Love Me in Paris

by D Pichardo-Johansson

  My painter’s brain scans everything around me, but all this beauty does nothing but laugh in my face. I feel like an idiot. Hours ago, I described this town as a worthy backdrop for a fairy tale. And I’ve just received a sour dose of reality, reminding me that fairy tales don’t exist.

  It takes a while, but I eventually burst into tears and keep power walking, weeping and sobbing, not minding if the joggers and bicycle riders exercising along the lake see me cry. I’m furious with Trevor. He mocked me. He took something sacred and stomped on it.

  It’s almost 9:00 p.m.—that’s how late the sun sets this time of year here. A quick calculation tells me it’s 3:00 p.m. in Florida where Iris and Chloe are, and noon in LA where Mia is. I sit on the grass beside the main road, in front of the most irritatingly beautiful view of lake and mountains. I retrieve my phone from my money belt and send an emergency text. Thank God for my girls’ loyalty; all three of them join the videoconference within seconds.

  I’m crying so much it takes a while before I can get the story out. I quickly update them about events since I spoke with Iris and Chloe from the train station. Was that really just this morning?

  “I knew it!” Mia shakes a fist at the screen. She has locked herself in a restroom to escape the photo shoot she’s supervising. “Didn’t I tell you there was something fishy about a guy taking the ultimate challenge?”

  “Stop, Mia. Sophia doesn’t need to hear ‘I told you so,’” Chloe blurts in my defense on the other half of the tiny screen where she sits with Iris.

  “I wish I were there so I could hit his nuts with a hammer!” Mia blurts, in part—I know—trying to make me laugh. “Chloe, you’re the witch among us. Can you send a curse in his direction? Make a voodoo doll of him and stick needles in his butt?”

  With a grave expression, Chloe wags a finger at the camera. “Don’t joke about that, Mia. Voodoo is serious stuff.” She then moves a little closer to the screen, a testimony to her love for me, given her paranoia. As she does, she fiddles with the armful of quartz bracelets she wears to “neutralize the Wi-Fi.” “It’s not your fault, Sophia. You have a good heart and you’re incapable of lying, so it’s hard for you to remember other people do lie.”

  “But I’ve made a fool of myself!” I swipe tears from my cheeks. “And now I don’t know what to do!”

  “Kick him to the curb!” Mia offers.

  “I can’t! He can’t get another room without credit cards. Another hotel probably won’t accept him without an original ID. It’s a miracle this hotel did. And I can’t afford a separate hotel room for me; I’d go over my daily spending limit.” I use the edge of my T-shirt to dry my eyes and my nose. “There’s no way I can leave him on his own, especially when losing his passport was mostly my fault. And I still can’t forget he hosted me at his place without charging me a cent for over a week.”

  “But then he proved to be a liar. That should cancel it, wouldn’t it?” Mia argues.

  “Or, on the contrary,” Chloe offers. “Maybe all the good deeds he accumulated by helping you cancel out this offense. Especially considering he came clean on his own.”

  “Can I say something?” Iris raises her hand behind Chloe.

  Of course she can. As the creator of the whole concept of the self-vow, she should be the one offended about the way he impersonated one of the followers of the Ultimate Challenge.

  But do I know Iris? She hardly takes herself or her work seriously. Not even this unexpected craze about her book, catapulting her to international fame when she’s been an unknown author for years, has made her lose her grounding. “How about you look at it like this? The Universe is challenging you to become the person you were striving to be when you took the challenge.” She pauses. “That day at the beach, what did you say you want to accomplish?”

  I automatically repeat the words. “I want to prove I’m not a fragile woman, letting the world drag her around. I want to prove to myself I can be strong, and independent, and make my own decisions, and follow my own instinct.”

  “And what is your instinct telling you? Are you able to forgive his lie and let him stay with you?”

  I search my soul and soon find the answer. Who am I fooling? There’s something other than Trevor lying that’s bothering me.

