The entire train trip back to the city all I could think about was Philippe Vaillancourt. He was so unlike any other man I’d ever met, and yet I barely knew him at all. I’d only spoken a few words with him, and yet the impact of those words hit me like a freight train. As I thought about those deep brown eyes, so dark they were practically black, I wondered what the secret he hid behind them was. There was pain in that face, I could absolutely recognize that. Pain, but also inexplicable beauty. When I thought about the dimples in his face as he smiled at me, I felt my sex getting hot, juices beginning to well up inside of me. What was this? This was so unlike me. I didn’t understand it at all, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
I stared at the business card Jacques gave me for a while. It had his phone number on it. Would I call him? Of course I would. But why did Philippe warn me away from him? After all, Jacques was the kindest, most gentlemanly, mature person I knew. Surely there was no reason for me to avoid him, was there?
Chapter Seven
The next day, when I met up with Noelle and Claire for coffee, I told them all about what had happened at Versailles, about the sexy Philippe, and his strange warning.
“Oh my God, Sophie, that is so strange,” Claire exclaimed when I finished the story, both of their eyes completely focused on me.
“But, what does that man, Philippe, what does he know about Jacques, why did he tell you to stay away?”
“I don’t know, that’s the thing,” I replied. “I asked, but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“That story is crazy, absolutely crazy!” Noelle said. “It is the sort of thing you see in movies... a sexy stranger, the handsome gentleman. Who knew that you would have met a man like Jacques, all because of the fact that I wanted a photo in front of Notre Dame in the snow!”
“I know! He’s actually really nice. I don’t know if I want to date him like, seriously or anything like that, but he’s the type of man you can trust, you know? The sort of person that you feel you can tell anything.”
“That’s magical, you’re so lucky Sophie.”
“Oh, not that lucky. I actually came to France because my old boyfriend broke up with me and I didn’t think I could get over him.”
“No way!”
I told them all the story of Mike. It was the first time I’d told anybody who hadn’t been part of my inner circle back in San Francisco. I realized as I was telling them the story that I had almost completely stopped thinking about him lately. I was actually getting over him, something that even a few months ago I wouldn’t have thought possible. Instead I spent my days thinking about Philippe. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t get him out of my head. Those dark, mysterious eyes, the hair so scraggly, yet perfect, the perfectly sculpted face... all of it made my body react in ways I didn’t know was possible at just the thought of someone. Whenever I thought about him I felt hot, like my blood was lava, waiting to bubble over. It was like my nerves were set to level eleven. Everything I felt in my body was so much more noticeable than it seemed at other times; I felt every deep breath that left my mouth, I felt my chest heaving up and down, my nipples straining against my bra, the heat building in my sex, and that was without seeing the man at all.
“Are you going to sleep with him?” Claire asked. I laughed.
“I dunno, what the hell, who just asks questions like that out of the blue?”
“Oh I don’t know,” Claire replied, badly imitating my American accent. “Of course you know, you had to have thought about it.”
“Well, I guess probably not really. I honestly hadn’t. I dunno. Like, maybe in the heat of the moment, I guess? I’m never going to see him again anyway, so like, no, I’m not going to sleep with him.”
I could feel the blush crawling up my face.
“Oh look, she is embarrassed!” Noelle exclaimed, and the two of them set about teasing me. I stuck my tongue out and threw a napkin at Noelle and Claire as I felt my face reaching all new shades of red I didn’t even know existed.
If only they knew I dreamed of sleeping with Philippe basically every night.
The Friday the week after Versailles I decided to call Jacques. I took out his card and dialed his number.
“Hello, Jacques, it’s Sophie.”
“Ah, bonjour Sophie, how was the rest of your trip to the palace after I left?”
“It was good, thank you,” I replied, the memory of Philippe next to me by the farm animals coming back to life. “How is your mother doing?”
“She is fine. She has had worse, she’s already back on her feet and simply needs crutches to get around. She’s a fighter, she has already refused all of my help to get her groceries and help.”
“Ah, I’m happy to hear that,” I replied.
“Listen, if you would like, I have been invited to the opening of a club tonight, if you would like to join me? Although I completely understand if because of your family’s history you prefer to do something else.”
I thought about it for a minute, and decided to go. After all, there was nothing saying I couldn’t simply have one drink and stop, or even no drinks at all. Besides, I was twenty years old now. When I got back to America in a few months I was going to turn twenty one with all my friends. I had to get used to being around alcohol, even if I avoided it, or I knew my social life was going to go to complete shit very quickly.
“Thank you, that sounds nice. I would love to join you,” I replied.
“Excellent. Would you like me to come pick you up and we can take the Metro, or would you like me to give you the address and I can meet you there?”
