French Kiss

by Aimee Friedman

  “You do?” Holly whispered back, her eyes widening. “I mean, I am?” Merveilleuse. If some guy had called Holly “marvelous” in English, she’d want to giggle. But, in French, and in Pierre’s low, passionate voice, the word sent the blood straight to Holly’s face. “Um, you’re not so bad yourself,” she began haltingly, already mortified, but then was cut off by a faint ringing sound.

  At first, Holly assumed the noise was only in her spinning head. In the next second, she realized that it was coming from her Vans tote under the table. It was her cell phone.

  “Pierre—sorry,” she stammered, reluctantly pulling her hand out from under his and reaching down for her bag. “Give me one second?”

  Every other time Holly’s phone had rung on this trip, she’d immediately thought it was Tyler. But now, Holly was so overcome by the scents of foreign spices and so absorbed in her exchange with Pierre that she didn’t even stop to wonder who might be calling—she just wanted the person on the other end to go away.

  I’ll check who it is, and then turn off the phone, she decided.

  Holly lifted her T-Mobile out of her bag and glanced down at the caller ID.

  As her heart froze, she wondered if, in some crazy way, speaking his name out loud had summoned him from across the ocean.

  Because this time, it was Tyler.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Truth and Consequences

  “And then what happened?” Alexa asked Holly eagerly. examining an orange corduroy handbag before placing it back on the shelf. “He leaned over the couscous and…what?”

  “You know,” Holly stalled, fiddling with an actually-pretty-cute mint-green clutch. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said no more.

  It was Thursday afternoon; after sleeping in and eating a leisurely lunch at their favorite corner café on the place des Vosges, Alexa and Holly were browsing in Raphi’s tiny-but-trendy boutique, Frou-Frou. Because Alexa had been rambling on nonstop about her dreamy day with the painter, Holly had only just described her day with Pierre—except she was trying to downplay the dreaminess. Plus, Holly had now arrived at Tyler’s phone call, and she really didn’t want to get into that. In part because Holly still hadn’t fessed up to Alexa about Tyler.

  But mostly because she didn’t want to start crying in the middle of Frou-Frou.

  Last night, in Ali Baba, Holly had stared in horror at Tyler’s name as it flashed on her cell screen until, panicked and conflicted, she’d switched the phone off without answering—as she’d planned to do, anyway. But by then, the charged moment between her and Pierre had passed, and though Pierre tried to engage her in conversation, Holly had been distracted and jittery, obsessively wondering if Tyler had left a voice mail. Soon, Pierre gave up on his attempts, so they finished the meal and walked back to the apartment in awkward silence. After they’d bid each other a terse good night outside the guest room, Holly turned her cell phone back on—only to see that there were no new messages.

  Which meant that she’d passed up her big chance to finally talk to Tyler—and maybe salvage what was left of their relationship.

  But do I even want to? Holly agonized, clutching the purse and avoiding Alexa’s gaze. Even though Tyler’s missed call nagged at her like crazy, the thought of Pierre still made Holly jelly-kneed. By the time she’d gotten up that morning, he had already left for his classes at the Sorbonne, so there hadn’t been a chance to resolve their awkwardness from the night before. And since Holly had to catch an eight o’clock train out of Gare du Nord that very night, she wondered if she might have to leave Paris without ever saying good-bye to Pierre at all. At this thought, Holly let out a long, sorrowful sigh.

  “No, I don’t know, but let me guess,” Alexa spoke up, bringing Holly back to the present and the bright, pink-and-black boutique. “Pierre kissed you, and you liked it, and now you’re all freaked because of Tyler and—”

  “He didn’t kiss me,” Holly hissed, warmth flooding her cheeks. She glanced around the crowded store to see if anyone had overheard. She wanted to kill Alexa—first for hitting so close to the mark, and second for filling Holly’s head with vivid images of actually kissing Pierre: his full lips against hers, her hands buried in his thick curls—so different from Tyler’s silken waves—their breaths meeting…What would it be like to French-kiss a French boy? Holly wondered, unable to suppress the naughty thought. She was sure her face was even darker than the slouchy burgundy tote Alexa was now turning in her hands.

  Alexa shot Holly a knowing look and opened her mouth—to say something about Tyler, Holly guessed—but then, to Holly’s great relief, Raphaëlle came hurrying over from the back of the store, curls flying and dark eyes shining. Raphi had greeted Alexa and Holly briefly when they’d first come into the shop, but then she’d had to tend to some customers.

