by Mandy Baggot
‘Of course,’ he answered. ‘Now that is has been ticked off the list for you.’
She furrowed her brow. ‘What?’
‘Your wish list,’ he spat. ‘What was it exactly? Number 7. Kiss a random man at the top of the Eiffel Tower.’
Ava watched as he drew something out of his pocket – a piece of paper – and put it on the table between them. She looked at it. Her writing. Her wish list. The one she had torn up almost as soon as she’d got here. She looked up from the piece of paper and set her eyes back on Julien, anger curdling inside her.
‘That’s what you think, is it?’ she questioned, a little louder than she’d anticipated.
‘It is yours, non? A list of wishes. Things you want to achieve in this new beginning in your life?’
‘Yes, it’s mine,’ she answered.
‘Then?’
‘Then you really haven’t been listening to me at all these past few days,’ she rushed out. ‘Julien, I’ve confided in you... I’ve confided in you about how I feel... about what I really want from my life... about how much I want to start everything over again. About Debs’ family problems.’ She was breathing erratically now, her body caught between fight and flight responses, not knowing whether to shout or to cry, to hit out or run away. ‘And I kissed you at the top of the tower because, at that moment, it was the only thing that made sense. You and me, standing by two separate love locks but totally connecting in every other way... at least... at least I thought so.’
‘Ava...’
‘And I felt something up there. Despite everything I said about striking out on my own and being independent from men, from my mother, from everything that might want to clip my wings... I felt something... something I hadn’t felt before and... when I said I wanted to forget it... it was because I thought you wanted to forget it and I didn’t want to lose what we already seem to have... this friendship... this bond... this connection... after only a few days.’
Tears were pricking her eyes and she got to her feet quickly, looking for a way out.
Julien stood. ‘Ava, please wait. We can—’
‘We can what, Julien?’ she asked, shaking. ‘Because you’ve just presented a scrap of notepaper like it’s the ultimate truth-teller and that everything that’s gone before doesn’t matter to you.’ She swallowed. ‘And let’s not forget, just a few days ago you were the one who lied to me about something huge... and I listened and I understood and now... here you are... throwing Exhibit A down like I’ve been indicted.’
‘I—’
‘If you look at that piece of paper... if you really look at it... you’ll see it’s ripped,’ she stated, her voice a level above the band playing in the corner. ‘Because that whole stupid list was torn up the second I got to Paris.’ Tears were springing out of her eyes now and she hated herself for showing him how much this hurt her. Another man who was causing her upset. Hadn’t she learnt her lesson? She pressed an index finger to each eye in turn and straightened her body, standing tall. ‘The other things on that list were buying a dog to irritate my mother, drinking myself into renal failure and getting plastic surgery,’ she informed him. She dug her hands into the pocket of her coat she’d slipped around the chair. ‘I wrote that wish list when I was eighteen and stupid and had no idea what life was all about. I haven’t written another one.’ She sniffed. ‘I decided to take every day as it comes at me here in Paris, nothing forced, nothing planned... just like we talked about.’ She threw the rest of the pieces of the wish list onto the table and watched one land a little too close to the candle, immediately catching on fire. ‘And if you really knew me like I thought you did, Monsieur Fitoussi, you would have just asked me, not immediately jumped to conclusions.’
‘Ava—’ he tried again.
‘No... I’ve heard enough and I’m getting off this boat.’ She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair and headed for the exit.
45
Before Julien could even react, a waiter was over at the table pouring a whole jug of water over the burning paper. He shifted his chair back to avoid getting a soaking and looked at the staff member, offering him an expression of apology as he rose out of his seat.
He had been a fool. He should have known. In his heart. Deep down. He knew her. Just like she had said. So why had he done this? Been so accusing? Not asked before assuming the worst? Because of the alternative? Because now, having heard her speak about their kiss as if it was something she was never going to forget, not a throwaway minute, he was more frightened than ever about what came next. The camera around his neck knocked over his empty glass of champagne as he made to leave the table. She wouldn’t jump off the boat, would she?
* * *
The very first thing Ava had discovered when she’d made it to the outside was how very small the boat was. The second thing was, there was no way off that didn’t involve leaping from the bow and swimming to the tall concrete banks of the Seine.
Her eyes were still spilling tears as she stood against the metal barrier, looking out across the water, everything in her vision a little blurry. What was upsetting her the most? The thought that Julien had such a low opinion of her he could believe that list was who she was now? That he thought she was fickle, a dumb model, stupid – all the things she’d heard behind her back a hundred times before and externally shrugged off but internally worried about constantly? This was cutting deeper than anything before. What he thought mattered to her. Because he already mattered to her. And now she had to let him go. Because their trust was truly broken. Just like with Leo... but worse. Worse because Julien already meant so much more.
Along with the rhythmic rushing of the water beneath the boat the clicking of a camera invaded her quiet. She turned her head and there was Julien, his lens focussed on her, taking shot after shot the more her body moved. She wanted to strangle him with the strap, just like she had the very first time they’d met.
‘Stop it!’ she hissed, putting her hands in front of her face and advancing towards him.
