by Paige Elwood
“I look forward to it, Sophie,” he said, in an accent that would have turned her to Jell-O just yesterday. That dream has really done a number on me, she thought.
“Me too.” She gave him a smile that she hoped didn’t look too fake. He really was gorgeous. A nice meal, some conversation, and she’d find her mojo again, she was sure. Jacques gave her his number, and she tapped it into her cellphone. As she did she noticed the time. One p.m. already! She’d only have a few more hours to see some of Paris today before she had to get ready for her date!
She confirmed again to Jacques that she would meet him at seven-thirty and watched him cross the street and go back into the café. Resolving to do the tourist thing properly, she opened the itinerary and notes she’d saved on her phone before the trip. A quick check of Google Maps confirmed she was close to a Batobus stop, and she hopped on the ferry to see the Latin Quarter. The window-enclosed boat chugged down the Seine, taking her directly past Notre Dame. A strange feeling of loss and regret welled up inside her at the sight of the cathedral with its gothic towers and beautiful rose stained glass windows. Get a grip, she thought.
When she got off and was back on dry land, she was pleased to find herself directly opposite the Jardin des Plantes. Perfect, she thought. A walk through the gardens should help clear my head. She ambled through the beautifully cultivated gardens, admiring the amazing array of shrubs and flowers. It must need a lot of gardeners to keep it so perfect, she thought as she walked. It was even more impressive than Edouard’s and Madame Petellier’s gardens, but then they were imaginary, and therefore limited to her own mediocre botanical knowledge.
The air was crisp, the sun was bright, and the walk through such a peaceful, beautiful place refreshed and revitalized her. When she left the gardens, she passed the Mosquee de Paris, strolled down La Rue Mouffetard, and visited the Pantheon. She followed it up with a trip to the Sorbonne.
She checked her watch. Three thirty p.m. She had maybe an hour and a half. According to Google Maps she was fairly close to her hotel, so she started to walk in that direction. Passing the Musee National du Moyen Age, she couldn’t help but go in to see the medieval exhibits. She wanted to know how accurate her dream had been, and it had given her a certain curiosity about that period in Paris’ history.
On the ground floor, she stopped at a tall glass case holding small household items from a medieval ladies’ room. She recognized the familiar shape of a chamber pot and a handheld mirror that looked just like the items she’d used in her dream. Further along were hairpins, and a few items similar to those Sophie had seen on Isabeau’s dresser but never identified a purpose for. A sign by the staircase told her that the tapestry collection was on the second floor, and curiosity took her up the stairs to see them.
When she reached the second floor, the breath left her lungs, and she almost passed out when she saw the tapestries from her dream hanging in front of her in real life! They were arranged so as to tell the story, and as she walked along, looking at the familiar yet strange images she felt stupid. The answer had been literally staring her in the face in her dream. Had it been a dream?
They showed a young man ‘courting’ many ladies on walks, at balls, in medieval Paris. He took one to Notre Dame, and their two-dimensional embroidered avatars were pictured kissing passionately in the reliquary. After which, an ethereal-looking man appeared with the rings. Her ring, their rings. The apparition’s face was contorted in anger, as though the man had done something to offend it.
The young man took the rings, and from then he courted no more, watching sadly from the sidelines at balls and parties. Sophie moved to the next one. An old man gave a young dark-haired girl the other ring. The next showed the young man and the girl embracing, each wearing one of the rings. In the very last image the young man was holding the other ring, her ring, his face turned skywards as if in supplication to an unforgiving deity. Tears ran down his cheeks. He looked lost, as though nothing could take away his sadness, and Sophie’s heart hurt looking at him.
She knew now, with a heart-wrenching clarity, that the story in the tapestries was the same story Helene had told her. The story of Edouard’s curse. She hadn’t seen the last two parts of the tapestry in her dream, and the information plaque accompanying the set told her that they were added several years after the originals were created. They were commissioned specially for a Duke who lived in Paris.
