Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2)

by Nichols, Alix

  “And?” Lena looked at him as if he were a messiah.

  “It’s a go, both for the reception hall and the rooms. You need to travel there as soon as you can, make the payments, and discuss the details.”

  “We’ll go tomorrow,” Rob said.

  Lena beamed. “You just lifted a ton off my shoulders. Thank you so much, Mat!”

  “Don’t mention it. That’s what the best man is for, after all.”

  At around two Jeanne stood to leave. “As much as I love your company guys, I’m working this afternoon.”

  “I need to get going, too,” Mat said.

  As they walked out of the building, Mat cleared his throat. “May I walk with you to La Bohème? It’s on my way to the train station.”

  “That’s not where I’m headed,” Jeanne said.

  “Oh. OK.”

  “I need to stop by Casa Shop to buy curtains for my apartment,” she explained to sweeten the pill. And regretted her charity a second later.

  “I know that shop! It’s only ten minutes’ walk from the Gare Saint Lazare,” Mat said, perking up. “So we’re going in the same direction.”

  Jeanne shrugged.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes.

  “How have you been, Jeanne?” Mat asked.

  “Great,” she said.

  “Still going out with Didier?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Of course.”

  A few more minutes passed in silence. Jeanne stole a glance at Mat. He studied the buildings along the street, his lips pressed in a hard line.

  “Louis Napoleon had that one built for factory workers.” Mat pointed to stately white building.

  “How generous of him,” Jeanne said.

  Mat gave her his crooked smile. “In exchange, the workers were ordered to vote for his majesty’s candidate.”

  “Is it one of the tacks they teach you at the School for Aspiring Politicians?”

  “Only these days you’re supposed to do it in subtler ways.”

  Jeanne tut-tutted. “Damn democracy.”

  Another 500 meters and we part ways.

  At the crossing of rue de Rochechouart and rue de Maubeuge, Mat stopped in his tracks and dashed after a scruffy teenage boy. Flabbergasted, Jeanne watched him catch up with the youth, grab his arm, and turn him around.

  “Give me that purse,” Mat said.

  “Easy, man! You’re hurting me.” The teenager rubbed his arm and handed Mat a tattered purse.

  Mat took the purse and returned it to the middle-aged Roma beggar hovering nearby.

  “Can I go now?” the young thief asked, trying to wriggle his arm free.

  “To do what? Attempt another theft?”

  The youth jutted out his chin in defiance.

  “I see. Well, you can certainly continue snatching purses,” Mat said. “Until you get caught and spend a couple years in juvie.”

  The teenager rolled his eyes as if to say, I’ve heard it before.

  Mat smirked. “A sweet-faced boy like you, I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun in juvie. When they let you out you’ll burglarize a dozen apartments. Then you’ll go to a real jail for a few years. When you’re out, you’ll graduate to armed robbery—I hear jewelry boutiques are an easy target—until they finally lock you up for a very, very long time.”

  Jeanne stared at Mat. Where’s he going with this?

  “But I have a better idea,” Mat said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Take a shortcut. Skip all the intermediary trouble. Join a serious gang right away and rob Cartier while you’re young.”

  The teenager’s mouth fell open.

  Jeanne raised her brows in disbelief.

  “When you’re released after your maximum sentence, you’ll still have a few years of relative health to enjoy,” Mat said. “Before you sit on a sidewalk vent and beg for a coin. Like the woman you stole that purse from.”

  The youth squirmed, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and twisted his head to look at the beggar.

  Mat let go of him. “Think about it!” he shouted as the boy scampered away.

  He walked over to the woman, dropped a one-euro coin into her paper cup, and returned to Jeanne’s side.

  “Confess,” she said as they resumed their walk. “At nightfall you don a red cape and roam the streets of Baleville in search of offenders and lost souls.”

  Mat smirked and pressed his index to his lips. “Shh.”

  “Now I understand why you’re vying for the mayor’s office.”