‘Non,’ he replied, continuing to take photos as she took another step over to him.
‘I said stop it!’ Ava repeated, her hands on the camera, attempting to drag it away from him. Her fiery eyes met his and she noted a stubbornness in his expression.
‘I said no,’ he said again, even more firmly.
She tightened her hold on the camera and didn’t move.
‘I have tried to stop, Ava and I cannot.’
* * *
Still she would not remove her hands from his camera. His heart was thundering inside him. He had to tell her now. She had said she didn’t want to see him again and the thought of that was overriding anything else. ‘I have been taking photos of you since the very first night I saw you.’
‘No... no you haven’t,’ she stuttered.
‘Yes, Ava, I have.’
‘But... I told you I didn’t want my photo taken.’
‘I know,’ he breathed. ‘But I had to.’
He saw the confusion on her face, her small hands still gripping his camera like she wanted to wrench it from him. How did he begin to explain this?
‘Ava, when we met... just before we met... I had only just picked up this camera again,’ he said. ‘I had not taken a picture since that night... the night we lost Lauren.’ He took a breath. ‘Then, the day we met, I had a reawakening and I went out and I took some pictures, decided I would try and step back into the world again.’ He wet his lips. ‘And then I saw you.’ He bent his head a little, ensuring he had her full attention. ‘You came striding out of your hotel, talking loudly into your phone, so full of life, so full of harsh words and angst and then... Do you remember? You faced the sky and you embraced the night like it was your best friend.’
Julien watched her swallow, her eyes refreshing themselves as she looked back at him.
‘I took your photo then, several shots... good shots... and you caught me and made me promise not to take any more.’
‘And yo
u promised,’ Ava reminded. ‘You knew how I felt about it.’
He nodded. ‘I know... but then we were at the Panthéon and you were holding onto those stone pillars like you were wrestling with the world, the sunlight just breaking through the dawn, one moment so happy, the next moment so sad, and I had to capture it.’
Ava let the camera go and reached for the metal railing again, facing the water.
‘I took more at the Louvre,’ he continued. ‘And the Sacré-Coeur and I cannot imagine my exhibition without you at the centre of it,’ he stated. ‘I do not want to imagine an exhibition without you at the centre of it.’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You think I’m someone who kisses random men.’
‘I do not.’
‘You did!’ Ava exclaimed. ‘Until I told you the crazy person who wrote that wish list was eighteen and desperate for an escape from the life she had. The warring parents and a mother who would probably have fed her laxatives with her breakfast if she could. “You got a tattoo, Ava?! Your life is over!”’
‘I am sorry,’ Julien said, touching her arm. ‘I was stupid. I should have known.’ He paused. ‘I did know.’ He patted his chest. ‘I did know. In here.’
‘Careful there, Monsieur Fitoussi, don’t dislodge the granite.’
‘Look at me, Ava,’ he ordered.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Look at me,’ he said again.
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Please,’ he said softly.
She turned her face a little, refusing to look up. ‘At first I took photographs of you because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,’ he whispered. ‘Then, the more time we spent together, I realised that you were even more beautiful on the inside.’
‘Don’t,’ Ava croaked. ‘I’m not beautiful. I’m average. Not perfect. Never good enough.’
‘No,’ Julien said forcefully. ‘That is not true. None of it.’ He grabbed her hand in his, turning her body and making her look at him. ‘Ava, I made a stupid mistake at the top of the Tour Eiffel,’ he said, moving his fingers to gently brush the blonde spikes on her head. ‘But the mistake was not kissing you.’ He held his breath, taking in her delicate features. ‘The mistake was pretending it did not mean anything and then letting you go.’
* * *
Ava was shaking and it had nothing to do with the snow settling on the deck around them as the boat cruised up to the Institut de France. She looked away from Julien, needing a minute, trying to focus on the building bathed in golden light, its blue-grey dome standing tall above the bridge they were about to go under. Her mind was whirring.
‘Ava,’ he whispered, his mouth close.
‘I can’t... I don’t... this is too much,’ she breathed. ‘We can’t, Julien.’ Her body was telling her the exact opposite. Every sense she possessed was telling her what she craved was standing no more than an inch away from contact.
‘Ava, these past months, my whole life has been on hold,’ Julien said. ‘It has all been such a terrible waste and... I don’t want that one night when we lost Lauren to own my future.’ He took his hand in hers. ‘Even my immediate future. These days. With you.’
He was caressing her fingers with his and his hand was so warm, his skin so soft, it was making gravy out of her.
‘I was scared, Madonna,’ he admitted. ‘I was scared at the top of the tower, I was scared tonight and I am scared now... terrified that all that I have done has hurt you so much that I may not ever be forgiven.’
She needed to say something.
‘Do not say anything yet,’ he begged, as if sensing what she was about to do. ‘Just, let me finish.’ He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. ‘I don’t want to live with regrets any more, Ava,’ he started. ‘I want to... be able to go into a bistro and not sit near the fire exit. I want to go to a rock concert and not scrutinise every other person there. I want to live life, freely, wholly.’ He sighed. ‘But most of all, I want to feel confident enough to tell you that, yes, we have known each other just days, but the thought of not having you in my life is the most terrifying thing of all.’
