words and enough cash for a hot meal or two. Maybe we had nothing in common at all.

  We sat at a small cafe that I’d never set eyes on before. It was the kind of place only locals knew about, with the menus all in French and the staff not speaking a word of English. Despite the obvious, I felt right at home sitting across from him.

  He ordered our drinks, handing the menu back to the waitress with a smile. Dimples appeared in his cheeks, causing a flutter in my stomach. I’d forgotten the way his cheeks would show just how happy he was in any one moment. That’s the way I could gauge his mood, the dimples in his cheeks and the sparkle in his steel grey eyes.

  “You look just as I remember,” I said aloud. I was thinking it all along and I couldn’t stop the words from passing my lips. He looked like the man I dreamed of every day for ten years. Perfection.

  The blue suit jacket he wore was impeccable, molding to the curves of his biceps seamlessly. The white shirt underneath, worn loose around the collar, revealing a peek of his chest hair and the silver crucifix that he wore all those years ago.

  He cleared his throat. “You look different.”

  “Really?” I was surprised by his comment. I didn’t think time had changed me that much. I had enough Botox to ensure I didn’t age prematurely. Maybe it was time for another top-up.

  He nodded his head, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows rose.

  “You look uptight.” The comment shocked me and it must have been obvious. He smirked when he noticed my reaction. “You are still so beautiful, but when we met you were a just a girl with no inhibitions. You were free.” He reached across the table and took my hand in his. “Now you look as though you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  He was right. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be that eighteen-year-old girl again. Too much had happened in my life and it was inevitable, I matured.

  I bit my lip and then let it go. “Did you like me better that way.” I watched him closely. “Did you like that eighteen-year-old girl better?”

  He smiled as he shook his head. “Better? No.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Different isn’t always a bad thing.”

  The waitress brought our drinks, two white wines that were poured to the rim.

  He took the stem of the glass in his hand and held it out to me.

  “To coincidences.”

  I clinked my glass against his and downed my first mouthful. Coincidences, indeed.

  “Do you come here often?” He set his wine glass down and propped his elbows on the table. “To Paris, I mean.”

  I didn’t quite know how to answer. I didn’t want him to know that I came every year in the hope of seeing him and yet I wanted him to know everything. I wanted him to know that he left a hole in my life that needed to be filled, but he wasn’t ready to hear my confessions. He’d need a few drinks before I bared my soul to him.

  “Yes,” I said. “Once a year, sometimes more.”

  “And your husband?”

  I swallowed hard as my eyes found it hard to focus. I felt as though he just caught me cheating.

  Chapter 6

  My cheeks flushed, which was usually more Savannah’s thing, but Frenchy had caught me in a lie.

  Husband. He made the word sound dirty—tainted.

  I wrapped my fingers around the stem of my wine glass. “How did you know?”

  He pointed at my hand, and like an idiot, I had to look down to see what he was referring to.

  My rings. I never took them off. It never occurred to me that he would notice such a thing, and yet, he knew all along.

  “Is he here?”

  I shook my head. “No. I always come alone.” I tucked my hand beneath the table as if it would make the giant rock on my finger vanish into thin air.

  I struggled to look at his face, not from fear of him judging me, but from fear of him rejecting me.

  He exhaled through his nose as his intense gaze held mine. It was as if he wanted to ask me something but couldn’t quite find the words.

  My right hand reached across the table to touch his, but he pulled his hand away.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What do you want to know?”

  He clenched his jaw. I could see his muscles working overtime as he worked up the courage to ask me whatever he wanted to know.

  “Why are you here?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “In Paris? I came for fashion week.” Next question.

  He leveled his face with mine, his gaze piercing into me. “Why did you come to this cafe with me if you are a married woman?”

  It was a simple question, but the answer was anything but simple. It was complicated and deep and would make me sound a little insane.

  With a shrug of my shoulders, I tried to swallow the lump of regret that was threatening to choke me. “I agreed to get a drink with you. Nothing more.”

  His lip picked up at the side as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Of course.” He ran the concept through his mind as if testing its credibility. “A drink for old times’ sake,” he repeated the sentiment.

  He nodded as if trying to convince himself that was all it was going to be, a drink and nothing more.

  He smiled softly to himself for a moment. “You know only people in fashion enjoy fashion week. The rest of us have to deal with the traffic, the crowds, the chaos.”

  I returned his smile. “I love the atmosphere and the excitement of it all.”

