Sleeping with Paris

by Juliette Sobanet

  My smile faded. Can’t a girl close her eyes for a minute? Jeez.

  She opened her door and actually let me in this time instead of shutting it in my face. Progress.

  I handed her my stack of final papers.

  “Well, I certainly hope this won’t be a waste of my time,” she said cooly as she thumbed through my work.

  This woman was getting on my last nerve. I forced myself to remain calm as she continued.

  “Your professors have informed me that you have returned to their classes. I suspect your deadly flu is gone now?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Yes, I’m feeling much better, thank you.”

  “And about my son.”

  Oh, God. I really didn’t want to talk about this.

  “Yes, Madame Rousseau?”

  “As you know, he has informed me that you are now his English tutor.” The corners of her mouth turned down into a frown after she’d said the words, as if there was nothing worse in the world she could think of than having me, the untimely American, tutor her son. “Do you possess formal English tutoring qualifications, Mademoiselle Summers?”

  “Well, I am a native speaker, and I’ve been a French teacher for the past three years, so I’m certainly familiar with—”

  “So you do not have any formal qualification?”

  “Well, um . . . not a formal qual—”

  “Do refrain from stuttering in my presence, Mademoiselle Summers. Tell me then, would the professional description of a tutor include taking your student to a bar and introducing him to your drunken friends?”

  God, did Marc tell her everything?

  “No, I—”

  “Stuttering, Mademoiselle Summers!” she shouted suddenly.

  I jumped in my seat. I really wanted to leave. Now.

  “My son has informed me that you introduced him to a friend of yours, Fiona?”

  “Yes, I introduced them during our last lesson.”

  “Your last lesson at a bar.” Her eyes burned a hole in me, daring me to respond.

  I kept my mouth shut.

  “This Fiona girl, where did she get her degree?”

  “She went to college in London, and she’s a wonderful person.”

  “I did not ask what kind of person she is, Mademoiselle Summers. I want to know if she is intelligent.”

  “Yes, she’s very sma—”

  Madame Rousseau’s face boiled red as she cut me off. “Because if you think that you can introduce my son who is going to be a doctor to just any girl, you are very wrong, Mademoiselle Summers. By the way he spoke of this Fiona though, I can tell that he is interested in a . . . well, a relationship if you will, and I will not have my son marrying an unintelligent British girl!”

  Who said anything about marriage? I didn’t even know that Marc was interested in Fiona to begin with. Come to think of it though, they were dancing pretty close that night at the bar. And they didn’t leave each other’s sides the whole night.

  “I assure you, Madame Rousseau, Fiona is very intelligent.”

  “Coming from you, that doesn’t say much.”

  I willed myself to stay planted in my seat. I so wanted to smack her across the face and slam the door on my way out.

  “Very well,” she said as she tossed my final papers into a large bin on her desk, as if they were nothing more than a piece of trash. “Since my son is of a mature age, I unfortunately cannot force him to find a new tutor, but I assure you I will not hold back my opinion when it comes to his choice in a future mate.”

  A future mate? God, he’d just danced with Fiona for one night at a bar. I couldn’t imagine that Madame Rousseau had ever set foot in a bar though. Fun was probably a punishable word in her household.

  “I will contact you after the holiday to discuss whether or not I will be proceeding with a recommendation. In the meantime, please refrain from falling asleep outside of professors’ offices. It does not matter if you are early when you are out there sleeping like a cat, Mademoiselle Summers.” She stood up and ushered me out the door without letting me say a single word.

  I hated that woman.

  ***

  After sharing my less than desirable encounter with Madame Rousseau over the phone with Fiona and confirming that Fiona was, in fact, interested in Marc, I began getting ready for my night on the town with Luc. I had been looking forward to it all day.

  He showed up at my door that night wearing a crisp, sangria-colored, collared shirt, black pants, and a classy overcoat to match. He looked incredible. I had on a beautiful, short red dress that plunged down the back . . . and down the front. I had splurged on it the day after Luc had invited me to the ballet. I spotted it in a store window on rue de Passy, and despite my budget restrictions and the fact that it may have been a little too risqué for a night out in the frosty, winter air, I just couldn’t resist.

