When she got out of the bathroom, her phone was ringing an odd, octave-scaling ring.
That was weird. Dree didn’t even have cell service in Europe. She’d tried to get her phone to work when she’d been in the airport, but it had just roamed and refused to connect.
When she picked it up, the screen said the call was coming through one of her social media accounts, TalkBook, not her phone. At the top of the screen, the Wi-Fi symbol was lit up.
Oh, she was getting Wi-Fi access in the FlyBNB room, not real cellular service.
Her thumb tapped the circle before she noticed the name on the TalkBook account was Francis Senft.
Oh no, but she’d already accepted his call.
“Where the fuck are you?” Francis yelled through the phone, and his face resolved into a screaming red blob of anger. “You used the airplane ticket! I was trying to get a refund or claim the travel insurance for those tickets, and you goddamn used one!”
“It was in my name,” she said, her voice choking up because it always did when she was ashamed.
“I was trying to get the money for them because I goddamn need the money!”
This wasn’t the Francis she’d known and loved for eleven months. Yesterday, he’d turned into this crazy guy demanding money. “I paid for them,” she said. “I could use one if I wanted to.”
“No, you couldn’t, you dumb bitch! I needed that money!”
He was so different. Dree didn’t even recognize this guy who wore Francis’s face and was screaming at her. Tears spilled over her eyelids and traced hot wetness down her face.
She didn’t know what new-Dree would do in this situation yet. She just knew that old-Dree would apologize to him and figure out some way to give him more than she should because everyone else was more important than she was.
The instinct to apologize gathered in her throat, so she hung up the phone and turned it off.
Just as the phone powered down, it started to ring that odd chime, and Francis’s name reappeared.
The phone died with a sad squawk.
And someone knocked on her door.
Oh, God.
Had Francis used the other plane ticket and come to Paris to find her? He had made the hotel reservations with her credit card. If he was in Paris, he would know where she was.
She crept to the door, stood on her tiptoes, and peered through the fish-eye lens.
Augustine stood outside in the hallway, holding flowers, two large paper cups, and a pink box. He was just as frickin’ beautiful as she remembered, though he was wearing a white dress shirt and khaki pants.
She cranked the two locks that worked and flipped the door open. “Augustine, you’re not supposed to come back. I’m never supposed to see you again. That was the rule.”
He stared at her and said, “I promised to take you shopping for a new coat. Why are you crying?”
Chapter Four
Confession
Maxence
Maxence was trying to be good.
He strolled along the streets of downtown Paris, dodging pedestrians and smiling at people who made eye contact. Even in the bright morning sunlight, the evergreen bough Christmas decorations tied with red velvet ribbons were festive and cheered Maxence considerably.
As it was Sunday morning, he’d been to confession before Mass to absolve himself of the mortal sins on his soul, and there were many, before he took Holy Communion.
He had arrived at Église Saint-Sulpice, a massive cathedral near his hotel, only fifteen minutes before Mass was supposed to start.
Inside the airy cathedral, where the air sparkled with color from the immense and many stained-glass windows soaring five stories into the sky of France, Maxence had found Father Moses Teklehaimanot, a friend of his from previous charity missions. Father Moses had visited Max at his uncle Rainier’s hospital bedside just days before to perform Last Rites for Rainier again. Max had been there for weeks, praying and sitting vigil, but the time had come for him to leave.
That morning, Max admitted to Father Moses that he needed to be reconciled before Mass.
Father Moses commandeered a small room behind the main part of the church and sat knee to knee with Maxence, staring directly at him. A beam of sunlight shone silver on the old priest’s ebony skin, illuminating his folds of age and smiles. “Just the minimum. No details. No other information. I don’t want to know.”
Maxence whipped through the prayer before confession, and his throat tightened. He forced the words out with his eyes squeezed shut. “I have committed sins of a sexual nature since my last confession, two of adultery and three of fornication, and many more in my heart, and quite a lot of impure thoughts. And a sin of wrath. And I committed a solitary sin against chastity once. No, twice.”
Father Moses widened one eye and dropped his other white eyebrow. “Maxence, it’s been three days!”
“I’m not proud of it,” Maxence muttered. When he slipped like that and went rogue, his psyche seemed to crumble from within.
“How many other people were involved during this time?”
“Two. Three, if you count the man I punched in the sin of wrath.”
“One for the fornication, and one for the adultery.”
“That’s what happened.”
“Oh, Maxence.” Father Moses shook his head sadly.
After Mass, Max had planned to go back to the hotel and consider what he should do in Paris during the four more days until he would fly away to begin his next charity mission. For a month, Max had been sitting beside his uncle’s hospital bed, reading to his uncle who was on a ventilator after a massive, hemorrhagic stroke.
His Uncle Rainier had always been a vital, energetic man who had kept a full schedule right up until the morning when he’d grabbed the side of his head and collapsed. He was only in his middle sixties, and the stroke had shocked everyone in Maxence’s family. Everyone had assumed they would have at least another decade before the patriarch of the family passed away and the battle for his assets began.