  “And why’s that?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “So you can have a legitimate excuse to indulge your interventionist do-gooder tendencies.”

  “Hmm. I never thought of it that way, but you may be right.” He gave her a happy grin.

  Jeanne’s cheeks warmed and her mouth itched to grin back.

  She looked away. “You shouldn’t have given money to the woman though,” she said. “Didier claims it’s a mafia system. The women have to hand over their ‘earnings’ to the clan chief who arranged for them to come to France.”

  “It can’t be excluded.”

  “So you’d agree it was useless to give her money?”

  “No.”

  Jeanne turned to look into his eyes.

  Mat shrugged. “First, Didier’s theory won’t apply to every case. Second, if she can keep a small share of what people give her, it’s fine by me. Imagine the misery where she comes from. Imagine what her alternatives are to make begging in this weather a better option.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Jeanne muttered and realized they’d reached the Casa Shop.

  Finally.

  Or was it too soon?

  They lingered for a few awkward moments by the entrance until Mat said, “It was great to see you.” He gave Jeanne the customary cheek kiss.

  She didn’t turn her head or move her lips to participate in the ritual. “Good luck with your campaign,” she managed in lieu of a good-bye.

  Mat nodded and rushed away.

  Jeanne lifted her eyes skyward. Why does he have to be good on top of being a hunk?

  As she shopped for curtains, she tried to imagine Mat in a ridiculous comic-book superhero outfit—formfitting tights and all. For more impact, she made said tights bright pink and shimmery.

  It worked for three seconds, before her treacherous mind zoomed in on his athletic legs.

  And then the bulge between them.

  ***

  Chapter Seven

  April

  The following weeks zoomed by like the TGV train to Marseilles. Mat hardly had a spare minute between his election campaign, day job, and helping with the wedding arrangements.

  Then the wedding day arrived. A small crowd of over a hundred people attended the official ceremony in Paris and then drove to Normandy on the congested A13. That they managed to make it to the abbey on time was a minor miracle.

  Mat allowed himself to relax only after the last guest took entered the hotel’s spacious dining room. He looked around. Everyone appeared a little tired and happy for this chance to replenish their energy depleted by the long day.

  He and Cécile were seated at the central table with the newlyweds, Rob’s family who’d come from Jura and Lena’s from Russia. Lena’s maid of honor sat across from them. With her date. Or should he call Didier her boyfriend? The headwaiter wore a well-cut suit and acted as if he belonged with Jeanne.

  And Jeanne . . . Jeanne was ravishing in a strapless emerald green dress, a silky wrap thrown around her slender shoulders, and her hair pulled back into a loose romantic updo.

  For Christ’s sake, stop staring at her.

  “Did you enjoy the day so far?” he asked Cécile, after he finally peeled his gaze off Jeanne.

  “I did. It was a good idea to do it here,” she replied with a sweet smile. “By the way, I think you’re expected to deliver your speech now.”

  He collected his thoughts and tapped the s
ide of his wine glass with a spoon.

  After everyone quieted and turned to him, he began.

  “Dear Lena and Rob, you can pack away your slingshots and relax. I do not believe it’s the duty of the best man to tell embarrassing stories about the couple in front of family and friends.”

  Rob beamed and Lena chuckled.

  Mat gave them a grin. “Not for lack of material, as you would no doubt agree. But because I’m farsighted. Literally and figuratively.”

  Half of the table cheered at that, while the other half booed.

  “So instead, my dear friends, I’m going to make the most truthful statement I’ve ever made in public.” He cleared his throat. “Lena and Rob, your love is one of those rare, magical things that’s impossible to talk about without sounding like a sappy cornball.”

  Several people giggled.

  Mat raised his eyebrows. “You want proof?”

  He pulled from his pocket and waved three pages of crossed out notes. “See?”