  When Luc saw me, his eyes widened. “Charlotte, you look beautiful.”

  My cheeks flushed and my stomach fluttered as I leaned to give him bisous. Luc dodged my cheeks and went straight for my lips. I plummeted into the depths of his warm, sweet kiss, knowing this was dangerous. But as his lips brushed over mine, I told myself that I was following one of my rules—allowing a guy to pay for a nice night out on the town. That’s all this was. A nice, innocent night out in Paris. After we came up for air, Luc helped me on with my coat, and we were off to the ballet.

  As we emerged from the Opéra metro stop, the excitement in the air was palpable. Couples dressed in fancy evening attire dashed across the busy street toward the grand, old opera house, its pillars and golden sculptures towering over the square like a castle over its kingdom. To the left was the famous Café de la Paix, its deep green awning and gold lettering all lit up under the lamp posts that lined the crowded sidewalks.

  My heartbeat quickened as Luc took my hand and led me up the stairs and into the opera house. It was my first time inside the theater, and I was speechless. An endless sea of burgundy seats stretched out before us while rows of golden balconies climbed up to the ceiling. Once we took our seats, I fixed my gaze up to the immense chandelier overhead and the hues of blue, yellow, green and red that swirled around it, forming a uniquely modern canvas against its majestic surroundings.

  As the lights dimmed and the red, velvet curtain lifted off the stage, Luc turned to me, took my hand in his and winked. I smiled back at him, feeling overwhelmed with warmth.

  I glanced over at Luc about half-way through the performance and admired his handsome, sweet face. As I felt another butterfly flutter in my stomach, I wondered if he was still seeing the girl I had heard him talking to on the phone that one day. I wondered who kept calling him at all hours of the night and why he just had to take those calls? And more importantly, why he had to take them alone.

  Inside that cozy, gorgeous theater, with the sound of the ballet dancers’ point shoes tapping away on the stage and the feel of Luc’s warm hand wrapped around mine, I wanted to forget about all of that. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and just be with him for a while.

  Later, after the curtain had gone down, and we were walking toward our dorm, Luc wrapped his arm tightly around me and asked, “You are going home for the holiday, no?”

  “Actually, I’m staying in Paris,” I told him as the bitter night air ran a shiver down my spine.

  “You are not going to see your family?”

  “No, I don't feel like dealing with that whole mess. Plus my parents won't even be in the same state. So, I’m just staying here.”

  “If you do not already have a plan for the holiday, you can come to stay with my family for Christmas. There is someone . . . euh . . . some people who I would really like you to meet.”

  I opened my mouth, the word “yes” dangling so heavily at the tip of my tongue, I could almost taste it. I liked Luc . . . I liked him a lot. And I wanted to place my trust in him. But despite the enchanting evening we’d just spent together, I knew firsthand that life wasn’t a fairy t
ale like the one we’d seen on the stage. The images of Jeff's online dating profile ingrained in my head were solid proof of that.

  Plus Luc was still hiding something . . . or someone.

  Even though I was about to violate my rule of not having serious discussions, I had to find out some answers.

  “That's really sweet of you to offer, but I have to ask you something first. Do you have a girlfriend . . . or are you still in love with your ex-wife?”

  “No, of course not. My ex-wife is . . . well, she is not a nice person. And no, I do not have a girlfriend. Do you have a boyfriend? That guy who I met some months ago?”

  “No, I’m not with anyone. That was just a date. It's just all of the phone calls and everything with you. What is going on, Luc? I've told you about my engagement, the break-up, my parents' divorce. What are you not telling me?”

  Luc took a deep breath and avoided my gaze for a few seconds. “It's complicated, Charlotte. I know this will be difficult to understand, but I can't tell you right now. Not yet anyway. I'm sorry.”

  “If you can't even tell me what's really going on with you, I don't understand why you would ask me to spend Christmas with your family.”