“Why don’t you come and get me?” I asked, feeling bold. I gave Jacques my address and he promised to come and get me around 9:30 that night. I spent longer than usual getting ready, scanning my wardrobe looking for something appropriate for a club. I began to regret my more conservative choice of clothing, I didn’t have anything nearly slutty enough for my liking right now. Eventually I settled on a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top where everything above my cleavage was lace. It showed off my arms, that was going to have to do. I coupled them with a pair of stiletto boots and a clutch purse, and as I looked at myself in the mirror I decided I was hot. I hoped I was hot enough to fit in though, somehow in Paris I always felt as though I had the fashion sense of a 13 year old living in the 90s. Everyone who lived here was so fashion forward, always wearing the latest and greatest clothes and looking amazing in them. I had always had a nice enough figure, but compared to the French I felt like an elephant.
I tried to keep my cool, but I started pacing around and looking at the clock as soon as it hit 9:20. When the knock at the door finally came, I had to stop myself from jumping up and getting it immediately. I took a long, deep breath before finally greeting Jacques.
“Are you ready for a night out?” he asked as I answered, a large smile plastered onto his face. “This club is supposed to be the next big thing in Paris.”
“Awesome, I’m excited,” I answered, grabbing my purse and heading out.
We spoke banalities on the way to the club, where Jacques was immediately greeted by the bouncer at the door and we were led past the line of dozens of people waiting to get in. I felt like I was famous! This was the sort of thing that only happened to the exceedingly rich, or exceedingly beautiful, of which I was neither.
The inside of the club was crazy. Music pounded so hard it felt like the floor was shaking. The bar to the left lined the entire wall, neon blue light shining down from the bar counter to the floor. There had to be hundreds of people in here, all of them with a drink in hand. I began to suddenly feel a bit of fear gripping me. Maybe coming here hadn’t been the best idea after all. But it wasn’t like I could just leave now. Not when we’d just arrived. Maybe I just won’t drink I thought to myself, but a minute later Jacques excused himself, and returned with a drink in hand.
I think he must have noticed my expression when I saw it.
“Oh, Sophie, I am so sorry, please allow me to take it back, I wil
l get you a soda.”
“No, no, it’s ok. I’m fine. I’ll just have this one drink,” I replied, smiling. After all, what harm could one drink do? I’d had that glass of wine at the restaurant with him, no problem. And Jacques was so understanding, the way he immediately offered to get me something else, I knew I would be fine with him. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I kept the drink.
As I sipped the drink I began to feel a buzz. It was like I was suddenly lightheaded, and there were no problems in the world at all. Maybe this drink was stronger than I thought. I wondered if I should leave it half full and maybe have a glass of water, but it tasted nice, my brain almost forced me to keep drinking it. I finished it, and a few minutes later I asked for another. Jacques brought it to me, and again I drank, as Jacques encouraged me to dance with him.
Everything after that became somewhat of a blur. I remembered being on the dance floor, music and lights pounding all around me, with a drink in my hand. I also remembered a different drink, had I had a third? I remembered Jacques dancing with me, his hands on my hips. I remembered thinking it was strange, but that it felt good. I remember thinking about Philippe, wondering if he was there.
After that, everything went black. When I woke up the next morning, I was in bed, still fully clothed. There was a glass of water on the bed next to me along with two headache tablets and a note. My head was on fire, an unbelievable pounding that felt like it would never end. I grabbed the tablets and washed them down with the water, then leaned back against the bed, willing the pills to work instantly.
A few minutes later, when the pounding had slowed down into a dull throb, I grabbed the note. It took a while for my eyes to focus on the words.
“Sophie,
I am sorry for last night. I should not have allowed you to drink so much. I made sure you got home, and I put some water and pills for you to take in the morning. I apologize, I promise to never allow you to get into that situation again.
Jacques”
So that was how I had gotten here. Despite the situation I was in, I was so incredibly touched by his letter. It wasn’t his fault at all, of course. It was mine. I knew I shouldn’t have been in the club, I knew I shouldn’t have been drinking, but I did it all anyway. I could have said no at anytime and I knew it. I felt that sinking feeling of guilt in my stomach, that feeling of having disappointed myself. I put down the note. I was going to have to call Jacques later and apologize, tell him that it was all my fault, thank him for getting me home safely.
I had been so stupid. What if I hadn’t been with Jacques? What if I had been with someone else, someone who wouldn’t have insisted on getting me back here safely? I was in a foreign city, a foreign country where I barely spoke the language. Anything could have happened. I could have become another statistic. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I take that first drink? I thought it would have been fine, but it obviously wasn’t.
My mother was an alcoholic. That was a fact. I also knew that alcoholism was often linked to genetics, and that I was more than likely incredibly susceptible to alcohol. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get into that kind of situation, but I did. I was so stupid.
I went out and bought the greasiest food I could find for breakfast. I remembered my friends saying that was the best cure for a hangover, and I remembered thinking that I hoped I would never have to know that. Now I knew. I could not risk drinking again. I could not risk becoming like my mother, a drunk who couldn’t even put the bottle down for long enough to take care of her own daughter.
There are some things you can change in this life, and there are some things you can’t. It’s how you react to the things you can’t change, and how you live your life around them, that define you as a person. I’ve believed that for most of my life. I couldn’t change the fact that I probably have a susceptibility to alcoholism. Now I knew that in order to live my life around that, I had to avoid alcohol from now on.
