by Aubrey Dark
“No thanks,” I said, backing away. Strange, too, how the hawkers could guess your nationality so effortlessly. Do I look American? I’d stopped in a small shop that Jake’s driver had recommended. I bought a matching set of bra and panties, thick knee-high eggplant wool leggings to protect me from the cold, and a fitted wool dress in cream with a thin black belt across it. Short-heeled black leather boots matched the belt. I thought Jake would approve, and the wool socks were a nod to practicality.
Still, I had to try very hard not to faint when the saleswoman rang up the total.
Was all of my effort in vain? Maybe I just hadn’t developed the right sense of taste. I would have to ask one of Lucas Black’s girlfriends to come shopping with me, I thought. He would be working on the negotiations alongside Jake. I sighed, wishing that I could be seeing all of these things with Jake right now.
There was another man setting up shop near the far end of the Eiffel Tower. I watched as he threw a plastic pigeon in the air. It had a small motor inside, and its wings flapped as it flew. It circled once over the heads of the tourists, making a horrid mechanical chattering noise as it curved down and flew right back into the street vendor’s hand.
As if by a signal, all of the pigeons on the ground in front of me took off in a flurry. In the flutter of bird wings, I looked up, to see what had caused their flight. Hundreds of people were pushing their way from one side of the Eiffel tower to the other. But there was nothing out of the ordinary.
Nothing, at least, that I could see.
Awestruck, I walked around Paris throughout the early morning, taking it all in. I know most artists would have headed toward one of the museums of art, but I was happy today to walk around and take in the graffiti.
I’d heard that Paris had a lot of street artists, but I was shocked anyway at the profusion of huge mural pieces all alongside the backs of buildings and billboards. It seemed like every surface was either ancient architecture or brand new graffiti. The hand lettering styles were much different from the ones in New York City. I saw more variety, but also more playfulness.
I stopped to take pictures with my phone, and the tourists around me gawked at me like I was the crazy one.
My phone rang. This time when I looked at the screen, it was a number that I’d never seen before. It had too many numbers. European? Maybe it was Jake calling from the office.
I answered.
“Is this Lacey Mills? Miss Lacey Mills?”
“Ah—yes,” I said. The voice on the other end had a slight French accent.
“The artist?”
My chest swelled with pride. I think that was the first time anyone had addressed me that way.
“Yes!” I said.
“Yes. I’m a collector from Paris. I was told you would be in town this week, and I was hoping to meet you.”
What?! The prospect of another art collector meeting was as scary as it was exciting. With Jake busy all day with his business meetings, it was downright terrifying. But I had to learn how to sell my art without Jake’s help someday. And like Rachel and Steph had said, I had to believe in myself and just make a go for it.
“Absolutely,” I said, with more confidence in my voice than I felt. “When—uh—when would you like to meet?”
“I am today going to the Louvre,” the man with the slight accent said. “Will you meet me there?”
“Today? You mean, like, now?”
“Yes, yes. I will take you on a short tour of some of my favorite pieces. I should like to get to know you.”
“Um, sure.” That sounded weird, but I was sure it was hard to speak a second language without sounding weird sometimes. “Yes. I’ll be there in…uh, thirty minutes?”
I looked down. Should I change my dress? I’d bought it thinking of Jake, but I wasn’t sure if it was professional-looking enough. It hugged my hips tightly. But the cowled neck was high enough that it covered all of my cleavage. I decided that it would do.
“Une demi-heure. Oui, bien. I will see you then.”
Well, that was that. The man hung up on me before I realized something: I hadn’t even gotten his name.
I was nervous. I was nervous as I stood next to the outside corner of the Louvre pyramid, watching people all around me take pictures of the huge glass structure. I was nervous when I saw a man in dark sunglasses and a dark suit step out of the milling crowd and start walking towards me.
And I was twice as nervous when I realized that he was young and very, very handsome.
He strode over to me and took me by the shoulders. I scarcely was able to say “Bonjour” when the man leaned down and pressed a kiss onto my cheek, then the other cheek. He beamed a smile that was perfectly straight and dazzling.
“My dear Miss Mills.”
His accent was very slight, but distinctly Parisian.
“Pleasure,” I said. “What—what was your name again?”
“Jean-Luc,” he said. The name couldn’t have sounded more French. His dark sunglasses obscured his eyes so that I could not see his expression.
He led me around the side of the courtyard, and to my surprise he pulled out a key and opened a side door.
“This way,” he said, motioning into a brightly lit staircase. He smirked almost smugly as he waved me through the private entrance.
The staircase inside was a spiral of marble steps going down. I stayed at the top until he closed and locked the door behind us.
“This connects to the Louvre?” I asked.
“No,” Jean-Luc said.
“No?”
“This is a private collection. A friend of mine lent me the key.”
He took his sunglasses off and tucked them into his pocket. He had dark eyes, almost black, and the way he stared at me made my blood run a little hotter. Handsome was too weak of a word—his jawline was sharp and he looked like he’d just stepped out of a Gucci photo shoot.
