The French Thief: An International Legacies Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  “You know I only have a sweet tooth, and you are anything but sweet.”

  “I can be sweet when I need to be, Brielle.”

  I take a moment to savor my name coming from his mouth. I’m glad I told him to use it. Even before last night’s adventures, I’d internally wince when he spoke the name “Elle.” Now that I’m past the chest-tightening risk of the airports, both New York and Paris, the danger of getting caught as Brielle is less severe. Here, I can be myself—or at least the version of myself that has come out at the other end of everything that has happened.

  That makes me think of Gaultier. It still churns my stomach to replay everything he—and Hélène said on that recording.

  The threat isn’t entirely over. The longer André and I wait for him to confront his grandmother, the worse it gets.

  As though sensing the shift in my mood, André hugs me in closer to his body.

  “We have time,” he whispers. “Let me take you to breakfast.”

  I hesitate for a moment. The idea of walking down the Paris streets, hand in hand, then enjoying a leisurely breakfast in one of this city’s infamous outdoor cafes is too tempting.

  “Say oui,” he mumbles into my hair, then lightly squeezes my breast.

  I laugh and elbow him in the ribs. “Oui.”

  We take our time getting dressed, and the morning starts off exactly as I pictured Paris would be like. The sidewalks are filled with people headed to work. That’s one thing I no longer have to worry about for a while. Even better, I don’t have to worry about working for Gaultier. My mornings are mine once again. I feel a giggle threaten to hiccup from my mouth, realizing that my entire days are once again mine. My eyes slide to the side, looking at the man walking next to me. My nights are definitely mine…and his.

  That shifts all my worries to the back of my mind. We may not have much time before the danger becomes real, but I’m certainly not going to ruin at least this morning with it.

  We end up at a cafe that’s straight out of a Visit Paris advertisement. It has that typical set up of rows of chairs, side by side, facing forward with a tiny table placed in front. André and I settle into chairs distanced away from the growing crowd of patrons.

  After ordering two coffees, two orange juices, a croissant for me and an omelette for him, we relax and enjoy the scenery. Even though it’s a large, metropolitan city, Paris as it turns out, is nothing like New York. I love my hometown but I can only imagine how long these white facades would last in Manhattan, or any of the boroughs before they were dingy with exhaust or covered with graffiti in such a busy locale. There are certainly side streets in upscale neighborhoods in the Upper West or East Sides that manage it, the kind of streets that only get residential traffic. Here, it seems to be par for course.

  “Does Celeste live in Paris as well?”

  He pauses a moment before answering a hint of a smile on his face. “Non, she moved to Nice before my father…when he was killed. She wanted to be close to us—my mère and me, even if only from a distance.”

  I nibble at my croissant and ponder that. Both André and I have troubled childhoods, the difference being that he started off in a seemingly loving family, and I ended up with one.

  “So when are you going to tell Hélène about the recording?” I ask.

  “Not today. It’s not as urgent this time around, and I figure they’ll give me at least one more day before they contact me again. I don’t want to ruin it by worrying about them.”

  I nod and take a sip of my coffee as I look out at the perfect spring day. It would be a shame to darken it by stepping back into reality. Last night André said we have time. What he said in the recordings was certainly convincing—him playing the role of double-agent.

  “Did it make you look at Paris with different eyes when you found out about Hélène?”

  “Non,” he says, thoughtfully looking ahead as he sips his coffee. “If anything, the city became more fascinating. I despised her and Marie, even though I never met my great grand-mère. She betrayed her city, her country. When my other grand-mère, Celeste, came into my life, I became obsessed with learning the history of not only my family but the city that holds the secrets of my ancestors. I learned everything I could about World War II and the French Resistance and Jewish history.”

  “Really?” I ask, becoming even more interested.

  He turns to me with a grin. “Would you like me to show you more of it?”

  “Of course!”

  His eyes soften, giving me a sentimental look.

  “Je crois que je suis amoureux de toi.”

  This bit of French that eludes my basic knowledge of the language. I don’t know what he’s said, but the way he’s said it makes my stomach quiver. The barest hint of French I learned in prison, certainly didn’t delve into the romantic; basic useful words and phrases, a few curse words (naturally), and certain particularly acidic words of revenge were as far as I got.

  “What does that mean?”

  He continues to stare at me for a moment, still with a smile on his lips, before responding. “I’ll leave you to figure it out.”

  Somehow it’s better this way, allowing me to interpret it any way I see fit. I have a strong feeling that the words translated in my head are the same as those in his. Something about falling in love?

  As for me, my head is still spinning with how rapidly my feelings toward him have completely turned upside-down. Three days ago, my head would fill with rage every time I thought of André. Now, the idea of losing him fills me with dread. It’s in my nature—borne from years of experience with my mother—to be pessimistic. Or perhaps that’s just the old Brielle, the one that didn’t appreciate how easily good things could be taken away. The one who didn’t listen when she was told to live, laugh, love. As ridiculous as the phrase is, there’s something to it.

