One Week in Paris

by Roya Carmen

  Ceremony: 3:00 PM.

  Photo shoot: 4:00 PM.

  Cocktails: 5:00 PM

  Dinner and reception: 6:00 PM

  Don’t be late!

  OH YES, THE WEDDING. The reason we’re here. I’ve been so caught up in Paris, I almost completely forgot that I’m supposed to break this thing up. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t even know where my mother is staying.

  Jules Verne is amazing. The views of Paris are to die for and the decor is soothing; contemporary leather chairs, crisp white linens, and geometric shapes surround us. It’s classy and cool.

  Matt is smiling at me, and for a second, I see the boy I first met at that corner store. For a moment, everything’s forgotten. He looks good tonight. He’s wearing a stylish blue grey sweater and slim black pants. His hair is slicked back, and five o-clock shadow traces his jaw. He looks painfully sexy. I hate that I’m still attracted to him after all he’s put me through.

  His gaze lingers on me, and I recognize his expression — I’m pretty sure he wants to do wicked things to me. I don’t even let my mind entertain the possibility.

  “We’re about four hundred feet up in the air,” he tells me. “Nothing beats this.”

  The glittering lights of the cityscape seem to dance. “I agree.”

  I feel like someone else, someone beautiful, sophisticated and worldly. I wonder if he makes all his dates feel this way. I remind myself to be guarded. Like his philandering father, he probably can’t be trusted.

  “The food here is great too,” he goes on. “Michelin graded.”

  I nod and peruse the menu. A six-course meal; foie gras, lobster, caviar, with a six wine pairing. I don’t think I’ve had a six-course meal before. I don’t even want to think how many calories I will consume tonight. I briefly get anxious at the thought of getting sick. My body does not respond too well to rich foods.

  We start off with our first course, a delicious salad. Our server is very attractive and has a sexy French accent, but it doesn’t seem to distract Matt. All his attention is on me. “So…” he says. He seems as nervous as I am, at a loss for words. “My dad and your mom… crazy, right?”

  “Yes, crazy.”

  Yep, crazy, and I’m going to stop it. I just don’t know how, yet.

  “My dad is crazy about your mom.”

  Your dad will destroy her life.

  He swirls the wine in his glass and chews on his bottom lip. “He’s always crazy about women. I think he’s addicted to them.”

  “A real ladies’ man, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Oh, I think I do. I’ve heard rumors.”

  He settles in the curved back of his chair. “You have? You know…”

  “Yes, I know your dad cheated on your mom. I know he’s been accused of sexual harassment.”

  Matt nods and stares down at the table, not quite able to look up at me. “Yes, my dad loves his secretaries.”

  I don’t say a thing. What could I possibly say? This just in: Matt is fully aware that his dad is a grade A womanizer.

  “I hated him when I was a kid,” he confesses. “He made my mom’s life hell. She knew he was cheating. She’s not stupid, my mother. They’d fight night and day, and it really got to me and my sister. I think that’s why I was so messed up, why I was such a jerk as a kid. I’d see other kids with happy families and I’d be so envious of them.”

  “I… I’m sorry.” I’m shocked by his revelation, by the sudden intimacy we’ve fallen into. “I know how you feel,” I tell him. “My father was a player and a deadbeat too. At least, yours stuck around.”

  “Yep.” A huge breath escapes him. “And he paid for my education, got me a job. I wouldn’t have everything I have if it weren’t for him.”

  My throat suddenly feels very dry. I gulp down a sip of my wine. It’s delicious. “True.”

  “I don’t hate him anymore,” he tells me. “He’s a good father, for the most part. He was just a crappy husband.”

  The server presents us our second course, and the sommelier waxes lyrical about the wine pairing.

  Just shut the hell up, and leave our food.

  I realize we will be here for a long, long time. I’ll be seventy-three by the time we finish this meal. But somehow, I don’t mind. The company’s good.

  “Honestly, I worry about your mother,” he tells me. “I like Florence a lot. I’m afraid he might end up hurting her like he did my mother.”