Apart from that, though, there was something about the way he held himself that seemed oddly familiar. I couldn’t tell what it was, but he was definitely more than a little bit attractive. I couldn’t help the way my heart skipped when he placed his hand on the crook of my elbow and he pulled me through the entrance and down the stairs.
“You will love these paintings, I am sure of it,” Jean-Luc continued. “It is a newer artist, to be exhibited at a smaller gallery down the street. The Louvre is full of old dusty masterpieces. This collection is a breath of fresh air.”
As he spoke, he gestured with a long arm. I found myself mesmerized even before we stepped into the lower room.
Then there we were. On either side of the wall, paintings hung in profusion. There were canvases stacked sideways against the walls, with only brown paper wrapping between them. So many paintings.
“This is all the same artist?” I asked, stepping forward. The largest painting near me was an abstract work, all blues and greens blossoming from the dark background.
“He is a contemporary master,” Jean-Luc said. “Or so they tell me. I was hoping for your opinion.”
“My opinion?” I stared up at another canvas that was larger than me. A checkerboard of black and white squares had been distorted, as though a gravity field in the center was sucking up the lines. Or maybe it was supposed to be a fisheye lens. “I don’t know much about this kind of art.”
“But I find that your works are very similar,” Jean-Luc said. He followed close behind me as I walked. I could feel the heat from his body as he stood behind me. It gave me a thrill to have such a handsome French man guiding me around a private gallery, even more so than the art thrilled me. A pang of guilt went through me as he touched the small of my back, leading me farther into the room.
“You have the same tonal values. The same depth in your line work.”
“I suppose so,” I said, looking up at another huge checkerboard canvas. “These are very impressive.”
A strange feeling tickled the back of my mind. I glanced back at Jean-Luc. It was as though I’d seen this
man before. I had no idea where I would have seen him, but that was the impression he gave me.
“You have a question about this piece?” Jean-Luc asked, waiting patiently behind me.
“No,” I said. “I was just curious… you’ve never been to New York, have you?”
“Mais oui. Of course I’ve been to your greatest city. I make it a point to visit every year for the art auctions.”
“I mean, I feel like I’ve met you before.” I frowned, looking deeper into Jean-Luc’s eyes. “Were you at Jake’s birthday party?”
He shook his head and held his hands out helplessly.
“I apologize,” he said. “But I have never been to one of Mr. Carville’s soirees. I wish I could say that I have met you before. A beautiful lady such as yourself…”
I flushed hard, my skin turning hot on my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that you looked familiar.”
“I’m sure you have met many men like me,” he said, smoothing over my faux pas and making me blush even more furiously.
“No,” I said. “Nobody like you.”
“No?”
“No,” I said, trying to get my emotions under control. For a moment there, he’d reminded me of Jake. It had flustered me. That was all.
“Then let me show you another collection…” Jean-Luc said. He waved me ahead, and I tried not to imagine his eyes burning down my back as we walked together through the rooms full of art.
Chapter Four
I was exhausted after looking through three private collections with Jean-Luc. I managed to blurt out something about my own paintings at the end, but Jean-Luc didn’t seem interested in talking business. Instead, he said that he had a dinner to attend to, and that he would be calling me sometime soon.
“If you’re still in Paris, that is,” he said. His dark eyes twinkled.
“I’ll be here all week,” I said.
“Excellent.”
Jean-Luc leaned forward and kissed me again on the cheeks. I still wasn’t used to the traditional French greeting, but I did the best I could to ignore the strange twist of desire that came through my body at the touch of his lips. He was handsome, sure, but this was just business.
Just business.
“I hope we meet again soon, my dear,” Jean-Luc said. He pushed the door open, and I blinked hard in the bright Paris sunshine.
“Yes,” I said, looking around the courtyard of the Louvre. There seemed to be even more people in line now than there had been before I went down into the private collections. I was completely turned around. This city was confusing. “Do you… do you happen to know where the nearest subway is?”
He raised his dark eyebrows.
“Wouldn’t Mr. Carville send you a car?”
I flushed.
“I—maybe. Probably. I try not to ask him for those kinds of things.”
“He is not your boyfriend?”
“Uh, I mean…” I trailed off, uncertain of how to answer. “We’re dating, ah… casually right now.”
There was a strange look in his eyes, a slight frown. Then it was gone.
“I see. Well, then, let me lend you my own personal taxi.”
“Oh, no!” I cried. “I couldn’t ask that of you. I already have a subway pass for the day anyway.” I fumbled through the words. None of the rich men Jake rubbed shoulders with would have any idea about taking the subway, I realized too late.
“I insist.” Jean-Luc led me through the hallway and pointed to a car parked just on the other side of the street. “Here, you see that black car at the curb? He will take you wherever you ask.”
“But I—”
“Please. I have other things to take care of here before I leave for my dinner. And thank you again for the pleasure of your company today. I much enjoyed our meeting.”
I nodded and blurted out a few thank yous before heading over to the black Lexus. I slid into the leather seat in the back.
“Mademoiselle?”
“Oui. Uh… Jean-Luc said that you could take me?”
