Diary of a Wedding Planner in Love (Tales Behind the Veils Book 2)

by Howe, Violet

  "I think he was considering a bit more personal encounter." He looked at me then and smiled as I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. "You okay?"

  "Yeah, thanks. Honey." I glanced back at him and forced what I hoped looked like a smile, my stomach still flipping in loops from the anxiety of the encounter.

  "Sorry about that. It was the quickest plan that came to mind."

  "Oh, no complaints. I was glad to see you. Honey."

  Jack chuckled. "Good thing I arrived when I did."

  "Why did you? Arrive here, I mean. Is this your train?"

  He nodded as wind whooshed through the platform with the arriving train. We got up together to board, and I exhaled and risked a glance back toward French Man, but he and his friend had gone. The experience had left me shaken and grateful for Jack's presence in the car with me.

  "So which stop is yours?" I asked, hoping he'd be on the train until after I got off.

  "St. Michel."

  "Me too!"

  We laughed to discover we were staying within a block of each other, which worked out great for me. He escorted me all the way to my hotel entrance before wishing me a happy birthday and a safer day tomorrow.

  No suitcase awaited me, but the front desk clerk offered me a toothbrush and toothpaste, which I greatly appreciated. A shower rinses away the grunge of the city, but teeth that haven't been brushed in over twenty-four hours need something a little stronger than water. Yuck.

  Still no word from Cabe. I tried not to think about him today, but that proved impossible. Everything reminded me of him. The architecture. The people. The food. Every experience brought to mind that he should have been there with me, experiencing it alongside me. But he chose not to.

  I still can't believe he chose not to come. The pain of it overwhelms me and infuriates me all at the same time. His absence burns like a hole in my gut, but every time I think about it I get madder about the whole thing. How could he do this to me? After all we've been through together? I've never purposely done anything so hurtful to him. If anything, I've tried to be supportive and understanding through all his crap.

  The anger helps. It buffers me from the desire to ball myself up and cry the whole time I'm here. I refuse to do that. It's his fault I'm here by myself, so I'm determined not to allow him to ruin the whole trip. I'm gonna make the best of it. There'll be plenty of time to cry once I'm back home.

  Saturday, March 8th

  My Birthday

  The sun came out in full force for a gorgeous birthday! Gone was the misty rain of yesterday, and the brilliant blue skies and golden sunshine I saw through my window lifted my heart and gave me hope for a great day. I hopped out of bed ready to start exploring as soon as possible before my heart bogged down in mourning what might have been.

  I made it maybe two blocks from the hotel when I saw Jack sitting at a sidewalk cafe. I couldn't contain my smile at seeing him, and I stopped just short of hugging the poor man. I never realized before this trip how much I need human contact and conversation throughout my day. I probably should have kept walking and left the man in peace to eat and read his newspaper, but that would be like seeing your neighbor in the grocery store and not speaking. A neighbor who had saved you from creepy drunk people in the subway. I couldn't just walk by. It wouldn't have been proper. Downright rude, in fact.

  "Hey!" I tapped him on the shoulder as I stood on the other side of the restaurant's rail.

  "Well, hello. Happy birthday, Birthday Girl. Have you eaten?" Jack folded his paper and indicated the empty seat across from him.

  "I grabbed a croissant at the hotel."

  "One croissant? That's not enough fuel for Paris. Here, have a seat. I was just about to order."

  "I don't want to intrude," I said, hoping the whole time he'd insist. Which he did.

  "So what's on your birthday agenda today?" He asked once we’d ordered our breakfast.

  "I thought I'd check out the Rodin Museum, and maybe the Opera House."

  "Ah, both great choices."

  I wondered if it would be inappropriate to ask him to come with me. I didn't want to spend my birthday alone, scared I might give in to the self-pity-party hovering just beneath the surface of my emotions. I weighed coming across too forward against trekking all over the city by myself and found I was willing to take the risk. "What about you? Do you have plans for the day?"

  "I'm gonna start with Notre Dame. Thought I'd get there before the crowds get too crazy. Have you been yet?"

