She was being secretive again. Victor couldn’t stand when she kept these most private parts to herself, especially when they involved him. That was how she could leave, with almost no word, at a time when he thought they were at their best. He’d thought they were on their way to getting married.
“So why did you come back now?” he asked.
Margaux hesitated, her gaze drifting to the Arc de Triomphe in the distance. “I had to let you know,” she said. “It wasn’t fair to keep it a secret from you.”
And the trouble with that—he could see it in her expression—was that she didn’t even see the irony.
Chapter 6
Victor couldn’t stop thinking about the baby after he left Margaux, and that was rather speedily as he needed time to process the shock. The baby—Matthias—hadn’t opened his eyes, so he didn’t know what color they were. Matthias had just slept right through his first meeting with his father. No big deal. Victor would have slept through it too if he were in Matthias's place. It wasn’t as if the dad were very impressive.
He’d promised Margaux he would be in touch soon, and he meant to. He should probably tell his family, though he was reluctant to do so. His father, frankly, would probably not even care. Or, he’d make some snide comment—or worse, make use of his uncanny ability to read into his son’s soul and mock him for finally having figured out a way to burrow back into Margaux's life, against her will and better judgment. His father really was something.
He could tell Mishou, but even with her he was strangely reluctant. He felt like the news would let her down. Sure, she wanted him to settle—wasn’t she always telling him that?—but she didn’t want him to settle down with Margaux. “You’re not yourself around her,” she had said. “You’re trying to be someone else, and that can never last. Or, it might endure, but you’ll live only as a shell of yourself, and that will destroy you in the long run.” How could he now tell her he had a reason to make it work?
Victor walked into the courtyard, and his half expectation of seeing April there made him realize he’d gotten sidetracked in his intention to meet her again for coffee. Perhaps he could see if she were home now. He wouldn’t talk about the baby, of course, but it might help get his mind off things.
He climbed to the last floor and knocked on her door. There was no immediate answer, but he thought he heard shuffling inside, so he called out, “April, it’s me, Victor. I don’t have your telephone number. But I thought you might like to have a coffee with me or something.”
The door opened and April stood there, smiling, her hand on the knob. There were lines on her face from what was probably a nap, but he wisely said nothing about it.
“That sounds nice,” she said. “Can I meet you downstairs? It’ll just take me a minute to get ready.”
She was wearing jeans and a plain navy blue T-shirt that brought out her eyes, and he thought she looked nice as she was, but he just nodded. Five minutes later, she jogged down the stairs, and he was relieved to see she hadn’t changed. The lines on her face were gone, though, and it looked like she had put on some makeup, though it was hard to tell. He smelled mint as she walked up to him. It was an automatic impulse to lean forward and kiss her on both cheeks, and she seemed to have caught on to the French tradition because she kissed him back naturally enough.
“Thanks for the invitation.” April stuck her hands in her pockets and swiveled forward. “Where shall we go?”
“How about Le Marais?” he proposed. “It’s a little further. It’s in the third arrondissement, but I was thinking about a place I could take you for your painting—”
“Oh good,” she exclaimed. “I’ve been walking everywhere this past week, but I haven’t found any place I loved. Do you have something in mind?”
“Yes. It occurred to me when I had a business meeting near there this week. It’s Passage de l’Ancre,” he said. “You’ll have to decide for yourself if it inspires you. It’s not like a grand monument or anything—more like a secret passage that few people know about. And it’s got a lot of color.”
“It sounds interesting, at least. Different. Not something I could find on my own.” April looked up at him and blinked against the sunlight as he held the door for her.
“Are you up for walking a bit?” They turned down the broad street, and Victor began to feel lighter and more free with each step. “We can take the métro.”
“I love walking,” she said. “It’s the best way to see Paris.”
Victor and April cut across some of the side streets, then across Boulevard Haussmann to the métro station. April filled the silence by talking about her beginning French lessons, even practicing French with him until he begged her, laughingly, to switch back to English so he could understand her again. He was relieved to see she took his teasing in good fun. She talked about the portrait she’d finished of some guy, Ben, and how her art teacher was different from the one in New York. Françoise focused on the gradations of shadows, and April was learning to look for reflected light there that she had not noticed before.
They climbed on the métro, and the door hissed shut. Victor liked listening to her speak English because her voice was low and melodious—something she lost when she was trying to speak French. Suddenly, April stopped short, and a self-conscious blush covered her features. “I’ve been doing all the talking this entire time. I’m so sorry. I’m not usually such a chatterbox.”
“I don’t mind,” Victor said. “What’s a chatterbox?”
They were at the next stop, and the métro chimed to signal that the doors would close. “It’s someone who talks way more than she should.” April laughed. “How’ve you been this past week?”
Victor pinched his brows together, suddenly at a loss for words. He no longer felt like keeping his news a secret from her, and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he knew her all that well, but without the physical attraction—not that she wasn’t attractive, but that just wasn’t the way their relationship was turning out—he was comfortable around her. Like one of those friends everyone seemed to have, except him. Maybe it was the fact that she was a foreigner that explained why she didn’t seem to run from him, or want something from him.
