“I’d like that,” April said. “I was thinking—”
She was interrupted by the doorbell. Mishou raised her eyebrows. “I’m not expecting anyone, are you?” April shook her head. When Mishou opened the door to reveal Victor, April felt like her heart was going to leap out of her chest.
“April,” he said, then stopped, as if he suddenly remembered. “Bonjour, Mishou.” He kissed his grandmother.
“Never did I think to have so many visits, Victor,” his grandmother said with a mischievous smile. “I have something to do in my room, so I’ll leave the two of you.”
When Mishou left, carrying a cloud of some outdated fragrance with her, Victor and April eyed each other warily. Victor was the first to speak. “Penelope told me that your painting didn’t get accepted.”
It wasn’t what April thought he was going to say, and the reminder did not go down easily a second time. “She called you already?”
“No, actually I called her. I wanted to make sure you got home all right last night.”
“I’m fine,” April said. “No need to worry.”
“I do, though,” Victor said. “I care about you a lot, April. If things were different…”
“Now that is about the least helpful thing you can admit,” April said. “Things are not different and they won’t be, and it doesn’t do any good to dwell on the fact. Look. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot. I can’t believe I even brought it up at all, because I have no interest in trying to put a wedge between couples. It won’t happen again. We can move forward.”
“If it weren’t for Matthias,” Victor said, “I would want something more.”
April put her hands on her hips, her anger rising again. But she stopped, exhaled, and strove for a gentle tone. “See. This is not good for you either. You need to be all in, Victor. If you’re going to marry Margaux, you need to stop speaking about it as if you have regrets already. We need to focus on friendship, and you on getting ready for a future with Margaux.”
Victor didn’t answer right away. Then, “You’re not leaving, are you? Not yet?”
“No. I was going to, but I think I’m going to stay till the end of the semester. I’ll have just enough for that with my deposit, and I already have my plane ticket home.”
“Good,” Victor said. He stood there, and just as she was about to ask if he wanted to sit, he said, “The police have a lead on Lucas.”
“Do they?” The news made April’s heart rate pick up. “Did they find him? Where is he?” If only she could get closure in this area.
“They didn’t find him, but that’s why I came today. I wanted to tell you they had a lead. Apparently they interviewed one of his friends, and he told them about someone Lucas hung out with, and when they went to his apartment, they found an attic hothouse for marijuana. His friend is probably spotting him some cash, and that would explain how he’s managing to get around without using his credit card.”
“But he wasn’t there,” April said.
“No. However, I think it’s going to start getting hot for him. He’s not going to be able to go back there, so I don’t know where he will stay or how he’ll get more cash. The police already apprehended his friend, and I’m guessing there’s someone stationed there in case he’s stupid enough to return.”
“But if you know about it, then he probably does too.”
“Maybe not. I went to the police station to find out if there was any news, and that’s what I learned. The policeman told me to make sure you’re careful. It seems Lucas has nothing to lose now. I wanted to see if I could walk you home from school on the days you have class.”
April pressed her lips together, torn. She was touched by his attention, and truly scared by the idea of being stalked by Lucas. But to spend more time with Victor meant losing her heart to him even more. She just knew it. It was the stupidest idea. She would have to say no.
“Okay,” she said. “I’d appreciate that.”
Chapter 21
Victor sat on the bed in the guest room. The slashed paintings were lined up against the wall and the door. Though he was no judge of art, he could guess at their value before they’d been destroyed. He could see the beauty and skill that went into creating them. More than anything, though, he remembered April’s tears at losing them.
April was…remarkable. Not one of her losses destroyed her. Not Lucas's attack on her person, not the destruction of her father’s paintings, not the theft of her own painting, not the imminent threat that Lucas would attack again. Victor had already decided to install an alarm at his grandmother’s place to protect them both.
April cried, but she got up again, and he was hard-pressed to think of anyone who would do as well as her under similar circumstances, himself included. He certainly couldn’t imagine Margaux rising above the challenges, she who depended on her father for everything.
Victor stood and went over to the largest painting—April, as a toddler in the wildflowers—and tipped it to examine the back. The art restorer, whose shop was located under the Arches at the Bastille, had promised the painting could be restored. It wouldn’t sell for any value, but it would be good enough for April to hang in her home. And with the extra price Victor was willing to pay, the art restorer would put everything else on hold and focus just on this project. He could have all six paintings fixed in three weeks.
Victor wrapped them back up in linen and carried them to the front door to await the messenger, who was sent to collect them. It was a skilled carrier, who’d know just how they should be transported. Victor had planned the pickup before he was to meet Margaux in a couple of hours, then April later that night. He supposed he shouldn’t overly tempt himself by spending so much time with April, but he couldn’t leave her alone knowing there might be a threat. She’d been invited to Guillaume’s again, but this time without the crowd. Only Penelope would be there, and she’d extended the invitation to Victor, asking him to escort April since they weren’t able to pick her up.
