Paris Lights

by C. J. Duggan

  Mathias appeared by my side again – he seemed to float on air, he was so graceful. I glanced up mid-sip, quickly swallowed and put the glass down.

  ‘Mademoiselle, dessert will be served outside,’ he said, looking delighted with the news he was delivering. I could almost feel my heart sink as I looked past him to the workings of the kitchen, hoping that Louis might make eye contact with me, but as had been the case throughout the night, his quicksilver eyes didn’t lift to me. I really didn’t want to leave my seat, but of course considering it was a seat I’d never thought would ever be mine in the first place, well, I wasn’t exactly going to be a diva about it.

  I smiled, placing the napkin from my lap on the table. ‘Sounds perfect.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  In true Parisian style I sat with my back against the restaurant, the table to my side as I looked out onto the street; the shimmer of the Eiffel lights dancing before me made my heart feel full, which seemed rather appropriate, as it matched my belly. I couldn’t comprehend what my meal had cost, and despite me ordering only one thing for myself, mysterious plates appeared at my table from Chef Louis and, oh, how glad I was that they had.

  Lost in a numbness that was a combination of wine, the view and the cool night air, I jumped to attention when a plate of decadent chocolate delights was placed next to me. But it wasn’t delivered by the usual black-clad arm of Mathias. As I looked up, my eyes met Louis’s. The people at the surrounding tables were looking on with interest, murmuring to themselves at the presence of the man himself. And if that hadn’t shocked me enough, Louis taking a seat in the vacant chair across from me, pressing his back against it and pushing out his long legs in front of him really had people gawping. He seemed tired, with dark circles under his eyes, his hair all tousled, and yet his chef’s jacket was miraculously unstained.

  Despite the continuous line of luxurious food that had come my way throughout the night, my mouth watered as I picked up my dessert fork. I felt all kinds of excited yet I was reluctant to spoil the gorgeous-looking dessert. The top layer of glossy tempered chocolate cracked under my fork, giving way to allow the tines to glide through the sumptuous gooey chocolate underneath. I smiled like a small child with a puppy and glanced at Louis, who was watching with great interest, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Did you enjoy your meal?’ he asked, resting his elbows on the table, which probably wasn’t good etiquette but considering this was his kingdom, he could table dance if he wanted to and I think everyone would agree it was acceptable.

  I savoured the velvety chocolate in my mouth, nodding and battling between wanting to take my time to enjoy it, yet eager to tell him just how incredible the night had been. And then it occurred to me, I didn’t need to say sorry to him. I knew he didn’t take kindly to the word. I did have another way of making it up to him, and that was to give credit where credit was due, and to generally just be a nicer, better person.

  ‘I have never had such an incredible culinary experience. And I say “experience” because that’s what it was; you took my taste buds on a journey and for one night you let me escape from reality – and to me, in this moment, that is just absolutely priceless. I know you don’t like the word sorry, so I don’t know how you feel about the words thank you, but I really don’t care. Thank you, Louis, thank you for bringing me here, into your world. I will never forget this night. You have given me a new, beautiful memory of Paris, eating chocolate and watching the lights.’ I saluted him with my fork and gestured toward the tower, my rambling speech fuelled by alcohol but my sincerity undiminished by it.

  I thought that my heartfelt speech would have elicited some kind of emotion from him, but instead he looked at me as if filing my words away. Whether that meant dumping it into the useless-pieces-of-information section of his brain, it was hard to say. His non-response made me feel like a bit of a fool, so I quickly returned all my attention to my dessert.

  Just shut up and eat, Claire!

  ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’

  It wasn’t an instantaneous thing. I finished my dessert and then had to wait, and wait, and – my God – wait for the end of service. People rolled in and out long into the night; it became clear why everyone in the kitchen was so tired. Only after Louis had a debrief of sorts with his staff did he reemerge from behind the glass, spent but apparently in good spirits. By that time I had all but written off the walk and was sitting patiently, ready to go back to the hotel.

