One Week in Paris

by Roya Carmen

  “There’s a shit ton of bridges in this town,” Oscar says, stating the obvious. He’s still snapping pics.

  My phone dings, and I’m surprised by my reaction when I see a text from Matt; it’s a mix of excitement and curiosity.

  Hey, Kayla. Hope you’re having a great day in Paris. Had a great time last night. What are you up to today?

  I reply instantly, careful to make sure Oscar is not snooping over my shoulder.

  We’re on a walking tour. We’re walking by the Seine right now.

  —

  Cool! I’ve spoken to Nicole. She’s in… I need to know my dad’s plans for tonight. I texted him but he didn’t reply yet. :( Can you talk to your mother and try to find out?

  —

  I’ll see what I can do.

  —

  Thanks. Bye. xoxo

  Next, we’re touring Le Marais, a quaint little village called Saint Paul. Corrie is chatting with Antoine, undoubtedly finding out if he’s married. My feet are starting to ache, the soles of my shoes too flat for long distance walking.

  Thankfully we stop and take a break at a local art gallery. I’m not much of an artist myself, but I’ve always appreciated art. Oscar and I peruse the works quietly without a word. “Gabbie would love this place,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, her new guy too. I hope she remembers to feed the cats.”

  I smile. “You’re still worried about Nellie?”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  Corrie sneaks up behind us quietly. “So here’s what I’ve found out,” she says in hushed tones. “He’s not married. He’s divorced. Two grown daughters. He’s fifty-eight. When he’s not doing tours, he’s an art curator. He’s a country boy, originally from Avignon. He loves crime fiction and American folk music. He speaks five languages.”

  “Wow, did he ask you if you were writing his biography?” I tease.

  “Well, I told you I’d find out shit,” she says. “And he even showed me a picture of his ex-wife and daughters. She looks a lot like your mom… the man has a type.”

  I smile. “Okay then, how do we get them together? We need to break up the wedding first. And that’s in two days,” I point out, feeling slightly defeated.

  “How’s your brother doing?” she asks.

  “My brother?” I ask, confused for a second, and then I laugh. “Oh yes, my future brother. He’s still working on it. Speaking of which, I really need to talk to my mom.”

  I scurry over to my mother who is quietly observing a beautiful painting; a country scene painted in vibrant oils. Antoine is chatting with one of the other tourists. “Hey, Mom. Having fun?”

  She beams. “Yes, this tour was such a great idea. I’m glad I let Corrie convince me to come.”

  “Well, she is pretty convincing. So what do you think of our tour guide?” I ask with a playful smile.

  She visibly blushes and pulls her gaze from mine, back to the painting. “He’s very nice.”

  “More than nice,” I say. “I wouldn’t kick him out my bed for eating baguettes and leaving crumbs, if you know what I mean.”

  Her jaw drops. “He’s about thirty years older than you.”

  I quickly do the math in my head. “Yep, thirty years, only a year younger than you.”

  She turns to me, slack-jawed. “How do you know this?”

  “I have my little spy,” I nod in Corrie’s direction.

  A shocked expression traces her features. “Are you interested in Antoine?”

  “Not for me.” I smirk. “For you. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

  She shakes her head, but the smile on her face sticks. “You’re crazy, sweetie. You do realize that I’m getting married in two days, right?”

  “So, speaking of Mark… what are you two up to tonight?” I ask innocently. Just making conversation…

  She lightens up. “Oh, actually. We were originally going to go for dinner at this little Italian place Mark likes, but turns out we’re going to Antoine’s for an impromptu dinner. You’re invited too, by the way. You, Oscar and Corrie.”

  “Wow.” I’m shocked. This is quite the development in our plan. I like it. “Yeah, that sounds great,” I tell her. “Let me go ask them.”

  I practically hop over back to Corrie. This fucking with other’s lives shit is fun. It’s usually not my style, but I’ve obviously been spending way too much time around Corrie. “She’s going to Antoine’s for dinner tonight.” I tell her, in hushed tones.

  Corrie’s eyes grow wide. “What? Just her?”