Nausea threatened to overwhelm her. There had to be a plausible explanation. Had she seen these somewhere in a guide book and that’s why they came to her dream after Helene’s story dislodged the memory? It’s not like her time travel dream could have been true, could it? It had felt so real. Was she crazy? She felt like Paris was determined to drive her crazy.
Her chest felt tight, and perspiration trickled down her back despite the air-conditioned atmosphere of the museum. She raced down the stairs and stumbled out of the museum, crouching outside it with her hands on her knees and gasping air into her lungs. When she straightened back up, Notre Dame seemed to be watching her.
She needed to put this out of her mind—she was being ridiculous. The hotel was only a short walk away now, but a pressing desire to get away from the cathedral had her hailing a taxi. She was already running late if she was going to go on this date. She was definitely going on the date, because that was real and time travel was not.
The taxi ride was brief, and she was relieved when she arrived back at the hotel. The strange, tall man still on reception nodded a greeting as she walked in. She took the elevator upstairs, purposely ignoring the pictures hanging on the corridor walls, and entered her room. Her lovely, modern room with a comfortable bed, a flat screen television, charging sockets for her cellphone, and a shower. This was reality, her date was real, and she should focus on reality.
Chapter 31
After a shower, Sophie felt a little saner, and the anxiety attack at the museum seemed irrational. They were just old tapestries, she was making too much out of it. She pulled a few outfits out of the wardrobe, holding each one against her and discarding unsuitable choices on the bed, until her bed was covered in a multi-colored heap of clothing. She finally settled on a crepe Mugler midi dress, and she pulled it over her head, marveling at the softness of the material and the way it stretched in all the right places to fit perfectly.
Her still shower-damp hair clung to her head, but with the help of a round brush and a hairdryer it soon became the sleek, bouncy hair she wanted. She brushed it until it shone and left it simply down, waving gently at the ends where it touched her shoulders. No up-dos for her, for a while at least!
She carefully applied her makeup, making the effort to do a small wing with the liner. She stepped back, surveying herself in the mirror, and found her appearance to be satisfactory. Other than her porcelain skin, she might have passed for a real Parisian. The black dress was classy and not over-the-top for a first date.
She liked the slim silhouette it gave. She felt like she’d had her fill of fancy, flowing dresses and intricate hairstyles. She much preferred modern fashions, even if they didn’t often lend themselves to feeling like a real princess. As the finishing touch, she slipped on her Marc Jacobs slingbacks. Perfect!
She asked the man at reception to call her a taxi. He responded with a strange jerky nod and a low grunt. She assumed that meant he was following her instruction, and she didn’t really want to ask. She much preferred Helene’s cheerful service. She waited outside the hotel for the taxi and checked her watch nervously. Quarter past seven. She was going to be late if the taxi didn’t arrive soon!
Just as she was going to give up and ask the Neanderthal on reception to call another taxi, it pulled up outside the hotel. She climbed in gratefully, giving the address to the driver in halting French and then settling back into the leather seats. As the car pulled away, something caught her attention. Someone slipped into the hotel just before the heavy door swung shut. She caught a glimpse of white hair and a wizened hand on the
door handle before it vanished from sight and the door banged shut.
She blinked hard, trying to reconcile what she thought she saw with reality. She must have imagined it, or perhaps it was simply an elderly guest staying at the hotel. She was just on edge after the dream, and the jetlag certainly didn’t help. She’d feel much better after a natural night’s sleep without medication.
Butterflies danced in her stomach as the taxi slowly pulled up to the café. She pulled out a ten euro note and paid the driver. The café was still bustling with tourists, and she worried she wouldn’t be able to find Jacques. Did she even remember what he looked like? Every time she tried to remember, a different face appeared in her mind instead. The one from her dreams.