  Until now, I’ve been saying that my fighting temptation with Trevor was a generous act, that I’ve been protecting him from breaking his promise, as much as I’ve been protecting myself. Now that I know he never made that promise, he’s left me alone in that fight. And it’s overwhelming.

  “I’m going to need to ponder on that a little longer.”

  We say goodbye and disconnect the call.

  The initial anger has subsided after venting to the girls. As I power walk along the lake on my way back to the town center, I dwell on my dilemma. Luckily, the lake and the stone fortress guide my disoriented self. By the time I arrive at the hotel, I’ve regained clarity. I can’t abandon the man who’s done so much for me, so I’m stuck with Trevor for the rest of this trip and until he recovers at least one credit card. This is just another test from the Universe, and I’m going to pass that test.

  It’s already dark when I return to the room. Trevor jolts straight up in bed, then leaps in my direction. “Thank God you’re here! I was starting to worry—”

  I raise a hand to signal him to stop, and he freezes. I pace toward him, glowering, and he steps back. I want him to know I’m not scared of him.

  Apparently sensing my determination, he seems to shrink in place as he eases down to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Listen to me.” I glare at him. “After hearing your confession, the old Sophia would’ve cried for a week, felt victimized, and run away. But the new me is not letting anyone intimidate her. If I didn’t feel indebted to you for all the help you’ve given me, I would’ve kicked you out of here and left you on your own.”

  He swallows and bows his head once.

  I continue, “But I do appreciate everything you’ve done. And somehow, I do believe you when you say you had a change of heart about seducing me and grew to care about my journey.”

  Hope shines in his eyes. “I did. I swear it’s true; I want to help you.”

  I take one step forward and point at him with a finger. “I meant it when I said I regret the way I sneaked away in Paris. Now, this lie has done nothing but make us even. We’ve hurt each other, we’ve helped each other out. And we still have to team up for a few more days.” I’m proud of myself. I’m doing it; I’m listening to my inner voice and making a decision that feels right. “Therefore, the minute this conversation is over, we’re going put all this behind us and start again.”

  Enthusiastically, he bobs his head. “Excellent idea. Clean slate.”

  “I’m not done,” I add. The fearful look in his eyes is highly satisfying. For maybe the first time in my life, I’m in control. Slowly, I close the remaining space between us and get right in his face. Despite the ten inches he has on me, his position sitting on the bed while I stand allows me to stare him down. “You need to know that you’re on probation.” I poke his shoulder with my finger. “One more lie, one more fact you hide from me, and I’ll never, ever talk to you again. And I mean it. Understand?”

  He blinks and slowly nods in agreement.

  It’s exhilarating. Mia would kill me if she knew I’m giving him another chance. The old Sophia would be worried to death, afraid she’s putting herself at risk of being fooled again. The Sophia twenty-four hours ago would’ve been terrified to allow this guy to sleep inches away from her in a hotel room, let alone after his confession.

  But the new Sophia knows she can follow her own judgment. This is a huge bet I’m taking, but I trust my instincts.

  “Now, this is your last chance to set the record straight,” I conclude. “Is there anything else you’re hiding from me that I should know now?”

  His eyelashes flutter. “There’s… just one more thing, for the sake of complete transparency.”
>
  Shoot. I hope he’s not about to tell me he’s married or something like that.

  A spark shines in his gaze, and in an instant, all the fear I felt so proud of having provoked in him disappears. He seems to be suppressing a smile when he rises to stand in front of me. “For the sake of complete honesty, I want to clarify that I still want to sleep with you.”

  My self-confident smug vanishes.

  He lifts both hands. “You can rest assured that I have no intention to act on that desire and would never dare put a finger on you against your will.” He lowers his hands and his gaze darkens. “But tonight I’ll be in my bed dreaming of the moment when you give in and let me put my hands on you. I’ll be dreaming of ripping off your clothes, kissing and licking every inch of your body, pleasuring you until I take you to heaven, then loving you until you can no longer think.” His hazel eyes blaze with desire and my skin crawls with goose bumps as he continues in a soft voice. “The moment I get a hint of your consent, I’m jumping on you. And once we start kissing, I won’t be able to stop this time.”

