What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1)
Page 19
After a little while, he continued his unfinished story. “When I went to Amanda’s to break up with her, I was so clumsy. I started by saying I had to tell her something. She jumped in and told me she wanted to start a family.”
He grimaced and stared at the wall in front of them. “That was when I told her we were through. It was the most difficult conversation in my whole life.”
Lena felt sorry for him, but she couldn’t help imagining herself in Amanda’s place. It must have been awful for her.
He turned to look into her eyes. “I hated myself every second of that talk, and then some. I delivered all the clichés people say in such cases. I told her she deserved better. I also told her I wasn’t worthy of her. I might’ve even mumbled ‘it’s not you, it’s me’.”
“How did she react?”
“With dignity and composure. She was so cool.” He smiled bitterly. “The best part—or shall I say, the least awful part—was when she gave me that hard look and told me to go screw myself.”
“That does sound like Amanda. I mean the message, not the particular choice of words.”
“Yep. That’s why I wish I could keep her friendship. I love her frankness, her wit, her determination. I just could never love her . . . the way I love you.”
He broke off, panic flickering in his eyes. “Can we please rewind the last ten seconds? I didn’t mean to hit you with it yet. I wanted to wait till you were ready.”
Lena felt like she was in one of her daydreams. Only this time it was real and utterly unexpected. And glorious beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
She brought his hand to her face and pressed her cheek into his palm. “I love you, Rob. With all my heart.”
<<<<>>>>
Excerpt from Under My Skin
(Bistro La Bohème Book 2)
A TALL WELL-DRESSED guy entered the bistro, dripping rain and hotness. He stopped by the door and surveyed the room.
Must be looking for Rob, Jeanne thought. She tried to peel her gaze off him and focus on the conversation around her. Easier said than done. Aside from his general attractiveness, the stranger was full of contrasts that mesmerized her.
He had long legs and narrow hips, yet his upper body was deliciously brawny. The poor fellow must have a hard time finding suits that fit. Speaking of suits, his was a sleek number cut from the finest, smoothest wool to grace La Bohème on her watch. The trendy jacket overlaid the lines of his V-shaped torso as if it were tailor-made. Which it probably was. On top of all that, his friendly, clean-shaven face sported a masculine nose and a firm jawline.
Just as the mysterious hunk turned to survey her side of the room, Rob approached him and gave him a big hug.
“I’m so glad you made it! It wouldn’t have been a proper engagement party without my best man.”
“It’s a matter of having one’s priorities straight,” the hunk said. “I told the boss I was leaving at five thirty, whether we were finished or not.”
His crooked smile sent a couple of Jeanne’s internal organs into a happy little somersault.
“That’s the spirit, man.” Rob grinned.
The guy winked. “Having Mom as my boss does have its perks. Where’s Lena, by the way?”
“Fetching her folks. They should be here in half an hour.” Rob patted him on the shoulder. “Now, why don’t you give me your wet jacket and get yourself a drink. The party doesn’t officially begin until eight thirty, so you can chill and talk to the people you know.”
The hunk removed his jacket, uncovering an expensive-looking shirt—and a better view of his broad chest.
Jeanne swallowed. Was this guy real?
Rob took the wet garment from him and walked away. And then something weird happened. The hottie remained by the door instead of walking toward the guests or the bar. He looked around the room as if searching for someone—his gaze lingering on the females until it met Jeanne’s. He beamed and walked toward her, his eyes trained on her and full of warmth.
Does he know me? Do I know him?
It was downright impossible she would forget a stud of this caliber, even if she had met him during her wild teens.
“Hi, Jeanne. Don’t you remember me?” he asked when he was close enough for her to discern the hint of five-o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw.
“I’m sorry . . . Are you sure we’ve met?”
“Every day for almost two years.”
Righto. “Next you’ll tell me I used to go out with you,” she said tilting her head to the side.
“Unfortunately, you didn’t.” The dreamboat sounded genuinely sorry. “But it wasn’t for my lack of trying. I spent most of my money eating at this bistro just so I could see you.”
She gave him a puzzled look. Who was he?
“OK, you really don’t remember me.” He bowed ceremoniously. “Mathieu Gérard, also known as Mat. I’m a friend of Rob’s. We studied together here in Paris a few years back.”
“Mat?” There was no way this guy was Mat. “You can’t be him. Mat was . . . he was . . .”
“Nothing like me?” he prompted, the corners of his mouth twitching.
To put it mildly.
End of Excerpt
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Author’s Note
On Tsvetaeva
Marina Tsvetaeva (1892–1941) is one of the greatest Russian lyrical poets of the twentieth century. Critic Annie Fitch describes her work: “Tsvetaeva is such a warm poet, so unbridled in her passion, so completely vulnerable in her love poetry [...]. Tsvetaeva throws her poetic brilliance on the altar of her heart’s experience with the faith of a true romantic, a priestess of lived emotion. And she stayed true to that faith to the tragic end of her life.” (Source: Poetry Foundation).
On poems and translations
All the poems included in this novel are by Marina Tsvetaeva. The translations are mine.
My initial intention was to use existing translations, but after checking out every volume I could get my hands on, I had to review my approach. I had found the translated poems so thoroughly altered in form (i.e., rhyme and meter) that I could no longer recognize Tsvetaeva’s unique voice. So I had no choice but to translate them myself from the Russian-language originals.
A couple of other things you may be interested in
The bistro La Bohème is fictional. It’s an amalgamation of several favorite haunts located in different parts of Paris.
Rue Cadet, however, is real and very charming, indeed.
I borrowed the idea of the carbon recycling technology developed by Rob from a newspaper article about two young geeks, Mark Herrema and Kenton Kimmel, founders of Newlight Technologies. Which is to say that what Rob is doing in France isn’t science fiction—it has already been done in California. (Source: Wendy Koch, USA Today, 12.31.2013)
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