  “I am asking you to spend Christmas with my family because I like you Charlotte. I love spending time with you. You make me happy. And I do not have another woman in my life, I promise you.”

  If I took one step closer, I was going to fall even harder for Luc than I already had . . . which was exactly the reason why I couldn't say yes.

  I couldn't bear to be hurt again.

  “Luc, I like spending time with you too. But I’m not looking for a relationship right now, especially one where we can't be completely honest with each other. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

  Luc removed his arm from my shoulders while the corners of his mouth dropped into a full-out frown. And even though I knew I shouldn't have felt bad for turning him down, I kept babbling to soften the blow. “Plus, I already told Lexi I’d have Christmas dinner with her and her brother. Her parents are off traveling, so her brother is flying in for the holidays, and they invited me to spend Christmas with them.” This was only partly true. Lexi had mentioned to me that she wanted to introduce me to her brother, Brad, who would be in Paris over Christmas, but she hadn’t actually invited me to have dinner with them. I assumed that she would though, and even if she didn’t, I couldn’t say yes to Luc’s invitation.

  Luc didn’t say a word as we took the elevator back up to our rooms.

  When we reached my door, I turned to him. “Thank you so much for tonight. The ballet was beautiful. I . . . I’m sorry if I've hurt your feelings.”

  Luc gazed at me, his big chestnut eyes not masking their hurt. “It's okay. I understand. How can I expect you to want to come home with me when I cannot tell you everything about myself? I guess I had hoped that you would trust me anyway. But it was stupid of me to think like that. I am glad you liked the ballet, and I hope you have a good Christmas.” Without kissing me goodbye, he turned around and let himself into his room.

  I collapsed on my hard bed, wondering if I had made the right choice. Wondering if I should’ve just said yes? I felt torn, but I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t ready to meet Luc’s family. We weren’t even together, and there was so much he hadn’t explained to me. So he said he didn’t have another woman in his life, but how would I know? I gave him a chance to explain the phone calls, and he refused. How could I trust him? I had to follow my own advice. So, instead of feeling bad about the situation, I pulled up my blog, read through my past posts and all of the encouraging comments I’d received, and then kept working on the draft of my article for Bella Magazine. Thousands of women were going to read this article in a few months, so I had to stay strong. I couldn’t cave in to the pressure to be in a relationship just because one guy liked me and wanted to be with me. How did I know he wouldn’t turn out to be just like Jeff in the end?

  Sixteen

  vendredi, le 24 décembre

  Even the brightest lights in Paris cannot fill the void you feel when spending Christmas alone.

  Thankfully, Lexi did invite me over to spend Christmas with her and her brother. What she didn’t tell me until Christmas Eve though, was that we weren’t spending the holiday in Lexi’s fancy little apartment off the Champs-Elysées. Instead, her parents had reserved a two-bedroom suite at a hotel as a special Christmas present for their privileged children.

  I took the metro to the Franklin D. Roosevelt stop on the Champs-Elysées and bounded up the stairs past the herds of tourists, all bundled in their thick hats and gloves, giant cameras dangling from their necks.

  Once I reached the top and set my eyes upon the magical, wintery wonderland of the avenue des Champs-Elysées at Christmas time, I wished I had brought my camera too. White, twinkling lights encircled the never-ending sea of trees that lined the avenue and led the way to the majestic Arc de Triumph. The enticing scent of chocolat chaud drifted out into the sidewalks, where tourists and Parisians alike popped from Louis Vuitton over to Sephora, lugging their heavy shopping bags, trying to cross those last few gifts off their Christmas lists.

  I took a left down avenue Montaigne, warming my hands in my coat pockets as I passed by the decorated store windows of Dolce and Gabbana, Chanel, and Christian Dior. I picked up the pace as a bitter burst of cold air whipped past me, blowing strands of my long hair across my pink nose. I spotted the red awnings of the Plaza Athénée Hotel, and smiled as the doorman let me into the lobby.