  I shook my head.

  "Oh, it's only a couple a blocks from here,” Jack said. “Just across the river. If you want, you could check out Notre Dame with me and then be on your way to visit Rodin. If it won't take you too far off schedule."

  "Sure!" Yeah, probably a bit too eager. But, oh well.

  We finished our exquisite omelettes and made our way to Notre Dame. The grand cathedral loomed high and noble in front of us, and we both stood in silence as we stared up at the intricate carvings gracing its facade. My mind struggled to conceive something so old, not to mention how on earth the builders had accomplished such great feats without the technology and tools of our modern times.

  Inside proved even more awe-inspiring. The height of the ceilings with their curved buttresses. The sunlight filtering through the myriad of colors in the stained glass windows. The sheer immensity of the stones. The smell of things ancient. And the quiet . . . an eerie, reverent quiet no one dared to break. As I looked around me, people milled about in all areas, but all quiet. No laughter. No conversation. An occasional whisper close to ears, but nothing more.

  It was the most sacred, holy place I've ever been. Like I could literally feel the presence of God surrounding us in the silence.

  A gentle peace settled over me. A quiet stillness inside. Whether it came from the silent environment around me or from the heavens above, I don't know. I'd never felt anything like it before.

  Jack led me to a row of wooden chairs facing the massive altar where we sat for probably ten minutes, maybe more. The peace still held me, and I felt at ease sharing the silence with Jack. Probably the longest span of time I've ever been silent, come to think of it.

  Eventually, Jack stood and motioned toward the door. I nodded and stood with him, but stopped as I caught sight of the enormous organ pipes.

  "Oh my God!" I whispered to Jack, pointing up to the pipes above the cathedral doors.

  He chuckled silently and leaned in close. "I don't think you're supposed to say that here. Unless you're actually speaking to Him."

  "Oh, right. My bad!" I felt guilty for being so irreverent after my moment of solemn peace, but I'd never seen an organ like that before. I hoped God understood.

  We stepped out into the sunlight and squinted against the contrast from the dim halls of Notre Dame.

  "Bright light! Bright light!" Jack shrieked playfully, shielding his eyes and pretending to stumble.

  I laughed at him and buttoned my coat back up, adjusting my scarf around my neck.

  Jack looked to the top of the cathedral and back to me, squinting with one eye against the sun. "Let's go to the top. The line's pretty short right now."

  I followed his eyes back up to the tiny figures walking around so high above me and then shuddered all over.

  "Oh no. Not me. You go right ahead. I'll be standing right here cheering for ya. You can wave to me from up there."

  "Come on. The view is incredible. Especially on a clear day like this. You can see the Eiffel Tower. Sacré-Cœur on top of Montmartre."

  "I've seen the Eiffel Tower, and I saw Sacré-Cœur yesterday while standing firmly on the ground, thank you very much. You go right ahead!"

  "C'mon, Birthday Girl. You only live once. If you go up, and you hate it, you don't ever have to go again. You can always say you tried it and didn't care for it. But if you don't go up, you won't ever know what you missed."

  "I'm okay with that." I glanced up in disbelief at the insane people
waving and taking pictures from the walkway above.

  "Tyler," Jack said as he took my hands in his. "You'll only get today one time. It's your birthday. You're in Paris. Live it up!" He widened those weird-ass teal eyes of his and offered me a smile anyone would be hard-pressed to resist. It occurred to me that I'd never fully realized how handsome Jack was. His dark black hair tousled by the wind. His easy smile carving out dimples beneath his cheekbones. Broad shoulders blocking the sun from my eyes.

  Guilt tightened in my chest, and I flexed against it. I had chosen Cabe, but he didn't want me. So I didn't owe him anything. I could find someone else handsome if I wanted to. To hell with him.

  "What do you say? You gonna go for it?" Jack tugged softly at my hands. I knew he meant climbing the steps of Notre Dame, but the question dug so much deeper for me. Something in my heart screamed yes. Go for it. Do something daring. Out of character. Something to remember this trip to Paris by other than the rough beginning and Cabe's rejection. I wanted to have fun. To enjoy my birthday. In spite of Cabe. Because of Cabe. Without Cabe.