“Yes, miss.” The driver switched into flawless English without skipping a beat. “Where would you like to go?”
“Um.” It was too early to head back to the hotel. And I was hungry, anyway. My stomach growled in agreement. “Do you know a good spot for lunch?”
The driver looked back at me, amusement in his eyes
“But of course. This is Paris. I will take you to the best cafe.”
“Merci,” I said, practicing what little French I knew. As the car pulled away from the curb, I saw the pyramid of the Louvre sparkling through the stone archways of the courtyard. I thought of Jean-Luc’s dark eyes, and that strange feeling of familiarity came over me again. I shook it off and pressed my face against the window, so that I wouldn’t miss a single thing.
Jean-Luc’s driver dropped me off in front of a cafe overlooking another park with elaborately carved fountains and vast expanses of green lawns. Even in the crisp air of winter, families walked through the park and I saw two boys racing sailboats in a fountain. I paid what seemed like an exorbitant amount of money for something called duck confit, but it was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten in my life.
I spent the rest of the day wandering through the park and people-watching, something Jake had assured me was the national pastime of France.
I was struck by how much seeing these families made me miss my own mom and dad. I’d been so caught up in the hectic pace of New York City that I’d almost forgotten how nice it could be to just hang out with family.
Jake didn’t know anything about that.
The thought came into my mind unbidden, and I immediately felt bad for thinking it. Jake was an orphan. His mom and dad and brother were all dead. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know much about being part of a family. He had been a kid, only five years old, when everything was taken away from him.
Will he ever want a family with you?
I frowned and shook off the question. Jake and I had only been dating for… gosh, a month? And while I felt strongly for him, I didn’t know exactly what his feelings for me were. I’d stumbled into his life accidentally, after all. Maybe he was just having a fun time with me before moving on to another girl.
“That’s not true,” I said out loud. I stood up from the park bench where I was sitting. A lady who had been feeding the pigeons looked over at me like I was the crazy one. Well, I was talking to myself. I shrugged and walked off in the direction of the hotel. It was only five blocks away, and I wasn’t about to spend any more of Jake’s money on a cab. I could hoof it.
As I walked, I thought about what Jake had said to me. He was so warm and comforting when he wanted to be. And he had brought me all the way to Paris with him. That meant something, didn’t it?
Not to him. It’s no big deal for him.
I frowned and walked faster. The big facade of our hotel building loomed higher as I walked down the street. Marble gargoyles hung off of the corners of the old building. One of them had a bat’s face, and it was sticking a tongue out. I stuck my tongue back out at it as I walked up the steps.
I took the elevator up to our floor, my heart thumping. I couldn’t wait to see Jake again. I knew that seeing his face would be a comfort. Just the thought of his arms around me made me feel warmer inside.
The elevator doors opened and I walked out, a bounce in my step. I turned the corner of the hallway quickly and stopped in my tracks.
There was a girl standing outside of our room. She was slim, blonde, wearing a dark pencil skirt and a neatly fitted suit jacket over it. Her hair was tied back with a clip to one side and as she laughed, she swept her hand back through the long strands to push it over her shoulder.
I heard the low timbre of Jake’s voice, and then—oh, Lord—he was leaning forward, kissing her on the cheek. I saw her hand reach out and touch his chest briefly as she said something, and then she laughed, turning my way.
Before Jake could see me
, I stepped back behind the corner quickly. Now I didn’t know what to do. I felt sick to my stomach. I could hear the woman’s high heels clicking on the floor. She came around to the elevator, and her eyes met mine.
Had she seen me? If so, she gave no indication of it. Her eyes swept dismissively over me, and she walked right past me to the elevator to press the button. She leaned one slim manicured hand against the decorative vase in the hall while waiting for the elevator.
I wanted to slam her against the wall and ask her who she was. I wanted to curl up in the corner of the hotel hallway and scream with jealousy. I wanted to throw one of those lavish vases against the wall.
Instead, I stumbled awkwardly back towards our hotel room. The door was already closed, and I hesitated as I put my hand on the door knob. Should I knock? What if Jake had another woman—
“Stop it,” I whispered to myself. “Just stop it.”
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Chapter Five
“Lacey!”
Jake came out of the kitchen, his tie loose around his collar. Had he loosened it just now, or had she loosened it? The image of the blonde woman undoing his tie flashed through my mind. I gritted my teeth.
“I’m so glad you’re back!” he cried, sweeping me up into a hug. Was it my imagination, or was that perfume I was smelling? I felt my stomach turn even as his arms wrapped around me. “I just got back.”
“Oh? How was your meeting?” I asked.
“Great! We worked through all of the legal contracts. There was an issue with one of the magazine bidders not wanting to work with international businesses…”
Jake went on and on, but I was barely listening.
“Lacey?”
“What? Huh?”
“Lacey, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head. Tears stung the back of my eyes. I willed them away.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You look so worried. What is it?”
“Really, nothing.” There was a woman outside of your room, I wanted to say. Who was she? But I didn’t. If he didn’t want to tell me about her, then I didn’t want to know.