Some families fall apart fighting over inheritance. Maxence’s extended family had already splintered into warring factions long ago.
Even though Max had been home just the day before, he’d since received dozens of emails from cousins and relatives, warning him of developments.
Are you coming to the council meeting? You need to be there.
Odds of Council before Winter Ball: 1:3. €10.000?
Shit is hitting the fan, cuz. Uncle Jules is planning a coup.
But for now, even though Maxence’s Uncle Rainier lay dying in a hospital bed a few hundred miles south of him, Maxence was in Paris at Christmas time, and his favorite café that made truly incredible croissants was just a block away.
Walking the few blocks took Maxence only a few minutes, his long legs covering the sidewalk rapidly.
At the counter, he’d meant to ask for two croissants and a café au lait, but he found himself asking for a half dozen and two café au lait to go.
The South Asian lady working behind the counter frowned that Maxence would be so gauche as to take breakfast and coffee away, where they would doubtlessly become slightly stale or cool and thus cheapen the experience of these superior croissants and this particular café au lait.
Maxence hadn’t even known he was going to order it for takeaway before he opened his mouth, but as he thought back, Dree had mentioned this was her first time in Paris.
One should eat splendid croissants on one’s first trip to Paris.
He liked the little blonde with her funny giggle and enthusiasm, and she should be protected from the coarser elements of Paris and her own questionable judgment.
She might be subjected to inferior pastries and not experience the pleasure of truly phenomenal Parisian croissants.
That would be a shame.
And so, Maxence balanced the pink pastry box and two hot paper cups in his hands and managed to hail a car with an app on his phone.
Driving out to her
rented room took longer than he’d thought, and by the time Max got there, he was famished.
And the croissants smelled tasty, too.
Chapter Five
Jesus’s Buddies
Dree
“I’m not crying,” Dree said, holding her dead phone in her hand and surreptitiously smearing her wet face on her shoulder.
“You’re crying,” Augustine said, his voice lowered to a growl. He was so hot when he scowled like that, which seemed odd to Dree. Usually, she freaked out when men got mad at her. He asked, “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, you didn’t do anything. You were great. No, you were magnificent.” An amazing fragrance had filled the air while she was talking, something like baking pastries smothered with the best kind of Irish butter that she’d only bought once because it was too expensive. “What is that smell?”
“Croissants,” Augustine said, holding out the pink box. “You said it was your first time in Paris. You should eat croissants in Paris.”
Her lack of breakfast in the hotel room embarrassed her, and she felt like she shouldn’t let him go out of his way to give her something. “I—I appreciate that, but you didn’t have to.”
He shrugged. “My favorite café was near—where I was, so I picked some up. I also promised to buy you a new coat today.”
“You only said that to stop me from going back inside the Buddha Bar.”
His slow smile was sexy as hell. “Yes, but a promise is a promise.”
The weird shakiness in her chest subsided. “I was going to go back down there and see if they found it. I really liked that coat. And if they didn’t find it, like you said, it’s not that cold. It’s just a little ‘fresh.’ I don’t really need a coat.”
“You were freezing last night. I say, do you mind if I come inside? Standing out in the corridor like this is odd.”
“You weren’t supposed to come back,” she told him.
He shook the box again. “But I brought you croissants.”
“Fair enough. Come on in. I mean, it was really nice of you to offer to share your croissants with me, but you don’t have to.” She stood aside so he could come in. “I have coffee.”
“I brought you some of that, too. Do you have a table?”
She locked the door behind him. “I have a countertop.”
He set the boxes and cups on the table and held the flowers out to her. Ivory roses and white Narcissus blooms filled the brown paper cone. “To celebrate your first trip to Paris.”
She stared at the flowers for a moment, gathering herself. Francis had never brought her such extravagant flowers, and he was the one who was supposed to be here in Paris with her, buying her flowers and seeing it together.
After nearly a year with Francis, marrying him had seemed inevitable.
Instead, this beautiful, impossible man had brought her flowers and breakfast in Paris.
He tilted his head. “You’re crying again.”
“I am not,” she said, wiping her face on her tee shirt again. She gulped some air and said, “The flowers are just so beautiful that they caught me off guard. And it was so nice of you to bring me croissants.” She took the flowers, the paper crackling in her fingers. “I’ll put these in some water. I really do appreciate them, Augustine.”
His smile was wary. “Are we still doing the ‘Augustine’ thing?”
“Yes.” She found a plastic water pitcher among the assorted useless things in the kitchen cabinets and filled it with water for the flowers. “Yes, and I don’t want to talk about why. Don’t tell me who or what you really are. Just be a mystery, okay?”
“All right,” he said, though he was still frowning, and his eyebrows still pinched together.
“It’s not about you,” she said. “It’s about me. I just don’t want to be me anymore. I want to be somebody, anybody else. I want to be a superhero or a princess in disguise.”
His dark eyebrows twitched.