She was waiting expectantly, so as the train lurched forward, Victor said, “I’ll tell you. But how about when we’re at the café and not here in the métro.”
April accepted his request without teasing or pressuring him, and he was grateful. They stayed mostly silent during the ride, their hands grazing on the cold metal pole whenever the train swerved.
When they got out at République, she asked, “Are we going straight there? To the Passage de l’Ancre?”
“No. Coffee first,” Victor answered. Then, as an afterthought, “If you don’t mind.” April shook her head, and he couldn’t resist adding, “We’re going to a café that’s perfect for you.”
“How so?” But Victor just shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.
However, when they stood in front of the Lily of the Valley café, all April said was that it was pretty. She liked the marble counter. Victor looked at her searchingly. “Muguet?” he said. “Doesn’t ring a bell?”
When she shook her head, he pointed to the name of the café. “I looked it up. Those flowers you were wearing were lily of the valley. Muguet.”
“Oh! I had no idea what they were. I just knew they smelled good.” April glanced at the café again and turned to him with a look of mild surprise. “That was actually really thoughtful of you to bring me here.”
He felt a flush of warmth in his chest. “What would you like to eat?”
“Eat? Cheesecake,” she exclaimed, having looked at what the other diners were having. “I miss cheesecake. And I’d like some coffee too, but a café au lait, not a tiny espresso.” April gestured to a spot in the corner that seemed private, and Victor went to the counter to order.
That was surprisingly romantic, April thought, for someone I’m determined not to get involved with. It wa
s nice to have a friend in Paris, and she didn’t want to lose that. Plus, he seemed preoccupied and not out to seduce her or anything, which was for the best. She watched as he squeezed by someone and came to where she was sitting.
“Cheesecake,” he said, and set it down with a flourish.
“I forgot to give you money,” April replied, embarrassed.
“Don’t. Please.” Victor shook his head. “When we go out for coffee, let it always be my treat. I have enough money. If we ever go out to eat, I’ll make sure you don’t send me into bankruptcy.”
“Was that a joke?” she asked in mock surprise.
That only elicited a smile, so she leaned forward. “Okay, Victor. I can tell something big happened this week. Do you want to tell me about it now?”
He looked young, she thought, while he stirred a sugar cube into his coffee. Then it dawned on her. No, he looked vulnerable. That’s what was different.
Victor met her gaze. “I went out with someone for a year and a half, and she was important to me. I wanted to marry her. Her name was Margaux.” He stopped, and April waited quietly, unsure where he was going with this but knowing he needed to get it out.
“A year ago, she left me. Told me she was going to Monaco for a short while, that she had a friend there. She didn’t want to tie me down while she was away because she wasn’t sure how long she was going to stay.”
April bit her lip. “That sounds…painful.”
Victor blew out a breath in frustration. “Yes. Because she didn’t give me a chance to say what I wanted. She just said that even though she still loved me, she needed a break. So I let her go.”
April waited, fiddling with her fork and letting her coffee grow cold. When Victor didn’t say anything more, she asked, “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“A year ago. Until today. I did try to contact her a couple of times while she was away, but she had turned off her phone. It was no longer her voice on the message. I didn’t even think she still had the number, but then she used her old number to call me. And I saw her today for the first time.”
Victor paused before adding, “She didn’t come alone.”
April couldn’t help it. He looked so forlorn, she placed her hand on his arm. “She’s with someone else, is she? And she came to meet you with him?”
He looked at her strangely, then let out a half laugh. “No. She came with a baby.”
April was so surprised she jumped in her seat. “A baby?” Then she looked around and lowered her voice. “Whose baby?”
He narrowed his eyes and mumbled, “Mine, apparently.”
April’s mouth dropped. Okay, so what was she supposed to say to that? She swallowed. “And how did you feel about that? I mean, what did you say?”
“I threw up,” he responded, then shot her a look. Was it embarrassment? He was hard to read.
There was humor in all this somewhere, but she didn’t feel the least desire to laugh. “Well, I should say so,” she said. “What a shock.”
Taking a bite of her cheesecake, followed by a sip of lukewarm coffee, April tried to put some normalcy in the situation. This was heavy news for a budding friendship. Good thing I have no expectations, she thought. Glancing at Victor again, it seemed he had some of his color back. “What’s the baby’s name?”
“He’s called Matthias.”
“Well, hey,” she said. “I think you’re going to be a great dad.”
“You do?” His eyes widened in surprise. “What makes you think that?”
“It’s just a hunch. Not everything in life is a certainty. We can’t map out how everything is going to go. We can just do our best. If you’re willing to be invested in the baby’s life, then he will love you. You don’t need to be a perfect dad or anything. Kids are forgiving.”
“I’m not,” he said under his breath.
“Well, maybe that’s another thing to work on,” April said with a smile. “Look. It’s a life-changer, sure. But it can be a really good thing. Do you and Margaux have a future together?”
He shrugged. “We didn’t talk about that.”
“She’d be crazy not to at least be considering it.”
