Her smile falters. “You… you don’t have to worry about—”
“You have shown you’re not ready to wander around on your own safely. I don’t care if you take this as an insult, but I’m going with you to Annecy, whether you want it or not, damn it!”
She straightens her back and seems about to hiss at me. “I came on this trip to prove to myself that I can be self-sufficient. If you impose your company on me, I’ll never forgive you.”
“End of argument!” Still carrying her bag, I march in the direction of the platform, where the train has been boarding for a while. “Now hurry up or we’ll miss the freaking train.”
“No!” She snatches her bag from my hand and glares at me with the same determination I’ve glimpsed over the past few weeks. “I am boarding this train alone and you are staying right here. Do not follow me.”
We lock gazes for a moment and I narrow my eyes as I nearly whisper, “Try to stop me.”
She spins on her heels, hair swirling in the air, and stomps away, but I dash behind her. She picks up the pace to leave me behind but it isn’t hard to keep up when my legs are so much longer than hers.
“I said, don’t follow me!” she protests, looking over her shoulder and scurrying even faster.
“And I said, end of argument!”
She rants all the way to the boarding area, running more than walking, with me pounding at her heels. “I can’t believe you’re doing this! This is bullying! I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” Despite her protests, she eventually slows her pace, as if giving up.
When asked at the security checkpoint, Sophia produces both our tickets from her money belt. The killer look she throws my direction makes me afraid for a moment that she’ll refuse to show mine, but she seems to accept defeat and extends both to be scanned so we can enter the platforms.
We jog the final stretch to our car and barely find our seats, stow our bags, and settle down when the train takes off. Mouth turned down, Sophia braces herself against the window and angles her body away from me.
She keeps her eyes fixed on the city slipping by outside the train car. In time, the scenery changes from ugly tracks to suburban images, and we eventually make it to green pastures. She’s clearly angry at me for not trusting her to be self-sufficient; the big thing she’s trying to prove to herself during this trip. She must feel disrespected by my doubts in her ability to take care of herself. But I’m mad at her, too.
We’re two stubborn kids stuck in a headlock, in a mutual silent treatment contest. The first one to say a word loses.
This is going to be a long ride.
One stop and an hour later, a guy in uniform shows up to check tickets. Without a word, Sophia gets out both of our tickets and sets them on top of her tray table. The man doesn’t seem to be asking for identifications, but just in case I reach for my money belt to produce my passport. Not finding it around my waist sends me into a panic for a second, until I remember the broken strap and search for it in my trench coat pocket.
And then the panic returns even stronger. A huge discharge of adrenaline releases in my bloodstream, causing my heart rate to sprint.
I must’ve made some sort of desperate noise, because Sophia turns to me for the first time and glances at me with concern. “Everything all right?”
A cold sweat mists me and my stomach clenches with nausea, as my hands frantically search my trench coat pockets.
I barely recognize my own cracking voice. “My money belt is gone.”
Chapter 20
Sophia
Trevor’s panic has become my own. He must’ve dropped his belt while chasing the guy who stole my bag. And now he’s the one stranded in a foreign country without a passport all because of me.
The past hour has been a nightmare. Trevor and I practically tore apart his backpack, holding on to the hope that he’d moved his money belt there and forgotten about it. No, he didn’t. And, of course, the train can’t be stopped or turned around to allow us to go back to the Gare Du Lyon and search for it.
“Should we get off at the next town and try to catch the next train back to Paris?” I mumble almost to myself.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” says our seat neighbor, a middle-aged American man on vacation with his wife. “The station might not sell him a ticket without an ID. Not to mention the RER is on strike and routes are limited. You might end up stranded there.”
“There’s no point in going back, we’re never going to find it,” Trevor chimes in, with my phone still at his ear. He’s spent the past half hour canceling his credit and debit cards. “That money belt doesn’t only hold my passport, cell phone, and cards. It also has five hundred euros in cash. Whoever finds it is likely to keep it.”
“Did you find out where the nearest US embassy is?” I ask the seat neighbor, who is kindly helping us run a search.
He grimaces while glancing at his cell. “Paris.”
Of course. And every second this train is taking us further and further away from it.
“I think your best chance of returning to Paris is waiting to use the return ticket you already have,” he tells Trevor. “And hope they don’t ask for an ID on that leg of the trip either.”
Darn it. I was trying to escape Trevor when I ran away from his place, but now I’m stuck with him for good. I’m all he has in the world at this moment. I’m all that stands between him, homelessness, and starvation.
Trevor has sunk into dejection, and I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to cheer him up. “It’s all going to be fine! Just another big adventure to tell your friends about when you return to the US.” I force a smile as he returns my phone.
He shoots me a skeptical stare. “All my cash is gone, and so are my cards. My sabbatical is over.”
I squirm against my seat and wriggle my hands. “That’s not true. You can order new credit cards and have them mailed to you.”
“My banks are in the US; that might take weeks. How am I supposed to live in the meantime?”
“I’ll lend you money, of course!”
He buries his face in his hands, then rakes them through his hair. “It’s humiliating. I’m better off begging my father for help with the return ticket, and heading back to the US the moment I get a new passport.”