  My stomach jerks. Not sure if it’s the wine or food, or his comment. “I do too,” I confess. “Honestly, I’d like to stop the whole ordeal. I think she’s making a huge mistake.”

  “I do too.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Is he trying to sabotage his father’s wedding. Does he have an ulterior motive? Does he think my mother will steal his inheritance?

  “There’s nothing we can do,” I tell him. “I told her about his Casanova ways, but she won’t hear a word. She’s wearing blinders.”

  He shakes his head as he digs into his food. “Typical. My dad is very charming, and knows how to treat a woman like a queen. They get caught up in it, in the fantasy.”

  “No matter how old we are, we women all seem to want the whole Cinderella-thing,” I tell him. “Blame it on Disney.”

  He smiles and is quiet for a moment. He looks gorgeous under the soft glow of the restaurant, and I suddenly realize how sexy the atmosphere is, all warm lighting, sleek leather and shiny walls and ceilings. It oozes sex.

  Or maybe I’m just horny.

  Is that what I’m doing right now? Am I falling into the whole Cinderella fantasy? I’ve always thought of myself as a strong, independent woman. Yet… I’m quite enjoying being wined and dined.

  Oscar would be appalled.

  A pensive expression traces his brow as he swallows a bite. “Maybe… you’re going to think this is crazy…”

  Fork mid-air, I ask, “What?”

  “I know a girl who lives in Paris,” he tells me. “She’s quite… uh… sexy.”

  “Ex-girlfriend?”

  He smiles. “More of a friend-with-benefits.”

  “Oh, I know all about that.” I think of Oscar and Corrie and wonder what they’re doing right at this moment. They were going to check out the Marais and get a bite there.

  I wonder if Matt is still seeing this woman, if he has a booty call lined up. The thought of that makes me a little jealous, and I shake my head at the craziness of that.

  “Her name is Nicole,” he goes on. “And she loves… um… sex… men. Especially rich men.”

  “Uh huh. I know the type.”

  “Anyway, we could arrange for a ‘chance’ meeting. Arrange for her to casually bump into my dad. Knowing her, she’ll have him wrapped around her finger in less than a minute. I know his schedule, and every spot he intends to visit. Mind you, he’ll be mostly with your mother this week, but if I know him like I think I do, it could work.”

  I shift in my seat, and lean in closer. “Let me get this straight… you want your dad to cheat on my mom on their wedding vacation?”

  He shrugs. “Well, yeah. The idea is to do it before the wedding. She’ll see what he’s really like, and won’t make the mistake of marrying him.”

  I’m skeptical. “What’s in this for you? Why do you care? Are you afraid she’ll steal your dad’s precious money?”

  He laughs. “She’s signed a prenup. And honestly, I’m just tired of seeing him treat women like shit. I usually don’t care when he has his way with the gold diggers, uses them and spits them out. But your mom is a good person, and she doesn’t deserve his shit.”

  I lean back, impressed. Matt Moore has changed. A lot.

  “I’ll probably need your help, to get your mom where I need her to be.”

  My heart sinks at the thought of willingly hurting my mother. “This will devastate her.”

  “I know,” he says. “But don’t you think it’s better than finding out her new perfect hus
band is sleeping with the whole town behind her back, and going through a nasty divorce. Because believe me, that’s what will happen. My dad’s been married three times. This is his fourth marriage.”

  My eyes grow wide. “I didn’t know that. I thought that this was his second marriage.”

  He shoots up his hand, pointing four fingers up. “Nope… fourth.”

  I shake my head. “Wow, the man’s a piece of work. He certainly had me fooled.”

  He smiles. “Don’t feel bad about it. He has everyone fooled.”

  The server comes round with the third course, a delicious looking foie gras. My stomach growls at the sight, and we happily dig in.