  Louis stopped in front of me. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Oui,’ I said with enthusiasm, standing and pulling on my jacket.

  ‘Okay, let’s go,’ he said, leading me back to the kitchen, past the staff, who were busying themselves wiping down surfaces after a long day – to ready the kitchen for an early start, no doubt.

  I paused, glancing around the industrial kitchen where all the magic had happened, and I was pleased to see Jean-Pierre.

  ‘Bonsoir, Jean-Pierre. It was really nice to meet you,’ I said, walking over and holding out my hand.

  ‘Bonsoir, Claire. Keep him in line, yeah?’ he said, offering a cheeky smile to Louis, who stood at the opposite end of the kitchen.

  I laughed, ready to pull away, but was held in place by Jean-Pierre, who lowered his voice. ‘He has never brought anyone here before. You must be something special.’ Delighted by my apparent shock he let go of my hand, moving back down the bench. I wanted to ask him what he meant, ask him a million questions, but my thoughts were cut off by Louis’s voice.

  ‘Leave her alone, Jean-Pierre.’

  ‘Oui, chef! She is all yours,’ he said, winking at me. I had to gather myself quickly, hoping that Louis didn’t see my cheeks burning, but as I turned to follow him out, I saw Louis had already disappeared from the kitchen.

  I quickstepped to the back door where Louis’s coat still hung; confused, I spun around. There he was in the back office, methodically unbuttoning his double-breasted chef’s coat. The long line of his fingers tracing and unlooping the buttons made me hold my breath. He peeled off the coat, revealing a simple white T-shirt underneath. This usually wouldn’t set my heart aflutter, but somehow there I was, the ultimate voyeur as I had been all night, except now Louis wasn’t focused on the task at hand. So when his eyes lifted to mine and I was sprung ogling him, it felt like time stood still. Despite the feel of my cheeks turning red again, and my inner monologue screaming at me to Look away, go outside and wait you massive pervert, I stood frozen.

  Louis, however, did move. He pulled the T-shirt over his head the way men always seemed to do, then threw the garment aside, revealing his tall, lean body. His shoulders were so square I wanted to run my hands along the lines of them, then down his biceps, which were curved in all the right places. My eyes were trailing along the very places that my mind was roaming and I quickly averted them before looking back at Louis’s face, but it was too late. No matter how quickly my eyes had strayed he had caught it, and there was no undoing that damage. Strangely though, he didn’t wear his usual cocky smirk; instead, his eyes burned, and his face held an almost similar expression to the one I had seen on him tonight, when he was working in his domain: an animalistic charge that came with his power. Seeing it again now excited me.

  The sound of voices coming from the kitchen made me blink and break the connection between us. I moved to the back door, and headed outside, thinking some cool, fresh air was just what I needed – that and an ice-cold shower.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I stood by Louis’s car, my arms crossed as if to ward off a chill in the night air. Shifting from side to side restlessly, it was only when I heard the beep of the security lock did I look up to see Louis crossing the street, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his dark coat, collar turned up like a French James Dean.

  ‘Hey, do you mind if we head back? I’m kind of tired,’ I said, feeling so lame. It’s not like I had been the one slaving in a kitchen all night; all I had done was stuff
my face.

  If Louis was disappointed, he didn’t show it. Not that he would be. God, he wasn’t a sixteen-year-old girl – what would he care if I didn’t want to walk with him? And, as suspected, he just shrugged one lazy shoulder.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, opening up the driver’s door and getting in behind the wheel.

  If anything, I was the one feeling like a disappointed teenage girl. Christ, I really needed to clear my head, sober up a little and get some sleep. All these filtered Paris lights and moody, romantic restaurant settings were sending me loopy. I was clearly vulnerable.