Darn it, he’s inconsolable. But I don’t blame him. I’d be pretty bummed out too if I were in his situation.
I make small talk, pointing at the beautiful landscapes through the window. We begin to see mountains, and big farmhouses, and picturesque churches. The towns we pass by seem drawn from fairy tales. Yet Trevor sinks into his seat and sulks without end.
I fidget in my seat and stare at him, clueless how to help.
This is going to be a very long trip.
* * *
Trevor
I’m an idiot. I’m such an idiot.
I should’ve never put something that important in a pocket without a button. Sophia thinks I dropped the money belt while chasing the thief who tried to steal her bag, but I can’t stop wondering if someone stole it right from my pocket.
God! I’ve just given Sophia a big lecture on not letting people rob her, and here I am, having ruined the rest of my trip with my carelessness.
“Look at that cute little town on that mountain! Doesn’t that look like a postcard?” Sophia has tried to cheer me up the entire train ride, babbling about the landscapes we see through the window. But I can barely pay attention. Every ounce of male pride in my body hurts. Because for the rest of this trip, and for God knows how long, I’m going to be living off this woman.
The same woman I was hoping to seduce. Ugh, how unattractive I must look right now—a sulking, penniless bum.
My spirits have made no recovery by the time we arrive at Annecy. We hail a taxi to take us to our hotel, but the grumpy driver growls at us.
“Cars can’t easily get to that part of town,” he barks in French. “That address is close; you should walk instead.”
What
the heck?
We follow GPS directions to our hotel on Sophia’s phone and soon understand what the taxi driver is talking about. The streets get narrower as we approach the old town. Once we cross a bridge over a green canal, they turn into cobblestone paths with barely room for one car at a time; some are fully pedestrian.
In this dark mood, my first impression of the town is quite negative. It’s early on a Monday afternoon, yet some of the roads are so deserted they resemble a ghost town. Gone are the elegant off-white buildings from Paris, with their busy iron balconies. These lower, brightly colored ones look dirty and beaten up to me. My eyes barely notice the impressive mountains in the background (54).
“J’ai perdu mon passeport et mes carts de credit. Il faut anuller ma reservation.” I explain the situation at the reception. In an uncommon event in the world of hospitality, the attendant takes mercy on me and waves the usual penalty for last-minute cancellation. Then he goes the extra mile to change Sophia’s room to one with two beds, per her request, so I can stay there. I should feel thankful, but instead I feel like shit. After so much dreaming about Sophia and me in the same bedroom, it had to be in these circumstances.
The hotel consists of two separate buildings, which were remodeled and combined, so the levels are mismatched. The steps and ramps joining the two offset wings are steep and not handicap friendly; you could fall and break your skull. This place would never pass a safety inspection in the US.
The room is surprisingly modern-looking for such an ancient town, but not even the pleasant view of canals and an old stone fortress through our window does anything to uplift me (55). It’s not a large suite, and the two beds are quite close to each other.
Sophia barely allows me to settle. She’s in hyper mode, and drags me into town immediately, recapping our plans. “All I know is that Dominique, the friend who hosted my parents in her house, used to work ‘in the chateau.’” She waves the old moisture-damaged postcard she brought with her. “Maybe we’ll run into the castle in the picture. Or maybe we can show it to some locals and they can tell us where it is.”
We find out soon the real reason why it was easier to find accommodations in this town for the next few days: half the businesses close on Mondays, and most attractions close on Tuesday. From the Menton Chateau—the “Sleeping Beauty castle” which is the local claim to fame—to the fortress we see through the window in our room, the Palais de l’Isle, which we learn has been both a palace and a jail at different points in history. Every freaking place here is closed today and tomorrow. This is going to be a boring visit.
The restaurant we choose for dinner ends up being just as expensive as the ones in Paris. Yes, the coq au vin I ordered is great, but I can’t enjoy it, dreading my inability to pay. I’m trying to track every expense to repay Sophia later.
I have to say Sophia is a champ. She’s determined to lift my blues and doesn’t take a second-long break from jokes or upbeat conversation. God bless her. Please, someone make her stop.
Even Sophia is losing her cheerfulness by the time we return to the hotel. I drop into bed, lie on my back, and cover my eyes with my arm. I’ve been sulking for so long I’m pissed at myself. If I’m going to be a parasite for Sophia, the minimum I should do is try to be pleasant company. But I can’t help it. I’m too angry with myself to break out of my gloom.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I keep my arm over my eyes. “It wasn’t your fault; it’s mine. I should’ve never put my money belt in my pocket.”
“I don’t mean about that.” She hesitates. “I’m sorry for sneaking away. You were right. You’ve done nothing but help me above and beyond your duty, and you didn’t deserve to be ditched like that.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” It feels like her sneaking away and me chasing her to the station happened a year ago instead of just this morning.
The mattress shifts as she perches next to me. “Yes, it matters. And you’re right. You did deserve a face-to-face explanation.”
She gently moves my arm from my eyes and makes me look at her.