A sob left her then and she squeezed his hand in hers, nodding her head. ‘It scares me but... I feel that too,’ she admitted.
‘You do?’ he asked.
‘I did.’ She sniffed. ‘Until you decided you were just number seven on my wish list.’
‘Am I too late?’ he asked. ‘Can I make you trust me again?’
She turned her body fully towards him then, relishing what she saw. His angular jaw, that aquiline nose and dark eyes, the black hair a little messy.
‘That depends, Monsieur Fitoussi,’ she replied.
‘On what, Madonna?’ he inquired. ‘Right at this moment I will do almost anything.’
‘An exchange,’ she said, inching herself closer to him.
‘Go on,’ he urged, dark eyelashes blinking.
‘Give me the camera,’ she said, her fingers moving back to the Canon around his neck.
He shook his head. ‘I cannot. That is like asking a Frenchman to give up garlic.’
‘I thought you said you would do literally anything to earn my trust?’ Ava said. ‘Or perhaps I don’t mean anything to you. Maybe I am just a number on your wish list?’
He smiled at her, then very slowly he took the camera from her and lifted it, plus the strap, from around his neck. He held it out to her. ‘But you must promise me something,’ he said. ‘You must not drop it into the river.’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly, Monsieur Fitoussi. I’m not going to drop it into the river,’ she said, putting the viewfinder to her eye. ‘I’m going to take pictures with it.’ She snapped off a shot of him.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘There is one type of person who hates their photograph taken more than someone who used to be a model.’
‘Yes?’ she asked. ‘And just turn a little to the left.’ She took another photo.
‘Photographers,’ he replied. He made a grab for the camera and took it from her hands, hiding it behind his back while she screamed and tried to reach.
‘Stand still, Madonna,’ he ordered.
‘No more photos of me, Monsieur Fitoussi!’
‘I’m not going to take your photo,’ he said. ‘I’m going to kiss you.’
Ava barely had time to still before his lips stole the breath from her and she gasped, a half-step back bringing the railing into her spine. She closed her eyes and let the heat from his mouth overwhelm every other thought and feeling. As his tongue frisked hers with an obvious passion, she let his body mould against hers, the weight pleasurable, desire arriving fast. She brought one hand up to his cheek and smoothed her fingers over the slight roughness.
Then there was a bang, quickly followed by another and her eyes went to the dark sky and she caught hold of his hand, holding him close.
‘It’s fireworks, Julien,’ she said quickly. ‘Fireworks. Look!’ She directed his gaze to the water in front of them where spirals and colorations of fizzing, zipping colour were working their way across the night.
He slipped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her near and kissing the top of her head. ‘I see them, Madonna,’ he whispered.
46
Hotel Agincourt
Holding Ava’s hand in his, Julien stopped outside the Hotel Agincourt and faced her. High on the romance of the night, his stomach full from the delicious food, a little buzzy from the alcohol, he looked at her, wanting to drink in the moment.
‘When I came out tonight I had no idea this was going to happen,’ Ava said with a sigh.
‘No idea?’ Julien asked, smiling a little.
‘Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not the kind of girl to get weak at the knees over Parisian boats.’
‘And Parisian men?’ he inquired, teasing.
‘Monsieur Fitoussi, that is the Stella Artois talking.’
‘I promise you it is not.’
/> He pulled her towards him then, his lips on hers, warm, soft, wet, the snow trickling down around them, the only light from the moon, the hotel sign and a solitary street lamp. Ava’s fingers ran through his hair, then down to his neck. The top button of his shirt under his coat unfastened, he stole a breath as she moved onto the second.
‘Ava,’ he said.
‘I like it when you call me Madonna,’ she whispered.
‘I should go,’ he said, his hand finding hers as she made contact with his chest.
‘I know this is soon and I know, in my heart, that we are not like Debs and Didier but... what if I asked you to come in?’
His heart was already thumping but her suggestion had other parts of him kicking into action. The thought of her, undressing, being bare, looking at him... a mix of longing and fear settled in him.
‘I should go,’ he repeated.
‘It’s too soon, isn’t it? And now you think I’m a slapper.’
‘A what?’
‘Someone who jumps into bed with someone she’s only just met.’ She sighed. ‘I really shouldn’t try and be European now Britain is leaving the EU.’
‘I do not think this,’ he reassured. ‘I think that thinking about this, hearing you say this is making me want to say yes but... I want to do the right thing.’
‘Kiss me again,’ she purred.
‘This I can do,’ he answered, moving his lips to hers again.
He kissed her slowly, his tongue softly swaying with hers until he knew he had to end the moment before his libido started making choices for him. Choices he wasn’t ready for.
‘Goodnight, Madonna,’ he said, dropping a final kiss on the tip of her nose.
‘Goodnight, Monsieur Fitoussi,’ Ava said, holding his hand and squeezing it in hers.
* * *
Ava didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to take him into the hotel, up to her room – perhaps not her room if Didier was still there or Debs was still thundering at her keyboard in a fog of patchouli – to spend the night with him. She held onto his hand, unmoving on the pavement.