  Before leaving my dorm room earlier, I’d been in a depressed funk, missing Luc and thinking that I was going to be spending Christmas in some random hotel with people I didn’t know very well. None of it sounded like the cozy Christmas I was used to back in Ohio.

  But as I gazed around at the sparkling crystal chandeliers, the fresh flowers circling the tall, creamy pillars and the swirling, marble floors, I realized this was no ordinary hotel. A wave of excitement swept over me as I rode the elevator up to Lexi’s suite. Maybe turning Luc down hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

  “It’s about time, chick. I was starting to get lonely sitting in this palace all by myself,” Lexi said before giving me bisous and ushering me in the door.

  “This is gorgeous!” I beamed as I placed my bag on the plush, white carpet and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window which boasted an astonishing view of the glittering Eiffel Tower.

  I turned to Lexi who was now lounging on one of the gray, velvety sofas, a glass of champagne in hand, looking calm and collected as usual. As if it were completely normal to spend Christmas in a luxury hotel suite that probably cost more than an entire year of rent in her apartment.

  “Is this a typical Christmas present from your parents?” I asked as I gazed around at the lush, silver drapes, the pink, pastel lampshades and the fresh white roses that were sprinkled around the suite. In the adjoining room, I spotted a stunning grand piano that sat underneath a crystal chandelier, its lights glistening in the gold-rimmed mirror.

  “Well, they went all out this year since they couldn’t spend Christmas with us. They’re off gallivanting around the world as usual, so they’re flying Brad and his friend Dylan in to keep us company tonight.”

  “Wow . . . well, thanks for having me.” I was speechless. Lexi had one of those families. One of those families who could afford to travel the world and pay for their children to stay in lavish hotels with a perfect view of la Tour Eiffel. I couldn’t even imagine having a life like that. But at least I’d get to pretend for a night.

  “No problem. I’m glad you could come. So how was the ballet? Seems like things are getting a little serious with Luc, no?” she instigated as she poured me a glass of Bollinger champagne.

  “The ballet was awesome . . . but, afterwards . . . well, he asked me to spend Christmas with his family.” I sat down on the couch next to Lexi and sank back against a cushy, pink pillow while I sipped my bubbly champagne.

  “N
o!” Lexi’s eyes widened in horror.

  “Yeah, I know. So I asked him about all of those weird phone calls and if he had another woman in his life. He refused to explain the calls, saying it was complicated, but he still swore that he isn't seeing anyone else. How can I trust him though?”

  “That’s just it. You can’t. We all know that complicated in man code means 'I'm fucking someone else.' Listen girl, you can't let yourself get attached to this dude and his family when you don't know what's going on behind the scenes.”

  “So, you think I made the right choice?”

  Lexi lifted her eyebrows, then gestured to our luxurious surroundings. “Um . . . ya think? Besides being able to spend Christmas with me, which is obviously better than spending it with some dude’s family, you’re absolutely right about Luc. Don’t change a thing. You have the perfect situation right now. You have all the fun, but none of the relationship mess to deal with, so why would you want to take things to the next level? We all know how that ends.”

  “You’re right. I can’t let him persuade me. Does Benoît understand that the two of you aren’t in a relationship—that you’re just having fun together?”

  “Not exactly.” She took one last gulp to finish her glass of champagne. “He wants things to be more than they are. But, I’ve never verbally committed to him, so the way I see it, I have no obligation to him. We go on dates, have sex and have fun together, but he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t call him my boyfriend and I’m not planning on it. If he gets any ideas, then I’ll just move on. There are plenty of other fish in the sea who are up for this sort of arrangement. It’s just like your blog, really—I’m dating like a man and having the time of my life.”

  I hoped that we could keep these types of “arrangements” going on without someone getting hurt . . . but I knew by the way Luc had left my room the other night that it was too late for that. I had already hurt him.

  Just as I was finishing up my first glass, there was a knock at the door.

  “I have just the cure for you,” she said as she crossed the suite. “You won’t be worrying about Luc once you meet my brother.” She opened the door to reveal two incredibly handsome men. Christmas wasn’t going to be too shabby after all.