She continued, “But I’m pathetic and stupid, and I want to be anybody else, so you can be someone else, too. Otherwise, I’d feel bad about lying to you.”
Augustine closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t think I’m following your logic.”
“That’s because there isn’t any. Just accept it, okay? Let’s just do it.”
He spread his hands. “All right. I’m game. It’s probably better, anyway. For the time being, my name is Augustine, and I owe you a coat. Is your name actually Dree?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said, wincing because he’d caught her. “I was too drunk to make something up. My name is Dree, and I shall call you ‘Auggie.’”
He cracked up, laughing long and hard from his gut. He placed one hand on his lean, flat stomach as if his tummy were going to split open. When he wound down, he said, “Auggie, yes. By all means, let’s call me Auggie. Friends of mine will perish when I tell them this. Can we eat breakfast? I’m famished.”
“Sure. Didn’t you get something to eat while you were out?”
“I don’t eat in the mornings. I have to attend—” He stopped talking and frowned.
“The gym?” she offered.
“Right,” he said, drawing out the word. “I have to attend the gym.”
She set the pitcher of white flowers on the bedroom dresser by where Augustine was standing. He opened the box and began setting out the food on paper napkins he’d brought. Inside the box, a stack of a half-dozen croissants nestled little tubs of butter and strawberry jam.
She said, “Strawberry is my favorite! That is so sweet of you.”
He smiled at her, and his dark eyes crinkled at the edges. “Mine, too.”
Dree found some knives in a drawer, slathered butter and jam on a croissant, and bit into the flakey, buttery heaven. Brittle layers shattered in her mouth, and tender layers inside collapsed when she bit down. “Oh, my God. This is nothing like those little crescent rolls from the tube. Those are just bread.”
He raised one eyebrow while he ripped off a hunk and stuffed it into his mouth. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Those little rolls in the tube, and when you open the tube, it explodes and you jump.”
He shook his head as he spread jam on his croissant.
“Must be an American thing.”
The way his lips closed around the pastry and he sucked on his thumb made Dree’s knees flinch. Damn. She tried not to watch him nibble and lick the French pastry and failed.
She wanted to be the croissant, but she wasn’t supposed to see him or touch him ever again.
Stupid bucket-list napkin, bossing her around.
When Augustine had finished chewing the last bite, he glanced up at her. “Are you going to tell me why you were crying?”
She shook her head and concentrated on buttering her next bite of croissant.
“Then lie to me,” he said, reaching for another croissant.
What? “Lie to you?”
“Yes.” He tore another croissant to pieces with his long fingers. “That’s what you said we should do. If you don’t want to tell me the truth about why you were crying, tell me lies.”
It was completely ridiculous, so she laughed at him. “Okay, I don’t even know how to start.”
He was standing straight and still as he ate, not leaning on the counter or fidgeting. “What could be so awful that it would make a beautiful woman like you cry?”
She did laugh at him for that. “I don’t know, alien abduction? The state of the whole world? That I had no one to bring me flowers, but now I do?”
His gaze slowly rose from his croissant to her eyes.
Dree realized what she’d said and waved her hands, crossing them like she was waving off a landing airplane. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not imagining that we have a relationship. We don’t. It was just one night, and that’s all it was supposed to be. I just meant that it was nice of you to bring me flowers this morning. If there had been something else going on, if I were in Paris alone for some s
tupid reason when I should have had a romantic trip planned but then everything went to shit, it’s not your responsibility. I don’t expect anything from you. We’re cool. That’s all. We’re cool.”
Augustine held a piece of croissant pinched in his fingers, staring at it and not eating it. Butter and strawberry jam leaked onto his fingers. His steady look seemed resigned and sad, not freaked out.
Or he might be screaming inside and good at covering it up. It was hard to tell with guys sometimes.
“It really is okay,” she said. “I was just thinking about things I might do in Paris, like tourist stuff.”
He finally spoke. “Last night, it sounded like you had a bucket list.”
“Funny you should put it like that, a bucket list.” That’s what Roxanne and Gen had called it the night before. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
Augustine neatly wiped his fingers on a paper towel and then reached over and picked up her special napkin that was covered with black handwriting and her map for the rest of her life.
“Uh, yeah,” she said. “You don’t have to look at that.” A lot of it was pretty embarrassing and made her look like a tramp. Well, even more like a tramp than she’d already made herself look by screaming that she wanted to screw all the men in a bar and then taking a guy home for the hottest sex of her life.
Yeah, the tramp ship had already sailed.
He studied it, frowning in places. “This is quite a list.”
“I wasn’t planning on doing it all.” She totally was.
Augustine tilted his head, glanced up at her with a startled expression, and then looked back at the napkin as his eyes grew larger. “A threesome, a foursome with three guys, a gang bang. You mentioned these last night.”
It all sounded so sordid now, like only an idiot would want to do ridiculous things like that. “It’s just a list. I don’t even know how many of those things I’ll be able to do, ever, in my whole life.”
Indecent Proposal: Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence 0.5 Page 5