When I finally start to feel a little bit better, I give Jacques a call.
“Ah Sophie, I am glad to hear you are alright.”
“Thanks. I wanted to say thank you for making sure I got home safely last night.”
“It was nothing, do not worry. It was my fault, I should have not given you so much to drink. I should have said no to you after you had the second.”
“How many drinks did I have?”
“Four, en tout. It was then that I realized the mistake and took you home.”
“Did I do anything embarrassing?”
“No, not at all. You do not need to worry.”
“Thanks, Jacques. I really appreciate it. If you want to do something later this week, I’d be happy to.”
“Excellent, we will go somewhere much quieter.”
I hung up the phone feeling better about the night before. I couldn’t believe how nice Jacques was. I also couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. I hadn’t wanted to drink, but I did. And then I got drunk. I went home to have a nap. This was the worst. I hated being angry with myself, I hated being disappointed with myself. I was better than this. Why had I done something so incredibly stupid?
Chapter Eight
Unfortunately for me and my plan to avoid alcohol forever, that Friday Noelle and Claire came up to me excitedly in class.
“Sophie, you must come with us tonight. There is to be an amazing party, it will be huge!”
“A party? For who?”
“Well it is just for partying. Alexandre Robitaille’s parents are going away, and they have a house in the suburbs, it is huge. The entire class is going.”
“I don’t know...” I started, thinking about the other night. It was so soon, after all.
“Come on Sophie! You have come to Paris, you must experience life like a real Parisienne,” Claire announced with a flourish on the last word. “What is France for if not for a good time?”
“Alright, I’ll come. But I can’t drink. I’m afraid I’m allergic to alcohol.”
“Oh, so that is why you did not want to come. I understand. If I were allergic to alcohol, I think I would die,” Noelle replied, completely seriously, which made me laugh.
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” I replied.
“Well, at least you will come. Even if you do not drink, it will be fun.”
“It will be, I’m sure,” I agreed. My friends accepted my excuse so readily, I started to think it would be fine.
That night we all headed out together, dressed up, taking the train to the suburbs, the opposite direction of most partygoers who fled the suburbs on Friday night to go to clubs in the city. I was nervous. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, remembering the week before. Just don’t drink. Tell them you’re allergic. It wasn’t like lying was something new to me, I’d been doing it for years.
We arrived at the house, in a suburb pretty far out from Paris. It took us about 40 minutes on the train to get there. The house was gorgeous. It was basically exactly what I always thought houses in Europe would look like. Made of wood, three stories tall, with a nice hedge and a wrought iron gate lining the front, it was pretty narrow, painted white with small blocks of brown wood along the side giving it a classy look. I felt like it must have been built hundreds of years ago, although I knew this was really just the style in France and it may only be a few decades old.
It probably would have looked even more elegant if it wasn’t for the noise coming from inside. I looked up and down the street nervously, wondering if we were going to get a visit from the cops soon, but we were far enough outside of Paris that the other houses were far enough away that I hoped they wouldn’t be bothered by the noise. It was loud, but it wasn’t that loud, I was just used to our crowded inner city apartment buildings.
Claire and Noelle led me inside. The house was small and cramped, much like everywhere else I’d been in Europe. The music blared from the backyard, where it seemed everyone had decided was the better place to hang out. We pushed our way through people towards the kitchen b
efore heading out back with everyone else. It was so crowded, it felt like everyone in our year at the University had shown up. I’m pretty sure I brushed up against at least a half dozen people during the short walk to the kitchen. Noelle poured drinks for herself and Claire, then handed me a cup.
“I can’t, remember? I’m allergic,” I reminded her, almost having to shout to be heard over everyone.
“Oh, it’s just water Sophie. This way you will not be bothered by men who try to give you drinks,” she replied. Sure enough, when I looked down, all I saw was clear fluid.
“Thank you, Noelle,” I replied, smiling at my friend. I hadn’t thought of that at all, I was glad she had.
Eventually the three of us wandered into the backyard, and for the most part we went our own separate ways for a while. I saw Claire chatting up Lucas, a guy in one of our classes that I knew she had the hots for. I smiled to myself as I saw her with him. He was obviously very into her, and I wondered how long it was going to take for the two of them to sneak upstairs.
The backyard of this place was huge. I could totally understand why they decided to have a party here, and I thought to myself that Alexandre Robitaille’s parents must be incredibly rich to afford this place.
Still, going by the number of empty plastic cups and general garbage around (I’m pretty sure I saw what was vomit in the bushes, but looked away before I could be sure) Alex was definitely going to have to pay a fortune to have someone come in and clean it all before his parents came home. I didn’t really know him. I’d met him a few times and he seemed nice, he was in one of my accounting classes. Right now he was on a plastic table, singing along incredibly badly to the rap song blaring from the stereo system which had been dragged outside, being egged on by all his friends.
Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty) Page 142