The doorbell rang, and Victor buzzed the messenger in, placing the paintings in such a way that they’d be easy to collect. The exchange was done quickly with a rack to carry the paintings, an efficient carrier used to handling priceless things, and a quick signature to accept the change of hands. Victor had already had them insured, though they were effectively worthless to anyone but April.
Margaux was at the corner café, waiting for Victor. As she rocked the stroller back and forth, smiling as he came in, it dawned on him how little he’d seen her content since she returned to Paris. The smile softened her. It changed her expression into something akin to warmth, and he remembered how crazy he’d been about her before.
When he went to kiss Margaux on the cheek, she turned so that their mouths grazed, and he pulled back in surprise.
“I just thought we should…” Margaux started. “Well…it’s been a while.”
“Yes. True.” Victor sat, not knowing what to add. The kiss had been familiar, but not, if he were being honest with himself, completely welcome. In fact, it was a shock to realize he’d not thought of her at all that way, though they were getting married. He’d been so focused on the baby and the change the status would bring in his own life. Stable. Serious. He’d have a sense of belonging. I won’t end up like my father. He’d not thought about Margaux's role in it all.
“How’s Matthias today?” Victor reached over and pulled the blanket aside so he could see his son’s face.
“No, don’t do that. He likes the blanket on his face when he sleeps. It comforts him.” Victor picked up the menu, and Margaux added, “He’s doing well, though. He’s starting to drool so he might be getting teeth soon.”
Victor tried to picture Matthias with teeth, but he couldn’t imagine it. He really liked his son’s toothless grin. As if on cue, Matthias began to stir and raise his hands to stretch. They only went as far as the top of his head, and Victor thought how cute that was too. His son was perfect.
The reflection suddenly
made him frown. He opened his mouth to speak when the waiter came over.
“Vous avez choisi?”
Margaux ordered a salade niçoise and a carafe of water, and Victor closed the menu and handed it to the waiter.
“Un steak-frites.”
They were alone again. “Margaux,” he said. “We need to talk seriously. Who is Franck Duboise? You were clearly affected when Penelope mentioned his name. If we’re really going to get married, we need to have all the cards on the table.”
Margaux sighed. “I knew you were going to ask me about him. It’s so stupid though. They just caught me off-guard, which is why I reacted that way. Franck is nobody, except that I was in love with him in high school, and just about everyone knew it. It was embarrassing.”
“Did you see him here in Paris before you ran off to Monaco?” Victor asked. “Were you really there to see your cousin?”
Margaux sat up straighter. “I’d planned on visiting my cousin for months. Ever since Christmas I’d planned to go, and you knew about that. We talked about it.”
“Yes, but you were going to come back. You were only supposed to go for two weeks. Then, suddenly you’re breaking things off with me, and you disappear for a whole year. And then you come back, expecting to pick up where we left off. What’s going on?”
“You were ready to marry me at any price,” Margaux said, her lips thinning out. “You practically said so. You wanted to marry into my family as much as you wanted to marry me. So why now does it suddenly matter how long I stayed in Monaco and why I didn’t tell you about anything that was going on, including Matthias?”
The idea of marrying into Margaux's family had appealed to him as much as the idea of marrying Margaux. Was I that transparent? Victor realized with a shock. “Yes, but…I wasn’t willing to marry you if you were cheating on me, or if you didn’t love me back. You misunderstood me.”
“I wasn’t cheating on you,” Margaux said. “I just needed to get away. I needed to get away from everyone’s expectations of me. Monaco was the perfect place to do that. A year without any major worries except what beach we were going to go to and what parties at night. Yes, things got weird when I found out I was pregnant, and I wasn’t able to do as much. But I had a good doctor there, and I got the break I needed. Now I’m ready to settle down.” She looked him in the eye, her hand reaching out to rock Matthias's stroller. “I’m ready to settle down with you.”
“Is the baby mine?” Victor hadn’t intended to ask it, but the question had been brewing and festering even before April brought it up. He wanted to give Margaux the benefit of the doubt because, for all that she was reserved—giving up her innermost thoughts like an oyster would give up its pearl—she’d never been a liar.
Margaux looked out the window. “I can’t believe you have to ask me that question,” she said, sounding resigned. “It’s that girl, April, who put it in your head. Maybe I should be asking you. Do you have feelings for her?”
Victor couldn’t answer that, at least not in any honest way. “We need to be honest with each other if we’re going to build a marriage on something solid. So please answer me truthfully. Is the baby mine, and do you love me enough to marry me? Do you love me enough to stay married? Because as much as I want to provide a healthy family if the baby is mine, I’m not interested in getting married only to get divorced five years later.”
“Stop asking about the baby. He’s yours,” Margaux snapped. Neither of them had noticed the waiter return with the carafe of water hooked between his fingers and two plates balanced in his hands. Margaux turned as red as Victor felt.
“Une salade niçoise et un steak-frites,” the waiter announced as if he’d heard nothing out of the ordinary. “I’ll be back with the bread.”
After he left, each was silent. Victor picked up his fork and knife and began to cut the steak. Finally, he said, “It was a fair question.”