  And then it started to make sense. It was only several hours before that Liam had confirmed in the most brutal of ways his infidelity. It was one thing to break up with me but getting your mistress pregnant was something else altogether. And despite seeing Louis in a new light, one that gave me disturbing, tingling sensations, I had to shut that shit down. Classic rebound revenge sex was the worst idea imaginable and with someone like Louis? Definitely not, no way, no how. By the time I had belted myself back into his Audi I was thanking the gods we hadn’t gone for that walk.

  It was past midnight when Louis pulled up in front of our hotel; I caught myself smiling. It was like I was existing in some kind of parallel universe, one that had me riding in shiny black Audis and dining in Michelin-starred restaurants, not being dumped in the most romantic city in the world. I had to say, my situation was not awful.

  I gathered my bag and my nerves after Louis’s usual Formula 1 sprint back as Louis got out his side and walked around the front of the car to my door, opening it for me.

  ‘I’m no Gaston, but I can open a door with the best of them.’

  I laughed, pausing to look at this strange creature. He had gone from an amazing host, to silent, slightly awkward chauffeur to gentleman.

  Who are you, Louis Delarue?

  ‘Merci,’ I said, sliding out of his car and standing next to him. Louis pushed through the door first, standing aside to hold it open for me. I could seriously get used to this side of him, I thought; the silence fell between us in a new, more comfortable way as we walked through the foyer to reception, long vacant now the staff had ended their shifts. The only person around was the night security guard manning the door, on standby should any dramas arise. I didn’t even know his name; it wasn’t like I made a habit of wandering the dimmed foyer at all hours of the night.

  The material of Louis’s coat brushed against my arm as we walked, and my skin tingled. It seemed so silly, reacting to such a small thing, but I wanted it to happen again. I didn’t know if he had those same kind of ridiculous thoughts, but I seriously doubted it. As we approached the lift, Louis looked at me, really looked at me, and a slow, sexy smile formed, one that was contagious in its warmth, and that made me feel giddy at the thought of being locked in the small space of the lift with him. A series of insanely hot feelings flooded me in the anticipation until we turned the corner, and stopped dead in our tracks. There, slouched in one of the chairs in the lounge, looking bored and more miserable than ever, was Liam.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Liam startled from his sleepy recline; his eyes brightened as he scrambled to stand.

  ‘Claire!’

  ‘Liam what—’ I stood shocked – no, make that horrified – at seeing him stand before me.

  ‘I had to come. I have to explain about …’

  Liam’s voice trailed off and we both turned to look at Louis, who was looking down at me without an ounce of amusement, judging me, and this rather awkward situation. He eventually turned his attention to Liam, whose eyes switched between us, wary. I didn’t know if Liam recognised him, or if he was taken aback by me walking in with him. Whatever the emotion, Liam clamped it down and held out his hand.

  ‘Liam Jackson,’ he said, squaring his shoulders.

  Louis had a particular way of making people feel small with a look – a look he was giving Liam now as he glanced at the outstretched hand, almost like he was confused by the offering. A few seconds passed, as Liam’s hand hung in midair. I thought it might hang there forever, until Louis smirked.

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t shake hands,’ he said dismissively before turning back to me. ‘If I don’t see you in the morning—’

  ‘You will,’ I said quickly, cutting him off. Of course he would.

  He seemed unconvinced. ‘Bonne nuit,’ he said, and to my surprise I remembered it meant goodnight and I smiled, always proud of any glimmer of understanding I had of the language.

  ‘Goodnight,’ I said.

  For a long moment Louis looked into my eyes. I wished beyond anything that I could read his mind, because there was definitely something lingering there. For the first time, Louis Delarue was leaving something unsaid and walking away.

  I was alone with Liam now and as I saw the lift doors close I so desperately wanted them to open again, for Louis to stay.

  Under any other circumstance my heart might have been racing or butterflies might have fluttered in my tummy, and hope would have made tears well in my eyes at seeing Liam again, but I remembered the conversation of hours before and the way my heart had plummeted to the floor. There was no sentimentality in our reunion, only a bone-deep anger that made my hands clench at my sides.

  Liam seemed nervous, watching me as if he had expected me to flee. The thought had crossed my mind.