  “Are you ready to see my city?” André asks, now with an amused smile on his lips as I finish the last bit of my croissant.

  Now, it’s my turn to gaze at him with a sentimental smile on my face. “Oui.”

  Before we even stand up his phone buzzes with an incoming message. We both stare at each other, realizing what it might mean. I watch him pull out his phone and stare at it for a long time.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He simply turns his phone around to face me so I can see the message.

  You have 24 hours.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  André

  “You have to go…now,” Brielle says, echoing my own sentiments.

  “I know,” I say, nodding in agreement.

  So much for having until Friday. Apparently, my pretending to seduce Brielle into giving me the diaries was a little too convincing.

  I regret nothing.

  My mind works quickly, thinking of what to do with Brielle while I’m gone. I’m under no illusion she won’t be watched, or worse while I’m gone. If I take her with me, I’ll be too focused on keeping her safe to confront Hélène the way she needs to be handled. I don’t trust leaving her alone and vulnerable in my apartment.

  “The Louvre,” I say, my gaze clearing into focus as I stare at her. “You’ll be safe there while I’m gone. It’s public, and there’s more security there than any place in Paris.”

  I can see the protest begin, then slip from her mind. She nods, swallowing hard.

  “Give me at least two hours then I’ll meet you by the Mona Lisa,” I hint of a smile comes to my lips. “You can explore more art until then.”

  That, for some reason, only causes Brielle’s brow to crease with concern.

  My hands come to her face and I lean in, almost close enough for our foreheads to touch. “I will be there.”

  Her eyes focus on mine for a moment. Apparently finding what she needs there, her head moves up and down in my hands.

  I lean in and kiss her, more for my sake than hers. The feel of her lips under mine is like some potent nectar, filling my resolve with renewed energy. Any hesitation
I have about doing this is destroyed under this spell she’s cast on me.

  Her arms come up around my neck, pulling me in closer. Something dangerous begins to stir in my stomach and rise up toward my heart, causing it to beat much faster than usual.

  She’s the first to pull away. Her arms are still crossed behind my neck holding me in place.

  “Come back to me,” she says, with pleading eyes. “I...I need you.”

  My lips curl into a smile. “I love you too, Brielle.”

  She blinks in surprise before dropping her eyes to the ground. They rise back up and a smile appears on her face. “You got me. Je t’aime, André.”

  That manages to take a fierce hold of my heart. Even her pronunciation is perfect, making me wonder how often she’s practiced it, or just thought about saying it.

  “I’ll be there,” I reassure her once again before tilting my head up to kiss her forehead. “Just be there waiting for me, Brielle.”

  “I will.”

  I’ve dropped Brielle off at the museum, walking her as far in as possible until she disappeared from view.

  Now I’m at Hélène’s building. I press the button and I’m immediately buzzed in.

  When I make it to her door, I find it unlocked and help myself inside. She’s sitting on the same couch as last time, drinking tea.

  “I see you got my message,” she says with a dry smile. “I hope your sudden appearance means you have good news for me?”

  “I have news,” I say, as I take my usual seat, “though you may not find it so good.”

  Her tea stops halfway to her lips and she narrows her gaze. “What in the world are you talking about? Do you or do you not have the location of the diaries?”

  “I’ve known all along where they are.”

  Now her eyes are wide. She brings the delicate china of her cup down so hard on the saucer that a bit of tea spills out.

  “And is there a reason why you’ve chosen not to tell me? Frankly, it’s lucky that it’s only me this time. If Gaultier were here, he’d have the Order on you in a heartbeat.” She relaxes and settles back in her seat. “Now, tell me where they are, and this whole mess can be over and done with. Not soon enough if you ask me.”

  “It is done.”

  A doubtful look comes to her face, her brow pinched in confusion. “Have you already told Gaultier?”

  “No,” I say, studying the woman who brought me into this mess in the first place. The woman I’m about to betray. The woman who killed my parents, even if only indirectly. I have no misgivings about what I’m about to do. I just want to see the look on her face when the rug is pulled out from underneath her.

  The same as she did to me twelve years ago.

  “What are you on about, André?” she snaps, getting testy.

  By way of answer, I simply reach into my pocket to retrieve my phone. Her eyes follow the movement, the frown on her face deepening.

  I find the recording and hit play. It takes her a moment to recognize the conversation being aired and she sits back up, perfectly erect, so rapidly, a rocket might as well have been attached to her back.

  “No!”

  “Yes,” I say in a quiet voice. “It’s over, at least for you and Bernard Gaultier. Unless you take down the others—the ones who killed my mother, your daughter. Then, this little recording stays between us.”

  There’s a look of fierce resentment on her face. “After everything I did for you. Brought you into my house and—”

  “You were the reason I was forced to come here in the first place,” I say with quiet rage in my voice.

  She inhales sharply and a hurt look comes to her face that almost makes me sympathetic. Almost.

  “If you think I have any power to do anything, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “I don’t care about how much power you have. I care that you know more about the organization than I do, names, locations, past activities. That’s what the authorities are going to be interested in.”