  So I squeezed Jack's hands and nodded, pushing aside my fear of heights and the aching in my heart for the one I loved.

  Four hundred and two steep, circular steps to the top inside a small, claustrophobic stone tower sent my stomach and my mind into knots of panic. I stopped a couple of times—okay, maybe more than a couple—to catch my breath and protest to Jack that I couldn't go any farther. With every step, I knew we grew closer to the moment we'd step out into the sunshine so high above the ground. My stomach flips again just writing this, despite the fact I obviously survived doing it.

  Throughout the entire journey upward, Jack proved to be the epitome of patience. He quietly encouraged and praised me, comforted me when I stopped, and playfully taunted me just enough to make me want to prove to him I could achieve the goal at hand.

  And achieve it, I did. I climbed to the top of Notre Dame.

  It was worth it, too. Worth every step. Worth every gurgle of my stomach and shake of my knees. From the top of Notre Dame, I could gaze down into the streets of St. Michel and watch the people going their merry way through the cavorting patterns of streets and alleyways. I took way too many pictures of the myriad of roofs below us and of the gargoyles on their perches high above the city where they'd kept watch over its inhabitants for centuries.

  Thankfully, the high walls and complicated structures of the cathedral kept me from looking straight down, and Jack's firm grip on my hand steadied me in the moments I felt dizzy from the thought of the distance between me and the ground.

  As I gazed across the cityscape, it was like Paris was frozen in time. If it weren't for the sound of traffic beneath us, I might've believed we'd traveled back to an older day. The architecture and the skyline portraying a city of a much older era.

  In some ways, time had suspended for me. Like the real world and my real life existed in some parallel universe not affected by the one I was in. Like Paris was a separate life from the one I lived. Perhaps that made it easier to enjoy.

  Still My Birthday

  Picnic Lunch

  When we came back down, I couldn't stop giggling. Facing and overcoming my fear had lightened my heart and filled me with a euphoria unlike anything I remembered experiencing. I felt ready to take on the world. I also felt like I could eat a horse. (Okay, not a real horse. I feel like I should clarify since the French considered horse meat a delicacy for quite some time. Maybe still today. I have no idea.)

  Jack recommended a sandwich cart nearby, and we sat on a bench to eat a yummy Croque Monsieur as I consulted my guidebook. Well, until Jack grabbed it from me and pretended to toss it.

  "What are you doing?" I wrenched it back from him as he laughed.

  He spread his arms wide as he looked up to the sky. "It's a gorgeous day, Birthday Girl. Look at this sky, feel this sun. You don't need a guidebook. We should just go where the city takes us."

  I rolled my eyes. "Jack, I'm a planner. I plan things for a living. There's no way I can just walk around and see where the city takes us. I'll go nuts. I have to at least look at the map and figure out where we're headed."

  He considered this for a moment as he finished his sandwich, then clapped his hands together and said, "Okay. Tell you what. Let's compromise. You find your next tourist stop, and we'll head towards it so you have a target. But along the way, we'll meander and see where the streets take us. Deal?"

  He looked so excited by the prospect it was hard not to be intrigued.

  "Okay, deal."

  We spent the next two hours making our way through the maze of twisted streets and crooked buildings throughout the arrondissements of St. Germain and St. Michel, the Latin Quarter of Paris. Along the way, we found vintage shops and antique stores and plenty of places to stop.

  It was hard not to think of Cabe as we walked through the neighborhoods. His love of Paris had inspired this trip. I could hear his voice in my head and imagine his blue eyes dancing when my eyes lit on a bit of scenery I knew he would love. Every sight and sound emphasized the emptiness inside me. The absence of the man I loved experiencing the most incredible place I'd ever been. The deep, gnawing acceptance of the fact that he left me. Possibly for good.