  The rest of the long dinner flows smoothly. We chat about our old high school friends, or his friends, I should say. I haven’t kept in touch with anyone, but he has. He tells me what they’re all up to. Many are married with small kids, some are divorced. One has even created a multi-million dollar app. We also talk about the last ten years of our lives. He tells me all about his college days and his job. I don’t mention my eating disorder, my bout in a psychiatric center, nor my dropping out of college. I talk about my yoga class, my friends and my massage clients.

  Dessert is a delicious chocolate mousse. I don’t often have dessert so when I do, it’s a real treat. I enjoy every bite.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your meal, Kayla,” he says. “So I did good?” he asks with the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen.

  I smile playfully. “Yes, you did quite well, Mr. Moore.”

  Oh damn, flirting. I’m flirting with Matt Moore, my nemesis, my monster. What the hell is wrong with me?

  He wraps my jacket around my shoulders before we step out. We indulge in one last view of the city. The air is crisp and cool, but I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I’m not sure if it’s the wine, or if it’s the way Matt is looking at me.

  “You really are gorgeous,” he says. “You’ve really turned into something amazing.”

  I bite my lip. “The ugly duckling… that’s me.”

  He shakes his head. “You were never ugly, Kayla.”

  I turn from him. “Let’s go.”

  We make our way down in silence. When we hop into the taxi, I’m still not speaking to him, but I really want to. He shoots me quiet smiles, as if he knows that he hasn’t won me over yet. He’s still working on it.

  The taxi rolls to a stop in front of my building. Matt insists on walking me to the door.

  “It’s just a few steps,” I point out. “I’m pretty sure I won’t get mugged.”

  “I insist,” he says.

  I shrug. “Okay… suit yourself.”

  About ten steps later, we find ourselves in front of the steps leading to the front door of my building.

  “I had a really good time,” he says.

  I smile. “Me too… surprisingly.” I really did.

  He laughs, a soft chuckle. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” he points out. “But there’s still a long way to go. I’ve only just gotten started. I’ve got so much shit to make up for.”

  “You do.”

  “How about I take you out again?” he suggests. “Art museum, book store? Do you still love books?”

  I smile. “Yes, I’m still a nerdy bookworm, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Well, nerdy bookworms are sexy-as-hell,” he teases. “I can just picture you, all cozied up in your bed, a paperback resting on your thighs,” he says, his words soft and smooth. “Lucky fucking paperback.”

  Oh, damn.

  He inches closer without a word.

  I’m aroused, and feeling very flirty. “You’re picturing me in a little nightie, aren’t you?”

  He smiles. “How did you know? It’s pink and sheer, cut low, rides up high.”

  “What am I reading?”

  He closes his eyes. “Uh… Fifty Shades of Grey,” he says. “You’re wet.”

  Holy shit.

  His words take me for a loop. I don’t know what to say. And like I do every time I get nervous, I make a lame joke. “Oh, Fifty Shades was so six years ago. I’ve moved on…”

  He smiles.

  How did this conversation turn so naughty?

  He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me in. Even with my heels, I’m a few inches shorter than him. He’s tall but not quite as tall as Oscar.

  Why in the heavens am I thinking about Oscar?

  15

  HE CLOSES THE DISTANCE between us and presses his full mouth on mine. My lips are already parted and they welcome his eagerly. I press the palm of my hand against his stubble as we deepen the kiss. I feel it all the way down to my core — he’s a great kisser.

  But this is Matt Moore.

  I tear myself from him. As great as it feels, I don’t want to kiss him. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, not quite looking at him. “I should go.”

  He backs away. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have moved so fast. I just really like you, Kayla.”

  I shoot him a tight smile as I walk away and wave goodbye. I don’t look back as I climb up the stairs, and pull at the heavy door. The stairs creak loudly as I make my way up to my apartment. I turn and wave goodbye one last time.

  Forgiveness

  To err is human; to forgive, divine. — Alexander Pope

  Forgiveness is tricky. It’s something you don’t want to do, especially if you’re stubborn. But it’s also something you do for yourself, as well as for the other person. There’s nothing worse than that constant weight in your heart, a black blemish that can easily be erased with the words “I forgive you.”