  “No, Mark’s going too,” I explain. “And we’re invited too.”

  “Oh, we’re going,” she says. “I can’t wait.”

  “Going where?” Oscar chimes in.

  “We’re going to Antoine’s for dinner tonight,” I tell him.

  He cocks a brow, mildly surprised. “Cool.”

  My stomach growls. I’m famished. Turns out, devious manipulation can build up quite the appetite.

  We finally take a break at a little deli/café, and I make sure to sit right next to Antoine. I practically have to fight the woman in the pink track suit to sit next to him but it’s worth it.

  I fish my phone out of my purse, and text Matt.

  Is Nicole available tonight? We are going to this dinner party tonight in the 18th arrondissement, and she needs to be there. I can text you the address and time later.

  “So I heard you invited us to dinner at your place tonight.”

  “Yes. I would love if you would all come,” he says in his sexy French accent.

  I smile shyly. He might be thirty years older than me, but I could fall in love with this man. In an alternate reality. “We would love to.”

  He smiles wide. “That is great. I will invite my daughters. They are about your age. The oldest is twenty-eight, and the youngest is twenty-five. They love meeting new people.”

  “Sounds great.” Great… more French beauties to tempt Mark. Speaking of which, I need to ask Antoine something. I inhale a long breath, and despite my nerves, I give it a shot. “Would it be possible for me to invite my friend, Nicole?” I ask. “I was planning to spend the evening with her,” I lie.

  “Oh, of course,” he says. “How do you say? The more, the merrier?”

  I smile. “Yes.”

  I scarf down the most delicious onion bread I’ve ever tasted, followed by smoked salmon on a tasty cracker. I forget all about my devious plans for a second, and just enjoy the food.

  Corrie and Mom are thrilled when we follow our morning snack with a little shopping. We visit a local vintage shop where they sell countless pretty things; coffee mugs, candles, scarves, perfume, etc… Oscar looks bored to death, and I’m too scared to even look at the price tags. Corrie and Mom do well though, both coming out with bags full of goodies.

  “I got the cutest socks,” Corrie tells me. “And face cream. I bought some for you too.”

  I smile. She’s sweet sometimes.

  “No socks and face cream for me?” Oscar jokes, and shoots her an exaggerated frown. “I’m really hurt, Corrie. I thought we were friends.”

  We’re all laughing when we exit the store and head toward la Place de la république. Once again, Oscar takes a few pics and entertains me with stories of random passersby. Mom and Antoine are chatting again, and the sight of them makes me smile. I love to see my mother happy. I know what I’m doing is devious, but it’s for the best. I really don’t want her to become a twice-divorced woman. She deserves better.

  We follow up our tour with a stroll down Canal St Martin, where locals hang out. It’s quite beautiful and romantic — lots of couples kissing by the canal. And the best thing about it… there aren’t too many tourists. We stop at another café, where I’m careful to order a café américano this time. I’m usually a tea kind of gal, but I need a little pick-me-up. Last night was a little too exciting and I didn’t get that great of a sleep. It feels good to rest my feet and watch the locals go
on about their lives. I’m happy to see that Mom and Antoine are still caught up in each other, at a table for two. Corrie is sitting at the next table, with the other tourists, being her usual social self.

  When I lift my lips from my mug, I catch Oscar in the act. He’s watching me again. He does this when he thinks I’m not looking. “You like what you see?”

  “Always,” he says with a playful grin. “I like you with your hair up like that. I can see your pretty neck.”

  I smile and blush a little.

  He inches closer, closing the distance between us. “I really want to bite it,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.

  I laugh, slightly turned on. He knows the back of my neck is my sweet spot.

  “We’re in public,” I point out.

  “So, we’re in Paris,” he argues. “I saw a couple practically fucking five minutes ago.”

  I laugh — it’s true, they were. I wanted to shout “get a room” in French, but I couldn’t remember how to say it. “True.”

  He presses his mouth on the nape of my neck and I close my eyes. He takes a little nibble and I laugh. “Stop,” I plead, but a part of me really wants him to go on.

  “So are you going out with Matt again?”