Margaux didn’t answer right away but just speared the lettuce and began chewing. “There comes a point when you have to trust me. I think we need to stop having these conversations—stop fighting all the time about the same things—and just start planning the wedding and assume everything is going to be okay.”
Victor wasn’t sure if that logic equated to burying one’s head in the sand, but he nodded. The idea of a paternity test was repugnant to him. He disliked what it said about his relationship with Margaux, and the baby would only end up being caught in the crossfire. Matthias deserved more than that. The baby began to fuss, and Victor reached over to take him out of the stroller. “Salut toi,” he said, tickling his toes. Margaux smiled at them, and he met her gaze and held it. Matthias giggled and kicked his feet, causing Victor to look down again. Yes. They needed to make this work. This baby would make it worth it.
Mishou’s apartment was lit up, though it was not yet dark. Even the guest room had a light on, and from the street, the place looked lived in. Victor punched in the code and went up the stairs. His heart started to lift the closer he got to seeing April, but that only confused him more. It was time he let go of this particular desire. He needed to be serious now and start looking forward and building his family. These were lofty thoughts, but they didn’t bring Victor any comfort when he thought about relegating April to a role of friend and nothing more. For once, however, he needed to do the right thing.
“Bonsoir, Victor.” Mishou opened the door wide. “Perhaps the best thing I did was to invite April to stay, since I see you all the time now.”
“Coucou.” Victor stooped to kiss his grandmother, his determination wavering. He had to tell her. “I had lunch with Margaux today, and I will be marrying her. I just thought you should know that. So you don’t get any false hopes about April.”
Mishou fixed her eyes on him for a long moment, then turned to lead the way into the living room. “I like April, you know.”
“How could anyone not like her?” Victor asked.
“No. What I mean is—April is the girl for you.” Mishou changed course and went into the kitchen. She pulled the step stool over to the cupboard, but Victor stayed her with a hand.
“What do you need? I’ll get it.”
“The pistachio nuts,” she said. “It’s a noble sentiment to want to marry that woman because you have a baby together. I’m proud of you for thinking that way. There are too few young men willing to step up and take responsibility, and that is precisely what you are doing.” She took the nuts from his hands, set them on the counter and patted his cheeks.
“But she is the wrong woman for you. Margaux never did fill that void you had when you started dating her. And—mon chéri—you haven’t noticed this, but that void has been long filled. You filled it. You forged your own path. You realized your own worth. You don’t need Margaux anymore.”
“But the baby needs me,” Victor said, his eyes on his grandmother, who was bustling about taking bowls, cocktail napkins and glasses to set on a tray.
“I agree. The baby needs you. So be there for him. But marriage is irrevocable. Even if you end things, which I fear you will, or stay and end up a shell of your former self, a part of you will be destroyed. That baby was made without your knowledge and without your participation.”
“Well, not completely,” Victor said with a laugh.
“Naughty boy. You know what I mean. She certainly didn’t come to you for help until she’d decided it was time to provide a traditional upbringing for the baby. Where was your input all along? She has called all the shots. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.” Mishou dumped the pistachio nuts into the bowl and set the bag on the counter with force.
“Mishou.” Victor took his grandmother’s hands in his own. He hadn’t seen her this upset since he ran away from her at the park when he was five. “So you’re telling me I should dump Margaux, despite our history and our baby together, and…do what precisely?”
“Marry April,” Mishou said, looking up at him.
Her words pierced him with longing. Marry April. If only that
were a possibility. It wasn’t. It just wasn’t. He wouldn’t think about it.
Victor couldn’t stop the next word from spilling out of his mouth. “Why?”
“I’ve heard you talk about your girls over the years. I’ve met one or two. I spent enough time with Margaux to last a lifetime. Before April, I’d never seen anyone who makes you better, who loves you for who you are, and who brings out the very best in you. Certainly not Margaux.”
“Do you think April loves me?” Victor knew he shouldn’t ask. He couldn’t help himself.
“She only understands half of what I say in French. And I only understand half of what she says in English. But I do understand the word Victor, and she must’ve uttered that word a half-dozen times when I was giving her a cooking lesson, and at every conversation we’ve had since.” Mishou opened the refrigerator. “A beer?”
Victor looked around, suddenly realizing what he was doing here. And where was April? He and Mishou had been having this personal conversation about April, and he didn’t even know if she could hear what they were saying. “Is April here?”
“She said she was going to step out to go to the grocery store. Apparently you two are going to dinner together, and she said she needed to bring something. She was going to get flowers.”
“Yes, but—” Victor stood, frozen. “When did she leave?”
“She left an hour before you arrived. In fact, she should be back by now, but I’m glad we had this time to talk. I’ve been wanting to say these things to you, but every time you’re here, so is she, and I can’t very well tell you she loves you with her standing right there.” Mishou shrugged. “Then again, I suppose I could have. The two of you remind me of me and Papi. Except we were a lot smarter than you children. We knew right away that what we had was special. You two are going to miss out if you don’t open your eyes.”
Victor's mind was whirling. “Do you know which way she went?”
A Friend in Paris Page 17