  I feel hot and flustered and lightheaded.

  Abruptly, his expression transforms to a joyful grin. His tone is relaxed. “That was it. I just wanted to put all the cards on the table. Good night.”

  He gets under the blankets in bed, turns off his nightstand light and closes his eyes.

  It takes me a long time to be able to move again and get ready for bed.

  Hours later, I still lie in bed, eyes wide open, listening to his deep breathing, unable to shut my brain down. Trevor’s words have sucked away my confidence.

  Do I really have the strength I’ve bragged about?

  Chapter 22

  Trevor

  French people really know how to live. The free breakfast in this small hotel surpasses anything you’d find in a Ritz-Carlton or a Four Seasons. Sophia loves her first real crepes and I welcome a twist to the routine of coffee, bread, and cheese as I sample their wide selection of jams, juice, and dry fruit. Sleeping better than I’ve slept in ages has awakened my appetite.

  What a relief to have confessed the truth to Sophia! And having concluded that losing my passport was my penance for my lie has shifted my perspective and rebooted my mood. Also, there was something healing about receiving her forgiveness. This screwing up and having people cut you slack feels pretty damn cool.

  After breakfast, we show the old postcard to the hotel employees and they identify the castle on it as a quasi-famous attraction called Chateau d’Annecy. And, of course, it’s closed on Tuesdays. We decide to kill time touring Annecy. The tourist part of town is small enough that we can get everywhere on foot; finding the few points mentioned on the postcard proves easy.

  No wonder they call this place the Venice of the Alps! Now in a better mood, I definitely see the similarity. Canals flowing from the lake cross the part of the city where we’re staying—the old town—lending the colorful buildings mirrors to reflect upon (58). And yes, the bright yellows, oranges, pink, and peach colors of the buildings carry a strong similarity to Italy. Surprisingly, the buildings no longer look “dirty” to me, and I’m more able to appreciate their patina. It must have something to do with no longer having a dirty conscience (59).

  We kill most of the morning at the open market and Sophia goes crazy photographing fruit and vegetable stands with the intention of painting them later. Even if I’m unable to pay for anything, there are plenty of free samples to choose from. From olives, to jam, to goat cheese, to organic smoothies, this street market has it all (60a, 60b).

  I’m playing a new game today. Each time Sophia and I taste something new, I close my eyes and pretend to be her. I try to guess what she’s feeling when she makes the face of delight, and it’s working. Being with her is like rehab for the spirit; I’m relearning how to feel joy by secondhand exposure.

  For lunch, we take our purchases from the market to the lakeside, lay a borrowed hotel sheet on the grass, and make a picnic overlooking the lake (61). We spend a lazy afternoon people watching and chatting, and I even doze off. When I wake up from my nap, I’m delighted to learn Sophia has been working on a charcoal drawing of me sleeping. I can’t believe how good she is. Upon my insistence, she shows me photos of her elusive paintings. She’s amazing! And I can say that now honestly, with no agenda behind it.

  We complete the tour with a boat cruise along Lake Annecy, taking pictures of the Chateau Menton—closed on Tuesdays—from the boat. We watch the sunset and enjoy a simple dinner of crepes (yes, now Sophia is obsessed with crepes) before retiring for the night.

  * * *

  Sophia

  Trevor’s deep relaxed breathing, feet away from me, announces he’s already sleeping. How did he manage to fall asleep so fast, despite having taken that nap after lunch? And me? I’ve barely slept the past two nights and yet, tonight I can’t doze off either. My adrenaline is still in high gear after yesterday’s confessions.