  My stomach sinks. I don’t want to lie to him. I’m not a liar. “Uh… he asked me for another date, and I agreed.”

  Oscar pulls from me. “Cool. Fair enough,” he says. Yet I can clearly see that it’s not cool at all. “We’re not exclusive, you and me,” he says. “You can go out with whoever you wish. And I can do the same.”

  “True,” I say, at a complete loss for words. “Check out my mom and Antoine,” I add, an attempt to change the subject. The server comes with our order — perfect timing.

  This friends-with-benefits thing can be fun, but unfortunately, it can also be very, very complicated.

  18

  ANTOINE LIVES IN the north part of Paris, in the 18th arrondissement, also known as Montmartre. It’s one of the coolest neighborhoods in Paris, super artsy and quaint. It’s where they shot the very cool French movie, Amélie, one of my favorites. It was already on our list of spots to visit, a definite must see. It’s also where the Moulin Rouge is, the famous burlesque bar — definitely on Oscar’s list.

  The sun is setting as we arrive. I wink at Oscar as we exit the cab. He’s stunning tonight, dressed in slim grey pants and a black shirt, unshaven and unkempt as usual. He winks back and I wonder if he likes what he sees too. I’ve worn a little red dress, tall heels, and my hair up in a messy bun, like he likes.

  Like many apartments in Paris, Antoine’s place is absolutely charming; an old building nestled among many others, with a tin blue roof and gorgeous architectural details.

  Antoine buzzes us in, and I’m excited as we climb up the old creaky stairs up to the fifth floor, also the top floor. Unfortunately, there is no elevator, but thankfully, we’re all pretty fit. Even my mom and Mark, who are both almost sixty are incredibly fit. Mom works out four times a week. She’s even come to a few of my classes, but yoga is not really her thing.

  Despite this, we’re a little breathless by the time we reach our destination. “I could never live here,” Corrie says as she presses on the doorbell.

  Antoine greets us with a huge smile and double kisses on everyone’s cheeks.

  His place is amazing. Since he lives on the top floor, his ceilings are all slanted. It’s all angles and dark beams and skylight windows. The sparkling sky bathes everyone in the most flattering light. Built-in bookshelves display colorful books and knick knacks. There is fabulous art and contemporary furniture everywhere. I love the mix of modern and old.

  “I want to live here,” I tell Corrie.

  She smiles. “Me too."

  Antoine urges us to make ourselves comfortable on the leather sofas in the living room. There’s soft French music playing, and the place smells of patchouli. I love it. He’s quick to present us with appetizers — a charcuterie platter of sliced meats, cheese, grapes, and olives. And wine is also served, of course.

  “Wow, you’ve done all this already,” Mom says. “Thank you.”

  He smiles. “I have help,” he tells us. “Sophie, Lucie,” he calls out, and then says something in French I don’t quite understand.

  Next thing you know, two beauties walk out of the kitchen, all smiles. They’re both so stunning, I can’t decide which one is more beautiful. They’re both tall and slim, with olive skin like their father, and long silky black hair. One has big dark eyes, and the other has light blue eyes. The blue eyed one is the most stunning, I decide. Quick introductions are made. Sophie is the blue eyed one, the youngest. She studies at the Sorbonne. And Lucie is the brown eyed one. She’s an attorney. Beautiful and smart. Both have charming French accents, of course.

  I catch the lewd expression in Mark’s eyes — he likes what he sees. “C’mon,” I want to say. “They’re thirty years younger than you, buddy.”

  When I turn to Oscar, I catch him gawking too. I honestly don’t blame them. I was gawking too, after all.

  We chit-chat about the city and the tour. Mom keeps going on about how much she loved it. Mark doesn’t seem too bothered by her gushing over Antoine. He’s too busy leering at Sophie and Lucie.

  Sophie sits next to Oscar and asks him if he likes Paris. He smiles, his panty-melting grin. “Yes, I love it.”

  I roll my eyes. Yeah, whatever. All he’s been doing is complaining about the tourists, the dog shit on the sidewalks, and snooty waiters.