  ‘I got on the train as quickly as I could. I had to see you.’

  I in no way wanted to invite him into my new world, or have this discussion in public. I turned, storming back through reception, doubling back the way I had come with Louis and passing the portly security guard, who watched with much interest. I pushed through the hotel door and was confronted by the shiny black Audi I had only just been in. It gave me a moment’s pause as my mind returned to the night that had been, and how Louis had taken me away from my reality. For a few hours I had been distracted enough to forget. But now there was no forgetting, especially when Liam slowly reached for my arm.

  ‘Claire, listen.’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ I said, pulling myself away and cutting him with a look that Louis would have been proud of. ‘You don’t get the right to ask me to listen, not any more, not ever again,’ I shouted, my voice no doubt filtering up to the rooms above me. Could people hear me over the distant traffic noises? Could Louis hear? I doubted it.

  ‘Claire, I came here to tell you—’

  ‘It wasn’t enough to hear it in my voice, you had to see it in my face? Well, here I am, memorise it because it’s the last time you’ll ever—’

  ‘It’s not mine, Claire!’ he shouted. ‘It’s not my baby.’

  I blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not my baby because I have never slept with her.’

  ‘B-but I thought—’

  ‘She has a boyfriend … apparently.’

  ‘So, you didn’t …’

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said, stepping a little closer to me. ‘When I realised that’s what you thought I tried to explain, but you didn’t give me the chance. Despite whatever problems we had, Claire, I would never cheat on you.’

  The tiny shred of relief that flooded through me upon learning that Liam hadn’t impregnated the idiotic plant waterer was short lived. ‘That’s the thing – I didn’t think we had any problems.’ Not until the second my world was turned upside down under the Eiffel Tower anyway.

  Liam closed his eyes, as if summoning strength. ‘Claire, please.’

  ‘Oh no, wait, I do recall a problem: you apparently having a thing for the girl upstairs.’

  Liam was fighting for patience, looking at me as if he wished he could gaffer tape my mouth closed. Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.

  ‘So, what do you want, Liam? A medal for not succumbing to the desires out of a sense of loyalty to me? Forgive me if I don’t swoon over you.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to.’

  ‘Well, what are you a
sking then?’

  ‘God damn it, Claire, I’m asking for you!’

  My eyes must have been blank; I felt blank, completely devoid of thought, my head empty in response to what he was saying. What the hell was he saying?

  Liam cupped my face. ‘Claire, I’m so sorry. You have to forgive me; you have to forgive me,’ he pleaded. He brushed his mouth softly against mine and I was lost in his familiar warmth, overwhelmed with the unexpectedness of his confession, my heart spiking with the thrill of what was happening.

  Liam wants me back.

  He had made a mistake and he was here to claim what belonged to him, and he staked his claim by drawing me to him, kissing me hot and heavy like it had been between us at the very beginning. Grabbing at the fabric at his back, anchoring myself to the comfort of him, aware of nothing except the light dusting of rain that started to fall on us as we stood kissing under the hotel lights.

  It couldn’t get any better than this, the memory we were forming could be enough to erase all others, until Liam wrapped his arms around me and my head nestled in his shoulder and my eyes rested on the black Audi we stood next to.

  My mind flashed back to the last time I stood in the rain in this very spot, beside the very same car that had revealed a pair of intense, quicksilver eyes that had me recoiling and wanting to be anywhere but here. Maybe it was the rain that reminded me of that day, the way I had walked from the bus stop to the hotel with numbness in the pit of my stomach, something I had never, ever wanted to feel again, and over the past few days, I hadn’t. I had made sure of that by keeping myself busy and moving on from the pain of betrayal, a pain that had subsided until now. Liam pushed my hair back and looked down at me with such love in his eyes, the same eyes that had looked at me when he told me he had feelings for someone else. I wondered if he would be here now, standing before me, if that other woman wasn’t pregnant with someone else’s child. Was I the consolation prize because things had not worked out?