  Her eyes go wide and she shakes her head in disbelief. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

  “I know enough.”

  “No, not enough. Do you honestly think the Werwolf Order hasn’t already infiltrated most of our government? Just look at everything that’s happening around you, André. Our side is—”

  “Your side. I never wanted anything to do with this, not what I found out what you are.”

  “I’ve protected you, you know. When you wanted to leave after I told you about who we are, I told them to just give it time. Eventually you’d realize your superior place in the world and come back. Fortunately, you did.”

  A wry smile comes to my face. She really doesn’t know who I am and what I’m doing. I wonder what she’d think if she knew I was the descendant of a Jew. All those inferior genes tainting her precious bloodline.

  “And now this…all for some horrible—”

  “Stop,” I say in a deadly voice.

  Her eyes narrow and her chin tilts up as she gives me a lofty look. “I suppose I was wrong about you. You have absolutely no concept of the word loyalty.”

  “I am loyal. I’m loyal to the memory of my father and mother. And yes, I’m loyal to Brielle.”

  Her mouth tightens with displeasure at that.

  I lean in to give her a direct look. “Again, it’s over. After this, you’ll be alone. The question is, do you want to be alone as a free woman with nothing more than a tainted reputation…or as a convict?”

  I see the flicker of panic flash in her eyes. Good. Hopefully, it will force her in the most practical direction. Let’s see just how much loyalty means in the face of self-preservation.

  I see the defeat in her eyes before she even speaks. “It will take me some time to gather all the information.”

  “Don’t try anything stupid Hélène.”

  Her eyes briefly narrow at the use of her given name.

  “Do you think I keep all of this stored in my head?” she snaps.

  “You have twenty-four hours, as much time as you gave me.”

  Her only response is to blink once, slowly.

  I stare at her for a long moment, both to study her for the truth and to broadcast my own.

  Twenty-four hours.

  Once outside the apartment building, I feel the tension in my shoulders relax. I don’t entirely trust her, but I do hold onto the fact that I have her backed into a corner. Even if they sent someone to steal my phone, she’d have to be stupid to think I don’t have a back up somewhere and a contingency in place in case they try to kill me. That’s a precaution I didn’t even have to tell her about. It’s a rule of thumb I picked up early on.

  I won’t be completely at ease until tomorrow when she makes the right choice. After that, it will be a long and bumpy road. I believe her when she says that the Order has its dirty hands in every part of our government. But she’s no simple pawn. When she falls, she’ll bring plenty of powerful people down with her. The rest will cut all ties or become prey to the fallout.

  For now, I have to head to the Louvre for Brielle.

  It’s that time of year in Paris when the weather is perfect. The only downside is that it’s also the time of year when the streets are most filled with tourists.

  I’m almost at the metro station, working my way through one final throng of people when I feel the acute pain pierce my back. At first, I assume the sharp part of a woman’s handbag has poked me. Then more piercing jabs come, one after the other. I count three before the fire of pain consumes my body and the weakness sets in.

  From there, everything blends into one blur of excitement. The first scream. The sudden panic of people rushing in every direction. The wet, sticky feel of blood covering my back. A man kneeling above me, his face hard in concentration as he searches for my phone, then finds it.

  That’s when the darkness sets in.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Brielle

  Once again, I’ve been too distracted to enjoy the b
rilliant masterpieces around me. Last time, it was my past. This time, it’s my future.

  André’s future.

  Our future.

  The breakneck, roller-coaster speed at which we’ve operated since he came roaring back into my life has just barely left me anytime to stop and breathe.

  Je t’aime.

  I smile despite myself.

  Da Vinci’s muse meets me from across the room with that famous smile of hers, the smile that leaves everyone wondering. Is she teasing me? Hinting at something good? Bad? It’s so infuriatingly cryptic.

  I long for the more encouraging smile of Noémie. At least with hers, there was no room for doubt. Anyone who was graced with it knew that she wanted nothing but the best for them. I focus on the memory of my first glimpse of her as I look at the time once again.

  André’s deadline is only five minutes away. I figured he was overestimating how long it would take when he said two hours. Now, I’m wondering what’s happening at Hélène’s. Using the maximum time can’t be good news. It’s like waiting on a verdict from a jury—something I’m quite familiar with—the longer they take, the worse the decision.

  Even though the expected crowd of oglers only takes up one half of the large, well air-conditioned exhibit room, I still feel slightly claustrophobic and overheated. I long to escape this gigantic maze of a museum and go outside to breathe. Just thinking about it makes me start to exhale and inhale faster. I stare at my watch and add panic to the mix.

  Good grief, I’m going to have an attack right here! I lean down to put my hands on my knees, taking deep breaths as I stare at the floor, hoping that André will be standing in front of me when I rise.

  “Mademoiselle?” The voice is that of a stranger. It doesn’t sound concerned or inquisitive. It sounds like that of someone who already knows who I am.

  I lift my head. The man in front of me is tall with a stern expression, dressed in a black suit and tie.

  “Yes?”

  “I have a message from André.”