“Trevor, I didn’t run away from you. I ran away from myself.” She stops, as if struggling with words, and her gaze wanders away from mine. “My friend Chloe’s favorite quote is, ‘When we’ve finally learned the answers, God changes the questions.’ I thought I was strong. I was proud of myself for keeping this vow of celibacy for all this time.” She scoffs. “And now I realize my virtue had no merit, because I didn’t know what temptation really was until now.”
In the midst of my depression, those words encourage me.
“You are the biggest threat to that promise I ever faced.” She fiddles with the orange and green thread bracelet on her wrist. “Because you were right; I do want you. And it terrified me to spend any more time with you and possibly not be able to control myself.”
I know that confession has taken guts from her so I sit up in bed and listen.
“The problem has always been me.” She lifts her eyes from her wrist to look into mine. “I never thought you’d be capable of touching me against my will. It broke my heart to think you believed that. Because if there’s one thing I have no doubt of, it’s your honesty.”
Guilt germinates inside me. Would she say the same if she knew I’ve lied about that vow?
She continues, “Trevor, I know that in the end you would’ve respected my decisions. I never should’ve been afraid to share this trip with you, just like I shouldn’t be afraid of sharing this room with you for the next few nights. Because I know you’re incapable of hurting me, or betraying me. I trust you completely.”
I’m so going to hell.
Her words are shining a new light on my lost money belt—it was my punishment for the way I’ve lied to Sophia. In some way, I feel better now about losing my passport, cards, and money; maybe I deserve it.
“And,” she continues, “I want to beg you from the bottom of my heart to please stop worrying about money. Do you have any idea how much I owe you? Forget about the way you’ve hosted me at your place. Let alone the way you saved my most precious memories today. This trip wouldn’t have been possible without you. I meant what I said in that note, I will forever be indebted to you.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Thank you for those beautiful words.” I stop, as a dreadful decision solidifies in my mind. “Now I need you to hold on to that feeling of gratitude while I share a little confession.”
I scoot to the edge of the bed, next to her, and hold her hands, looking into her eyes. This is going to suck, but it has to be done. “Sophia… about that vow of celibacy.”
Her guarded posture shows she’s not looking forward to what comes next. “Yes?”
“Well…” Here I go. “I never really took it.”
Chapter 21
Sophia
It takes my brain an unusual amount of time to decode Trevor’s words. “You lied?”
“The book I was carrying the day we met? A couple forgot it next to me at the Louvre café.” He points at his bare left wrist. “The bracelet I was wearing? It came with the book. That was the first time in my life I’d seen it.”
Vertigo.
That’s the only word to describe what I’m feeling. For the past few weeks, I’ve been hanging around with this man… with my guard down. I’ve let him host me at his place. I’ve showered in his bathroom. I’ve slept feet away from him. I once let him see me in my pajamas. I even opened Pandora’s box and kissed him to presumably scare away an ex-lover. All because he assured me he’d taken a vow of celibacy.
And it was a lie.
“Before you yell at me, allow me to explain.” He lifts a finger. “When I said I’d taken the vow of celibacy, I was making a joke. And then when you got so enthusiastic about it, it seemed inappropriate to mock something so sacred to you.”
My brain must still be unresponsive. Why else haven’t I slapped him already?
“And I admit that at the beginning I did offer my help as a gu
ide with the hope you’d sleep with me. But it soon became obvious that you took your vow seriously, so every bit of help I gave you after that, I did with no expectation for anything in return.”
Gosh, this guy is good. He’s already built a defense that’s hard to refute.
My voice quivers. “I’m too shocked right now. But I’m pretty sure that when I assimilate what you’ve just told me, I’m going to be furious.”
He seems like a little kid, caught writing on the wall with markers. Batting his eyelashes, he peers at me from under them. “This is the moment when I want you to remember those beautiful words you just said. And the time you said that you and I were placed in each other’s path to guide each other. No matter how unworthy my intentions were at the beginning, my presence in your life worked for good.”
I can imagine him right now at the age of five, sweet-talking himself out of a punishment.
“Also,” he concludes, “don’t forget my knee still hurts from chasing the guy who stole your bag all through the Gare Du Lyon. And please don’t forget that I’m without money and identity, and if you abandon me, I don’t know what will happen to me.” He flashes me a weak, apologetic smile.
Trevor should really reconsider his desire to quit law. He has the gift of gab.
Trying to argue with him is senseless. Obviously, he’s the worldly man and I’m nothing but a small-town girl. I’ve been so stupid, so naïve. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now.” I spring up, pivot on my heels and storm out of the room.
My heart races when I cross the long, uneven hallway and ride the diminutive elevator back to the lobby. I take off, following the main canal. Gosh, this place is beautiful. Adorable buildings in pink, orange, and earth tones rise up on either side of me as I flee. Their wooden shutters and terracotta tile roofs remind me of pictures I’ve seen of Italy. Their iron balconies, simpler than the Parisian ones, are sprinkled with colorful flowers making them appear like Mediterranean paintings (56). The distant snow-capped mountains across the lake are gorgeous, now basking in the golden sunset hour (57).
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