  She asks about his job. He tells her that he works in the service industry, and that he’s saving to own his own coffee shop one day.

  Seriously? He’s just trying to impress her. He’s a barista. But that’s an interesting bit about him saving money to have his own shop. I didn’t know that.

  She listens intently with a charming smile, and bats her gorgeous long lashes. I hate her a little. I check my watch. Where is Nicole? I’ve given her the address and the time. She’s late.

  Mark tries to chat up Lucie but she won’t have any of it. A beautiful woman like her probably gets hit on a daily basis. I’m sure it gets tiring.

  The dining room table is already set, a tasteful charming French country arrangement of yellow ceramic plates, blue glassware, linen napkins held in pretty ceramic holders. It’s pretty yet not pretentious, just like this apartment. I wonder what we’re having for dinner. His daughters are slim, beautiful, and smart and they can probably cook too. I hate French women a little.

  Antoine and his daughters serve boeuf bourguignon, a garden salad, and freshly baked bread. It all looks delicious and I’m starving. I’m a little peeved at Nicole for not showing up, but I’m determined to make the best of this lovely night. Oscar is sandwiched between me and Sophie, and Sophie monopolizes all his attention of course — she’s much more interesting than little old me.

  Just as we’re about to start, the intercom buzzes. “Oh, that might be my friend, Nicole,” I say. “I’m so sorry she’s late.”

  “It is fine, the more the merrier,” he says again. I hear her muffled voice on the intercom and he buzzes her up. There’s an awkward moment when all of us stop and stare at each other, not quite knowing what to do.

  “Please start,” Antoine finally urges. “Dinner will get cool.”

  I dig in. I certainly don’t need to be told twice. I steal a bite or two before the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” I tell everyone as I climb out of my seat. “She’s my guest.”

  He nods and I scurry to the door. Nicole is… striking. There’s no other word for it. She has the kind of beauty that goes beyond the superficial typical supermodel looks; sweet smile, intelligent striking eyes, a gorgeous mane of auburn hair, and flawless skin. She’s tastefully dressed and sophisticated, like most French women. I’m not mad at her anymore. I’m just glad she’s here.

  “So sorry I am late,” she offers in a sexy French accent, which only adds to her charm.

  “Come in,”
I urge. “We were just about to eat.”

  I quickly make the introductions. Nicole apologizes again and settles in the empty seat. She smiles at everyone, and her gaze lingers a little longer on Mark. He cocks a brow in recognition and shoots her a sly smile.

  Yes, the plan is already working.

  Dinner is delicious and is followed by an equally yummy dessert; a lovely berry pie with vanilla ice cream. Following dinner, we retreat to the charming living area. The lights are dimmed and the artificial trees are covered in white string Christmas lights. The trees lead to an outside terrace, looking over the rooftops. The night is quite chilly and not too many people venture out, but I do notice Mark leading Nicole out, a hand pressed against the small of her back.

  Everything is going as planned. Mom and Antoine are still enamored with each other, and Mark is so caught up in Nicole, he’s too busy to notice his fiancée falling for someone else. I’m chatting with Corrie and Lucie. Lucie is quite nice and super smart. We share a love of yoga, and she seems fascinated by the fact that I’m an instructor. The only thing I’m not happy about is Oscar and Sophie — they are all over each other. She’s totally into him. I can tell by her body language; she’s leaning into him, one leg daintily crossed over the other. She’s also smiling non-stop, and he’s really not that funny. Well, I guess he is kind of funny. She’s playing with her long hair seductively… she has amazing hair.

  “I have never been to Vermont,” Lucie is saying.

  “So does your sister have a boyfriend?” I ask. I couldn’t give two shits about Lucie’s travels. I want to know if her sister is going to steal my man. I don’t know why I’m thinking of him as mine. He’s not. That’s what our arrangement is all about. He’s free to see anyone he pleases. And so am I. It suited me fine… until now.

  “Uh…” Lucie falters, momentarily surprised by the change of subject. “Uh… no. Sophie never has boyfriends for very long. She likes to, how do you say… play the field.”

  Slut.