She stepped inside the café nervously, the sounds of multilingual chatter floating through the air. Her eyes searched the room, and she tried to look nonchalant. What if he’s not here and he’s stood you up? she thought, her palms beginning to feel slightly damp. She slid them over her dress, in a smoothing gesture as though she were adjusting it. She felt self-conscious as though everyone was watching her
When her eyes landed on the lone Jacques at a table near the back, she let out a whoosh of pent-up breath. So, she hadn’t been stood up then! She wasn’t entirely sure if she was pleased or disappointed that the date was definitely going ahead. You’re pleased, obviously, she chided herself. Look at him, he’s gorgeous!
A gaggle of impossibly cool-looking teenage girls were drinking coffee and gossiping over by the café window. The apparent ringleader, a slim dark-haired girl in the Parisian uniform of black jeans and a black cami top was throwing predatory glances at Jacques, obviously not immune to his charms.
Sophie approached his table. When he saw her coming, he jumped up and pulled her chair out for her. He greeted her warmly, kissing both cheeks and she smelled an expensive, woodsy cologne. Her eyes darted to the group of girls in the corner, who were now all throwing her unimpressed looks.
She took her seat, adjusting it slightly so her back was to the girls, and he poured her a glass of champagne from the bottle he had chilling on ice. He passed her a single, long-stemmed deep red rose, the petals as soft as velvet. Sophie was thrilled. Champagne, a rose! This was exactly what she came to Paris for. The romance, the passion—she could have that, couldn’t she?
The café lights were dimmed to the lowest setting, and most of the light came from small tea lights flickering on the tables. In the dimly-lit, densely shadowed atmosphere, Jacques was even more striking than she remembered from earlier that day. He was one of the most attractive men Sophie had ever met, other than Edouard. His dark hair was cut in a fashionable, side-swept style that emphasized his defined jawline. He had a loose, easy grace to his movements, and his amber eyes twinkled with good-natured charm as he regaled her with stories of Paris and growing up in France.
He helped her choose what to order, explaining the different menu items. Throughout dinner, he kept her thoroughly entertained. His English was impeccable, and that combined with a very sultry accent made him incredibly easy to listen to. He was the perfect gentleman, and he showed his interest in Sophie by asking her lots of questions about her life in America and her family, her new business, and what she thought of Paris. Sophie answered them all politely. She just couldn’t settle into the date like she wanted. She took another long sip of champagne, hoping it would loosen her up a little.
“So, why is a woman as beautiful as you single?” he asked, looking into her eyes just a little longer than was necessary. His eyes were friendly and warm, with slight laugh lines only just beginning to develop at the sides. He would age well, she thought.
“I just haven’t had a lot of time to date, and I’ve never found anyone to settle down with long-term,” she said, breaking the eye contact and looking down as she twirled the stem of the rose in her hands. “What about you?”
“Ah, well I ended a long-term relationship about six months ago, and now I’m ready to try again,” he confided. “Forgive me, I get the impression you have somebody else who is maybe still on your mind?”
Sophie shook her head. Dreams didn’t count, so there was nobody on her mind. Nobody real, anyway. “No,” she said, shaking her head for emphasis. “There’s nobody at all.”
The meal tasted delicious, but Sophie had little appetite and couldn’t finish the enormous serving of beef bourguignon that she was served. She turned down the dessert menu for the first time ever, and just ordered a coffee instead. When Jacques asked for the check, Sophie took out her wallet, but Jacques waved away her offer to pay half.
“It is my pleasure to spend time with such a beautiful lady,” he said. Sophie smiled, but she felt bad that this gorgeous man was buying her dinner when she felt nothing for him. Not even a faint stirring of emotion. Even her assertion that he was attractive was based on a purely analytical assessment of his features and not that pulse-quickening that normally happened in the company of an attractive man.
The check paid and the coffees finished, they took a stroll along the Paris streets. Jacques gave her a short tour of the hidden gems of cafes that tourists often missed, and they stopped in a couple of them for more drinks. She did her best to be a good companion, trying to offer witty conversation, but it just felt flat.