  He turned back to the newlyweds. “But I will say this before I let you guys go back to your meal. Your journey to this day has been long and bumpy. So much, that each of you got very close to giving up at some point. But you didn’t. You persevered because what you share is stronger than any obstacle you may face. Your union is based on a love that’s brave, pure, and forgiving. That kind of love is the most solid foundation a marriage can have.”

  He raised his glass and addressed the whole room. “Let’s drink to these two generous, dogged, and kind people. Their souls are so full of warmth they radiate the excess of it all around them. And their hearts are so full of love that it gives me hope for humanity. To Lena and Rob. Hip hip hooray!”

  Among the hoorays and clinking of wine glasses that followed, Mat stole a glance at Jeanne and caught her staring at him. Her gaze was dark with something intense, something powerful that he hadn’t seen before. She looked at him as if he were a hero. Or a Viking god.

  Or the only man on Earth.

  He swallowed hard, shaken by what he’d glimpsed.

  She blinked, stretched her lips into a polite smile and turned to Didier.

  Mat’s mind raced. Was it . . . ? Could it be . . . ?

  He didn’t dare put his question into words, but for the rest of the evening he couldn’t think of anything else. Not even as he held Cécile in his arms while they danced. Nor when he sizzled in guilty jealousy as he watched Didier dance with Jeanne and wondered if they shared a room tonight. Nor when Rob gave him a pat on the back and said, “Nice speech, mon pote. Oh, and by the way, you are a sappy cornball.”

  Mat smiled distractedly and, as Rob walked away, he finally allowed his brain to formulate the shocking question.

  Could Jeanne have feelings for me?

  The notion was both exhilarating and sad. Because he didn’t doubt that what he had for her—now as four years ago—was all-consuming, obsessive lust.

  Nothing more.

  ***

  Jeanne woke up early, her head pounding and her mouth dry.

  Last night was a blur. She’d had too much to drink, tried too hard to smile at Didier’s remarks, and resist the urge to look at Mat. Who had stared at her too often to pass for casual interest. But his girlfriend had remained serene and unperturbed. Maybe she didn’t notice Mat’s scorching looks. Maybe she did, but was too well-bred to make a scene or even show she was affected.

  Cécile was a woman of class.

  Jeanne smirked. Even Amanda would envy Cécile’s polished looks, graceful bearing, and impeccable manners. Everything about her, from her shiny smooth hair and thin nose to her polished voice and long fingers with perfect fingernails, screamed refinement. Screamed quality. She was the kind of woman who would even pee with style and poise. She was the kind of woman a man such as Mat would want for a life partner.

  Drop the conditional, hon, Jeanne told herself.

  She was the woman Mat wanted for a life partner.

  Jeanne wondered if Didier had noticed what was going on last night. They still hadn’t crossed the boundary between occasional dates and a relationship. She wasn’t sure they ever would. It was heartwarming and flattering that he wanted more than a business partnership. But flattering wasn’t enough. She didn’t fancy him, at least not yet. A month ago, when Didier tried to kiss her, she told him as much. He said he’d wait. She promised herself she’d nurture any embryonic feeling she might develop for him.

  But deep inside she suspected Mat was right.

  They weren’t a good match.

  Jeanne showered, pulled on her jeans, and packed her travel bag. The guests were to gather in the hotel’s garden in two hours for a copious brunch. After a moment’s hesitation, she threw on a sweater, grabbed her book, and headed out to the terrace.

  “I knew you’d show up. Not a late sleeper, huh?” Lena greeted her from a lounge chair.

  Jeanne slumped down next to her. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be fast asleep, exhausted from the wedding night?”

  “Ha-ha.” Lena stretched her arms. “I wish I could sleep for a couple more hours though . . .”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “Is Didier still asleep?” Lena asked a little too innocently.

  “I wouldn’t know. We booked separate rooms and spent the night in different beds, if that’s what you’re trying to establish.”

  “Good.”

  Jeanne raised her brows.

  “I know he’s being super nice to you and all, but . . . I’m not sure he’s a good person, Jeanne. The way he treats customers—it’s just too mean. He may be one of those guys who turn nasty the moment they think you’re in their pocket. He’s not a good match for you.”