  “Only a visitor would say that,” he joked.

  I nodded. “It’s my most favorite time of year. Paris is so beautiful in the fall. And there’s this one fleeting moment before the first model takes to the runway and you have no idea what to expect…you never know what Paris will bring, it is anything but predictable.”

  His eyes narrowed as his smile widened.

  I was rambling about something he couldn’t care less about.

  Feeling embarrassed, I tucked my hair behind my ear. “What is it?”

  He shrugged. “You are even more beautiful when you talk of something that you’re passionate about.”
>
  I blushed because I was definitely rambling. He reached for his glass and drained its contents in one long mouthful.

  “I need to be heading home now. He grabbed his satchel from the floor and pushed his chair out.

  My mouth fell open as I realized he was about to leave me too soon. Again.

  “You’re leaving already?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “I need to catch the train home.”

  “Do you live far away?” My voice sounded desperate, I was fully aware of that, but I wasn’t going to let him leave without finding out more information. I had waited ten years for this reunion and I wasn’t willing to wait another ten before seeing him again.

  He laughed lightly with a shake of his head. “I don’t live in the city. Not even close.”

  “I’d love to see where you live,” I said before I could stop myself.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think your husband would approve of that.”

  I averted my gaze at the mention of Jared. I hadn’t thought about him all day. I wasn’t sure of the emotion I was feeling. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was something else.

  “Can I see you again?” It sounded like a plea.

  He rubbed his hands over his face as he contemplated what I was asking of him.

  It had been over ten years and I was forced to say goodbye after only thirty minutes. I couldn’t lose him again. Not like this.

  He stood from his seat and I followed suit. He held out his hand, but I refused to take it, shaking my head as the denial coursed through my veins.

  “Can I see you again?” I repeated.

  He shrugged his shoulders as he signaled for the waitress to come over. “I don’t know, mon cheri.”

  Mon cheri. I repeated the sentiment in my mind. I would have swooned if I weren’t so desperate to stop him from walking away.

  He handed the waitress a note and nodded his gratitude. She shoved the cash in the front pocket of her apron and went on her way, not before offering him a flirtatious smile.

  “Please,” I said, causing his attention to turn back to me.

  The first time I met Jared, we slept together on that very same night and we didn’t spend a single day apart for the first few months. I was completely and utterly smitten. I was obsessed with him and he indulged me. He stayed by my side even when he wanted to go home to his own bed.

  Now my situation was totally different. I was begging the man I lost my virginity to over ten years ago to not turn and walk away from me, and it was the hardest thing I’d ever had to ask in my life. He made me realize how much I wanted him in my life.

  “Please,” I uttered once more.

  “How long are you in the town for?” he asked, his hands hanging out of his pockets casually.

  “I leave on Sunday,” I said with urgency, my eyes wide.

  It was two days away. I couldn’t bear to leave France without seeing him again and telling him about my life, about the fact that I’d thought of him every single day for ten years.

  “Come to Pierry on Saturday afternoon,” he said as he pushed his chair underneath the table readying himself to leave. He rounded the table and stood so close to me that I could smell his aftershave. I inhaled and held onto his scent for as long as possible.

  “Where?” I asked as I frantically tried to pinpoint the location on a map. “I don’t even know where that is. Is it a restaurant?”

  He chuckled lightly, reaching forward, he stroked my cheek. It made my skin heat, but it didn’t distract me from the fact he was leaving.

  “Pierry,” he said again. “It’s a town two hours from here.”

  Pierry, I repeated it in my mind over and over as if clinging to the word for dear life.

  He stepped backward before I was ready. I had so many questions yet to be answered.

  “Where will I find you?” My voice shook.

  “The restaurant on the hill,” he said as he turned and walked out of the cafe.

  “What restaurant? What hill?”

  I ran after him, knocking a chair over in the process. I didn’t have time to pick it up, I had to find him before he disappeared. When I stepped onto the sidewalk, I looked both ways, frantically searching for him in a sea of faces.

  I saw the back of his pale blue jacket in the crowd.

  “Wait,” I yelled.

  He spun around, a coy smile on his lips.

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “You don’t need my name to find me. Just tell them you are visiting the Artist.”

  He took two steps backward and then he was gone.

  “Pierry. The Artist,” I muttered to myself like a crazy person.

  I pulled my cellphone from my pocket and typed Pierry into the search window.

  I wasn’t playing games anymore. On Saturday I was going to Pierry, and when I saw him, I was going to tell him everything.