  The same town that yesterday I’d described simply as “fairy-tale like” now seems like the backdrop for the most adult romantic story. Starting with the stunning view of the mountains changing colors during the sunset (57). Gosh! Every corner of this place invites a kiss, and I’d be tempted to fall for any guy holding my hand while walking through so much beauty, even if he weren’t this attractive man I’ve grown fond of over the past few weeks.

  I end up giving up on sleep and sneaking out of the room to call the girls at midnight my time, 6:00 p.m. Florida, 3:00 p.m. California. They deserve to hear the conclusion of yesterday’s drama, even if it implies getting harshly reprimanded by Mia for my decision to give Trevor one more chance.

  “Yeah. Of course, you can trust him when he swears he’ll always tell you the truth from now on!” Sarcasm oozes from Mia’s voice, then she scoffs. “Because, you know, liars always warn you ahead of time when they’re planning to lie again.”

  “Drop it, Mia,” Chloe chimes in.

  “Yes, what’s done is done!” I keep surprising myself with my determination. “Now all I want is to focus on my mission and think about my parents walking these streets.” I lean on the iron bridge railing to admire the lights reflecting on the canal. It’s a chilly night and I won’t be able to stay out for long, so I try to soak up some of this beauty. “I can only imagine what a wonderful second honeymoon they had here. I’m determined to find that friend who hosted them in her house during their trip, and tomorrow we’re going to the Annecy Chateau to see if anybody knows her.”

  “Annecy is the place where all communication stopped, isn’t it?” Iris asks, remembering some of our previous conversations.

  “That’s right. After that postcard with the castle picture, no more letters arrived. And that’s strange, considering my parents had five more days in Paris after that.” I stop. Iris knows what I mean; she lived my pain with me when my parents’ remains were never recovered and I couldn’t get closure. Many of my fantasies of finding them alive arose from that break in communication after they stopped in Annecy.

  But maybe the only reason why communication stopped was because this place is so gorgeous they got distracted. Or maybe the fatigue of the trip was catching up with them.

  After the chat with the girls, I return to the room and somehow manage to doze off.

  The next morning, after breakfast, Trevor and I head to Chateau d’Annecy. (62) We climb a steep cobblestone street and manage to be the first people there. Lucky for me, the staff member at the ticket stand speaks English. This person, though, is a young lady, probably in her early twenties, and obviously not the person I’m looking for.

  After some greetings, I get to the point. “No chance that you’d know a lady who worked here twenty years ago, named Dominique Bisset, would you?”

  The confusion on the attendant’s face makes me realize how ridiculous the words sound. Of course she doesn’t.

  But I believe in miracles, and miracles are well-known to reward us for our faith.

  Behind me a you
ng woman with a strong French accent says, “Actually, if you’re talking about the same Dominique Bisset I think you are, she’s my aunt.”

  Chapter 23

  Trevor

  I can’t believe Sophia’s good luck. She actually found the person who hosted her parents twenty years ago! What are the chances of that woman still being alive and living in the exact same town?

  Sophia’s beaming in excitement as we head to Dominique’s house Wednesday afternoon. Dominique’s niece, Nicole, was kind enough to arrange for an appointment immediately given our limited time in the city.

  I try to reel Sophia in, to spare her disappointment. “You know, it was twenty years ago. There’s a possibility this lady doesn’t even remember your parents.”

  “But she has to!” She beams as we stroll down the street, searching for the address, which is difficult since buildings don’t show clear numbers. “She must’ve been a close friend if she agreed to host them in her house. And shortly after they left, their plane crashed. She must remember that sad coincidence.”

  “How did she know your parents?”

  “She and my mother were pen pals for years. I think they met when my parents hosted Dominique and her husband in our house during some educational conference; he was a professor too.”

  Sophia has built up so much expectation about this meeting that I’m apprehensive. What exactly does she think we’re going to find?

  Her smile vanishes and I sense she has something important to say. “This means everything to me. This is the town where the letters stopped, and my childhood fantasy that they didn’t board the plane and were still alive came from those days of silence.”