  You don’t necessarily need to say those specific words out loud. Sometimes it’s just a matter of sending a quick friendly text, making a phone call, or sending a birthday card. The other person will understand that you’ve forgiven them. They will be thrilled but won’t thank you. It’s something communicated without words.

  And you’ll experience a new weightlessness, a feeling of freedom. You’ll have essentially freed yourself from the anger, the negative emotions, and the guilt. Holding on to a grudge is painful, and as soon as you let go, your pain eases. Holding a grudge probably hurts you more than it hurts your offender.

  I’ve always believed in forgiving. It’s just the kind of person I am. I’ve never held on too long to grudges, but this thing with Matt is different. He really hurt me.

  But he also helped me. He’s given me the motivation to reach higher, to prove him wrong. Without having gone through what I did in high school, I would not be the same person I am today. I wouldn’t be as strong or as fierce.

  But he’s also made me cynical, and has done quite a number on my self-esteem.

  Can I just pretend as if nothing happened? Easier said than done. Flashbacks keep creeping up at the most inopportune times; the taunts, the mocking, that wicked smile of his — still the same today. But perhaps he’s changed. Can a person really change? I’d like to think so.

  Because it’s always what I do, because I have a tender heart, I know I’ll forgive him. And given the fact that he’s going to be my new brother soon, it’s in our best interest to get along. The last thing I want to do is stand in the way of my mother’s happiness.

  Forgiveness is hard, but I think it’s worth the effort. Ultimately, when you forgive, you do yourself a favor.

  I think about Oscar. I feel guilty. I know I’m allowed to see other men, to do whatever the hell I want. That’s the beauty of friends-with-benefits arrangements. But somehow, I feel like I’ve just cheated on him. And I know how he hates Matt.

  I fiddle with the lock, only to discover that the door is unlocked. When I walk in, Corrie is sitting cross-legged on the plush sofa, and Oscar is leaning back in the leather arm chair.

  Damn. Did they see?

  Corrie is grinning from ear to ear. “You naughty girl.”

  Fuck.

  “What?” I say, attempting to act innocent.

  “We saw you,” she tells me. “When I hea
rd the car, I went to peek out the window. And when I saw him cuddle up to you, I called Oscar over. That was quite the kiss.”

  Damn you, Corrie, and your fucking nosy ways.

  Oscar is staring at the painting on the wall. The expression on is face is blank. He hasn’t looked my way once since I came in.

  “Tell us everything,” Corrie coos. “I thought you hated that guy. You two’ve got a love-hate thing going? That’s hot.”

  Oscar is still expressionless.

  “Shut up, Corrie,” I say playfully as I peel off my scarf and jacket. “He’s not so bad, it turns out. We had a nice time, and then he kissed me,” I point out. “I pushed him away.”

  “Not before shoving your tongue down his throat for about a minute.”

  I hang my jacket on the old coat rack by the door. “It was ten seconds at most.”

  “No, more like thirty, I’d say,” she argues. “What do you think, Oscar?”

  Oscar stands and leaves the room without a word.

  Corrie winces when she suddenly realizes what she’s done. “Sorry,” she whispers. “This thing with Oscar… is it more serious than I thought?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You might have to bunk with me,” she teases. “He doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to share a bed with you.”

  I walk right past her, and head towards my room, the room I’m sharing with Oscar. He’s stretched out on the bed, staring up at the wooden beams on the ceiling.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “He’s the one who kissed me.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind too much.” He’s still staring up at the ceiling, refusing to look at me.

  I sit next to him on the bed. His shirt is riding up, and the happy trail under his navel is exposed. I want to lick it. I want him. I always want him. He’s always sexy, but even more so when he’s angry. And the thought of having to win him over arouses me. I love make-up sex with Oscar. Especially in Paris.

  I trail my finger softly just below his belly button. He grabs my hand hard and stops me. “Don’t.”