  Chapter 7

  I bought two new dresses for my trip to Pierry, both of which I deemed inappropriate, so I bought a third.

  I liked to travel with outfits for every occasion but always ended up buying something new. Shopping for me was therapeutic and as price wasn’t an issue, I didn’t deem it necessary to recycle outfits. Sometimes you just need something new.

  I settled on a loose-fitting green dress that I cinched in at the waist with a gold-plated belt. I chose my beige wedge heels to match as they suited either day or night without looking too fussy.

  I applied subtle makeup to my face, settling for natural tones and a gold lid to match my belt. Foregoing my usual red lip was a hard decision to make, but I didn’t want to look too...made-up. For some reason, I felt as though he’d appreciate something a bit more natural, and for him, I’d give anything a go.

  I made my way to the helicopter pad because honestly, I didn’t do trains. If a swift ride in a helicopter meant more time with him then that was the price I had to pay. Thank goodness Jared hardly checked the credit card statement, even if he did, I was sure I could talk my way out of it.

  As the helicopter flew above the wine country, I marveled at its beauty. The last of the summer grapes were holding onto the vines that were now turning brown from the sudden fall chill.

  As we hovered over the helipad in Reims, my heartbeat matched the rhythm of the propellers. The blood was rushing through my veins as the thought of seeing him again caused my nerves to spiral out of control.

  The pilot helped me out of my seat as he eyed me curiously. “Where are you off to now?”

  I must have looked like a lost puppy because, in truth, I didn’t know where the hell I was going.

  “I need to get to Pierry. I am looking for a restaurant on top of the hill,” I told him.

  “You will find many of those here.” His accent was thick, but the disdain was clear—he didn’t care that I was lost. He’d landed the helicopter safely and his job here was done.

  “Can you point me in the right direction?” I asked hopefully.

  He shook his head as he stepped back into the pilot’s seat. “Ask the drivers.” He pointed to the line of cars in the distance. “I only know this area from the sky.”

  I swept my hair behind my ears as I rushed toward the waiting taxis a short walk away. The line of driver’s watched my approach as they chatted amongst themselves in French.

  One of the men stepped forward, a cigarette hanging off his lip. “Oui?”

  I waved my hand in front of my face, not so subtly blowing the smoke away.

  “Do you speak English?” I looked at my surroundings, completely overwhelmed by the situation I’d put myself in. This was a bad idea and I wanted to retreat to the sanctuary of the helicopter once again. “Anglais?”

  A younger driver stepped forward, a crooked smirk on his face. “Where to?”

  He looked me up and down and then licked his lips.

  “I’m going to Pierry,” I said. “To a restaurant,” I added hesitantly, “on a hill.”

  He
turned back to his driver pals and they exchanged a few words in French. They all laughed before turning their attention back to me.

  He shook his head. “You don’t have the address?”

  “I’m going to Pierry,” I told him. “Can you drive me there?”

  He sighed seemingly unimpressed. “I’ll drive you into town,” he said.

  I nodded my head as I followed him to his car. My heels ground into the stones as I walked by the other taxi drivers. They didn’t attempt to hide their interest as they watched me walk by.

  The young driver opened the back door of his black limo.

  I graciously stepped inside and combed my fingers through my hair. The roads were windy and he drove far too fast, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I was just grateful that I wasn’t stranded at the helipad for the remainder of my Saturday.

  The drive took over thirty minutes, most of that time I spent fearing for my life, both from the driver’s speed and the irrational thoughts that he was taking me in the completely wrong direction to murder me and dump my body. It’s amazing how many scenarios can enter your mind in the space of thirty minutes.

  When the car began to slow, I knew we were in the town. The streets were narrow and the architecture timeless. I lowered my window and inhaled the fresh air into my lungs. Despite the fall settling in a month ago, the town was still predominately green. It was beautiful and it suited him to a tee.

  I leaned forward in my seat, vying for the driver’s attention.

  “You don’t know a restaurant on a hill?” I thought I’d try my luck once more.

  “Name?” His patience was wearing thin.

  “I don’t know,” I said softly as I settled back in my seat and looked out the window.

  We approached a small cottage with brown brick houses either side. He slowed the car and turned to look at me. “This is the center of town.”

  “This is it?”

  I looked at the surrounding streets which were completely derelict. I was lost in a town where I was sure no one spoke a word of English. My French vocabulary extended to ten words or so, which didn’t bode well for my confidence.