“You think so?” Victor looked more hopeful, and she suffered a tiny pang that it was what he wanted. It would probably be the best thing for him and the baby, though, so she would support him.
“I do,” she said. “Hey, if you’re almost finished, why don’t we walk a little.”
He put the last bite of macaron in his mouth and stood. “Okay, let’s go. I’ll show you the secret passage.”
They entered the doorway on Saint-Martin, which looked like it led to someone’s private property. As soon as the brightly colored, verdant street unfolded before them, April’s eyes went wide. Walking slowly, she fingered the bushes that lined the walls and peered in the shop windows that bordered the street. She stopped short. “I could paint this place in the rain and paint someone walking with an umbrella by that umbrella store.”
“Pep’s. It’s also an umbrella repair shop,” he said. “Last one in Paris.”
“This street has got so much character. It’s like I’m in a village in France rather than in Paris. It’s perfect, Victor. Thank you.” She squeezed his arm, and the solid feel of it under his sweater brought her comfort.
“Are you going to feel comfortable painting here?” Victor asked.
April looked around. “It’s got a couple benches and private corners. I think if I can find a spot and bring my portable stool, I’ll feel comfortable. I hope people won’t mind seeing me.”
“I think once they see what you’re painting, they’ll be happy to have you here,” he said, causing April to smile.
“Oh, Victor,” she breathed, taking in the whole street in one broad sweeping gesture. “This is truly magnificent. I imagine there aren’t many spots like this left in Paris”
“There are some,” he said, “but no, not many.”
“Well, I’ve found my spot,” April said. “And, an added plus is that it’s going to feel like a friendly, cozy sort of refuge, which is just what I need right now.”
Victor looked at her keenly. “Is Lucas leaving you alone?”
“I haven’t seen him. Thank goodness. But it’s true, I’m always afraid I’m going to bump into him.”
“And you can’t leave?” he asked. “I mean, not that I want you to. I like having coffee with you.”
She smiled. “I really can’t. Unless there’s some way to get housing that I haven’t learned of that doesn’t require sharing the room.”
“Ah. That’s just what I was going to propose. You don’t want a roommate?”
“I feel too old for that. I’m twenty-three. I also need time alone and want to be free to paint at three in the morning, if the mood strikes.”
They had sat on one of the benches in front of a shop with bushes planted on either side. There was no one walking by, and April felt as if they were in their own fairy-like world with nothing to disturb them.
“Does it strike often at three a.m.? The mood to paint,” Victor asked curiously.
“No, not really. I have more traditional sleep habits.” April chuckled. Stretching her legs forward, she asked, “I don’t mean to bring up the subject again if it’s painful for you, but do you plan to have an active role in Matthias's life? The whole sleep thing made me think of it because apparently that’s something new parents don’t get much of.”
“Margaux didn’t say whether she wanted me in his life—or hers—and it didn’t occur to me to ask. We’re going to have to get together again when I’ve had time to sort out what I’m feeling.”
“I see.”
It seemed like too monumental a subject to drop, but she was unsure if he wanted to discuss it any further. A comfortable silence had fallen when he suddenly said, “I should probably buy him a gift, right? What should I get him?”
Considering the matter, April replied, “Yes, that would be a good thing to do, I think. You can nev
er go wrong with a gift.”
Victor gave a short laugh. “You haven’t met my ex-girlfriends. They never seemed happy with my gifts. They were never big or expensive enough.”
April looked at him in surprise. “Victor, what kind of women are you dating? I mean, where are you dredging up these people? They sound horrible.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean—”
He laughed. “No, it’s okay. My grandmother has been telling me I need better taste in women. It’s no secret.” He thought for a minute. “Margaux never complained about the gifts I gave her. She seemed happy to get them. She just tended to complain about me.”
April gave a small snort. “Well it sounds like she was happy enough with your contribution to the baby.”
Chapter 7
The sun disappeared and the air began to feel cold, and Victor stood. “Shall we go?”
April nodded and gathered her things. They exited the passage on the opposite end they’d come in and headed toward the métro. As they were walking, they passed a baby boutique, and Victor stopped, hesitant. “Should I get the baby some clothes or something? What do you get a baby?”
“I don’t know.” April shrugged. “I know less than nothing about babies. I’ve never even babysat.”
“Ah.” Victor started forward again. “I know nothing about babies either, except for the fact that I’d like a big family.” These words were accompanied with a flush of embarrassment. He had told April way more than he’d ever shared with other women. Or anyone else for that matter.
“I want a big family too.” April looked at her feet, hiding a smile. ‘I mean, not right away. I want to explore first and maybe start having babies when I’m thirty? Provided I find the right husband, of course.”
“You don’t need to get married. Not many people get married in France. Not around our age anyway. Although…I asked Margaux to marry me before she left, and she said no.”
“I think I’m too traditional,” April said. “It’s like saying…yes, I would like to have all the benefits of building a family with you, but I want to keep my get-out-of-jail-free card in case it gets too tough. That’s just not my style. If we’re in it, it’s for the long haul.”
A Friend in Paris Page 5