His family owned a vineyard in the Loire valley, and he offered her a tour of the vineyard that she found herself agreeing to. Jacques reached out and took her hand as they walked. His hand was warm and strong, but his touch didn’t awaken her the way Edouard’s had. She might as well have been holding an inanimate object and not another person’s hand for all the emotion it stirred in her.
Without her realizing it, they had walked all the way to the Quai. Why did she always end up here? They stopped and gazed over at Notre Dame for a while, a gentle breeze toying with Sophie’s hair. She was lost in a daydream, remembering the time she’d spent in Notre Dame with Edouard. She was here with a real live man who wanted to give her his attention and treat her like a princess, and she was hung up on a different man who probably wasn’t real and that she couldn’t be with anyway.
Jacques touched her shoulders gently, pulling her around to face him. She thought he might kiss her and still she was ambivalent about that. It stirred no real reaction in her. He stroked her face gently with a fingertip.
“Ahh, Sophie,” he sighed. “You are very beautiful, but I fear your heart belongs to another, regardless of what you would have me believe.”
She sighed, a weary sound. “I think you’re right.”
“Thank you for a nice evening anyway,” he said, pulling her into a friendly hug. “Come, I will walk you to your hotel,” he said, holding his hand out.
“Thank you, you’re very kind. I’d really like some time to myself, though, if you don’t mind?”
He nodded. “If you are sure.” He leaned in and kissed both cheeks as a farewell. “The offer of a tour still stands, as friends,” he said, and she thanked him for his kindness. He gave her a dazzling smile before he walked away into the evening. She soon lost sight of him as he melted into the stream of tourists and evening city visitors.
Sophie took a seat on the same bench she’d sat on her first evening in Paris and gazed out across the Seine. She remembered Amie’s words, that she was emotionally unavailable. She hadn’t thought she was, but then when she’s fallen in love with Edouard something in her had opened up. Not that it had done her any good. Apparently, it was only Edouard that had that effect on her. Maybe she was doomed to a life without love. It seemed lonelier than it had before, now that she knew what love really felt like, that it was real. The other Sophie who sat on this bench a few days ago was almost a stranger to her now.
Her chest tightened, and she struggled to breathe. The emptiness of her life had led her to take this trip, and she’d actually found exactly what she needed. It was funny how she’d found the missing piece to her life, to her soul, and yet that piece didn’t, couldn’t actually fit in her life.
> Sophie couldn’t face the idea of another date. It was time to put the fling idea to bed. She just wanted to recharge her batteries and explore the beautiful city. She would do the tourist thing and enjoy the sights of Paris. Then, she would return home ready to take on all the challenges of a new business.
Chapter 32
Edouard wandered through his expansive townhouse, his eyes red and his nerves raw from sorrow and lack of sleep. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was her face, her pain when he’d told her the truth. The sick knot in the pit of his stomach had lingered for days, and he hadn’t eaten since she’d left. Cook kept preparing his meals as usual, but he sent all of them back untouched.
His father would arrive soon, according to his letter that came that morning via servant. No doubt he would want to talk Edouard into going to Spanish court now that Sophie was gone and the curse was no more. He couldn’t even consider it. He was an empty shell of a man since she’d left, and he’d be no use in furthering the Duke’s agenda. The curse might be broken, but so was he.
He felt like he was losing his mind without her, so keenly did he feel her absence. Madame Petellier had been to visit on many occasions, pleading with him to eat or to do something to take his mind off Sophie. She meant well, but she didn’t understand that nothing would take his mind off Sophie. She was there when he closed his eyes, and every breath he took rasped against his broken heart, and every prayer uttered rang hollow through his empty soul.
The only thing he could do was to try and win her back. Even if she wouldn’t forgive him, he needed to see her just one more time so that he could live again for just a few more minutes.
The sound of the door creaking on its stiff hinges roused him temporarily from his abject misery, and he turned to see the gray-haired Duke marching in with his shoulders squared as though ready for a great battle. “Edouard,” he greeted him.