  Jeanne’s lips thinned. “How come everyone thinks they know who’s a good match for me?”

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to—” Lena began, her eyes brimming with remorse.

  “It’s OK. I know you meant well. It’s just . . . someone told me the exact same thing not so long ago.”

  “Mat?”

  “Yes.”

  Lena shook her head. “I noticed the way he looks at you, even with his girlfriend around. It’s like a déjà-vu from four years ago. The only difference is that you seem to care this time around.” She stared Jeanne in the eyes, defying her to disagree.

  Jeanne turned away and began to study the dewy lawn.

  “Oh, Jeanne.” Lena let out a heavy sigh.

  Jeanne shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve always been good at bad timing.”

  “Has he said anything to you?”

  “No.”

  Nothing that would give me hope.

  Lena took Jeanne’s hand in hers. “Please don’t repeat my mistakes and get involved with someone who’s wrong for you just because you can’t have the man you care about. It won’t end well.”

  “I know,” Jeanne said.

  Lena nodded and reopened her paperback.

  Jeanne smiled, grateful for her friend’s sense of tact, and opened her own book.

  The mood at brunch was cheerful and laid-back. Everyone showed up in casual clothes, looking tired but happy to prolong Lena and Rob’s special day. The newlyweds didn’t hide their relief that the wedding day hadn’t been marred by an incident characteristic of gatherings with lots of booze, especially when vodka competed with champagne.

  Mat and Cécile came down into the garden side by side, both in pale cotton polo shirts and linen pants. They were a stunning couple. Watching them together hurt so much Jeanne wished she hadn’t been Lena’s maid of honor so she wouldn’t have to sit at the central table. She wished she hadn’t been invited to her best friend’s wedding at all.

  “Did you sleep well?” Didier asked her.

  She nodded. “What about you?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Jeanne gave him a sympathetic look. “Too much vodka?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe something else.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m a
patient man, Jeanne, and I still admire you,” he said.

  She tensed, waiting for the rest of it.

  “But last night . . .” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The way you stared at pretty boy, encouraging him . . . I expected better of you.”

  “You’re not my boyfriend,” she whispered back.

  “But I’m your date.” He sighed. “I understand the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. But that’s the thing—there’s a fence.”

  She studied her empty plate.

  “You’re a clever girl. Can’t you see what he wants from you?”

  She could. The problem was she wanted it, too. Badly.

  Wasn’t that a hoot?

  Didier shook his head. “Get real, Jeanne. I won’t wait indefinitely.”

  You can save time and quit now, she itched to say, but she didn’t.

  “Will you pass me the butter, please?” Didier asked, raising his voice to normal.

  She obliged, avoiding his eyes.

  “Tell me, Mat,” he said, buttering his toast. “Where exactly do the Greens stand on economic policy? I must admit I don’t have a clue. I only follow the parties that really matter.”

  Mat half smiled. “We’re in the center. On some issues, we’re center left and on others center right, but we’re never too far from the golden middle point.”

  “I would’ve expected the Greens to be aligned with the socialists,” Lena said.

  “The European Greens’ stance is that environmental politics can’t be tied to either the left or the right,” Cécile said.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re not one of those ‘champagne socialists’ France is famous for,” Lena’s dad said. “I find their hypocrisy disgusting.”

  Jeanne felt she had to defend the party she’d always voted for. “I agree our gauche caviar can be unsavory, but at least they aren’t fascists. If anyone can save Europe from the extreme right, it’s the socialists.”

  “Your feelings are admirable, my dear,” Didier said. “But as soon as we buy La Bohème, you’ll hate them for the taxes they’ll be squeezing out of us.”

  Rob smirked. “Didier has a point.”

  Jeanne rolled her eyes demonstratively. Of course he had a point. But unlike her parents, she wasn’t going to veer to the right the day she became a business owner. At least that was what she hoped.