  Thank God for Jack. I don't know if this dude fell from the sky in answer to prayers or what, but he was an excellent travel companion. His brain held a multitude of trivial tidbits—history, culture, architecture, art. No matter what topic we encountered, he had input. I soaked it up like a sponge, completely inspired and wide open to the environment around me. He waited patiently as I snapped photos of details that caught my eye, even posing without protest now and then. Without him, I never would have seen so much of Paris. I would've stuck to the most well-known landmarks in the guidebook. The back streets and tiny shops we encountered would have been lost to me.

  When we finally reached the Rodin Museum, I was almost sad I had given him an endpoint. The spontaneity of drifting from street to street, following whatever sound, smell or sight caught our eye, engaged me in a way I'd never experienced before.

  "Do you always just wing it when you visit someplace new?" I asked Jack after we left the museum, destined for a market street I'd seen in the guidebook.

  He shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I like seeing the landmarks. You know, the Eiffel Tower. Notre Dame. But if you want to really explore a place, you have to hit the ground without knowing everything about it before you get there."

  I shook my head in disagreement. "But I see value in knowing the history and background. I can walk right by any number of buildings and meander down any number of streets, but I want to know what happened there. I want the stories."

  "Well, I like stories, too. We've been sharing stories. I would rather just find them out by chance discovery. Meeting a local and asking questions. Reading the plaques on the sides of buildings. Seeing something interesting and then looking it up on my phone. I don't want to know only what the guidebooks tell me."

  The cool breeze lifted my hair across my face, and I shivered as I shook it back in place.

  "Well, then I guess we tour well together. I'll share the history and background I learn from the guidebook, and you pepper it with spontaneous discoveries and daring detours."

  He laughed and nodded again. "Yes, indeed. We are the perfect traveling companions. Are you cold?" Jack asked as I shivered again.

  "I wasn't before, but the wind's picked up, I think." I hugged my arms tight around me and nestled my chin into my scarf.

  "Do you want my coat?" he asked, taking his hands from his pockets.

  "No, I couldn't. I'll be fine," I said, shivering even as I said it.

  He looped his arm through mine and pulled me closer as we walked. Our feet matched each other stride for stride in what seemed to be as natural as walking alone. His nearness gave me wisps of his cologne as the wind whipped across us. I breathed it in deeply, suddenly enjoying his scent, his arms through mine, his
maleness. My body reacted in all the right ways in all the right places, but my heart scolded me for being attracted to Jack when I knew I loved Cabe.

  The market street bustled with activity and fresh, aromatic foods. The nose-tingling smells of strawberries. The mouth-watering essence of fresh baked bread. The decadent richness of the chocolatier.

  "Let's have a picnic on the lawn by the Eiffel Tower," Jack said. "Buy some cold cuts, some bread, maybe cheese. A bottle of wine."

  "Wine? It's mid-afternoon," I said, laughing.

  "We're in France! You drink wine with breakfast here."

  I shook my head at him, immersed in the colors and smells bombarding me from the sidewalk bins lining the narrow street. We ended up buying way more food than we needed. It just all looked too delicious to pass up. Pastries from the patisserie, cold cuts from the butcher, cheeses from the cheese shop, strawberries and grapes from the produce stand, and of course, a bottle of French Bordeaux.

  "There's no way we're going to eat all of this," I said as we headed toward the Eiffel Tower.

  He smiled at me and took the shopping bags from my hands. "We can die trying, and I'd be a happy man. Isn't that one of the things you're supposed to do in France? Eat and eat and eat?"

  My heart skipped a beat. Cabe had been so excited about the French food and wine. He researched restaurants for the trip, planning out every meal to maximize our sampling of the city's cuisine. He would have truly been in his element on the market street. Our passion for cooking together had stemmed from his love of food and his knowledge of culinary skills. Had he been with me, we would have lingered in each shop with him conversing in French with the owners and picking up new ideas to bring back home with us. I pictured him going insane over the chocolates, cheeses, wines, and meats. I still couldn't believe he wasn't with me. I closed my eyes and grimaced to try and shoo him from my mind.

  "You okay?"

  I looked at Jack and swallowed hard, determined not to cry.