  “My girls!” Raphi exclaimed in English, looping one arm around Alexa’s waist and the other around Holly’s. “A million apologies for abandoning you. Did you find anything you like?”

  “Okay, fabulous much?” Alexa cooed, fingering the fabric of Raphi’s empire-waist blue dress, which her cousin wore over a long-sleeved black shirt, striped tights, and combat boots. Alexa felt plain by comparison in her white wrap top and red peasant skirt (yes, the unthinkable had occurred—Alexa St. Laurent was repeating outfits).

  “Raphi, I need you,” Alexa added, suddenly remembering what she’d wanted to ask her cousin ever since yesterday’s not-so-successful shopping venture. “S’il te plaît, find me a purse I can take on my date with Xavier Pascal—and tell me where I can get some fun vintage-y stuff?” She widened her blue eyes at her cousin, whose own eyes had grown enormous.

  “So you’re definitely seeing him tonight?” Raphi asked in a stage whisper, giving Alexa’s waist a fast squeeze and releasing Holly—who, Alexa noticed, was now totally spacing out. “Oh, c’est cool, Alexa!”

  “C’est very cool,” Alexa affirmed breathlessly, brimming with excitement—and nerves. Every time Alexa thought about her impending night with Xavier, her belly performed a series of backflips. No wonder she’d only been able to take two bites of her salade niçoise at lunch. Alexa had never been so anxious about seeing a guy before—though, to give herself some credit, she wasn’t exactly used to dating a bona fide celebrity.

  Over lunch with Holly, Alexa had also been unchar-acteristically nervous about calling Xavier. Whenever she’d been single back in Oakridge, Alexa had phoned, IM’ed, and e-mailed boys she was interested in without hesitation. But this time, sitting at the outdoor café, she’d had to embarrassingly hold Holly’s hand while punching the numbers into her friend’s cell (in the past, Alexa had always done the hand-holding for Holly) and had lost all powers of speech as soon as she heard Xavier’s low, throaty voice in her ear. Thankfully, she hadn’t had to say much; Xavier took charge right away.

  “French-American girl,” he’d murmured teasingly in French. “I knew I’d hear from you. I’ll pick you up with my Vespa around seven tonight, and we’ll see where the evening takes us, non?”

  Oui, oui.

  “Let me see what I have for you in my storeroom downstairs,” Raphi was saying. She winked at Alexa and headed off again. “And for you, too, Holly,” she added over her shoulder, smiling mischievously. “In case you also have a date tonight.”

  Holly gulped, wondering if Raphi might be hinting at something with Pierre. Could it be? Holly brushed the idea—and her wild surge of hope—aside, and shot Raphi a weak smile. “No date for me,” she replied. “Not unless it’s with the conductor of the Eurostar train.”

  Chuckling, Raphi hurried away, and then Holly felt herself attacked from the side by Alexa, who flung her arms around Holly and practically knocked her over into a display of fringed leather satchels. Alexa may have looked delicate, but her hugs often had the force of gale winds.

  “I keep blocking out the fact that you’re leaving tonight!” Alexa cried, clinging to her friend. “What am I going to do without you?” She was missi
ng Holly already.

  “Uh, I think you’ll have enough to keep you busy, Vespa Girl.” Holly giggled while a woman in an expensive-looking houndstooth trench coat frowned at their loudness from across the store. “You so don’t need me,” Holly added, returning Alexa’s hug. Actually, Holly wasn’t sure resilient Alexa had really needed her in the first place, but Holly had had too much fun in Paris to really mind.

  “Don’t go yet, Hol,” Alexa declared, pulling back and regarding Holly seriously. “My flight back isn’t until Sunday, and we haven’t even gone out dancing at Les Bains or Favela Chic, and—oh, my God—don’t you want to see Versailles?” Needless to say, Alexa didn’t want to see Versailles for the umpteenth time, but she figured that classic tourist option might pique Holly’s interest.

  Holly felt a pang of sadness, wishing there was some way she could prolong her stay. “Alexa, you know I have to be at that meet tomorrow,” she explained, setting down the green clutch on the shelf. “But,” she added, nudging Alexa in the side. “Promise to call me first thing in the morning to fill me in on your scandalous date?”

  Holly had to admit that the Xavier situation intrigued her—and not only because it gave her a mental break from her own boy dilemmas. She’d been curious ever since last night, when she’d come into the guest room, cell phone in shaky hand, only to have Alexa jump on her, squealing incoherently about a camera, a kiss, and a phone number. Holly had realized, as Alexa finally sat down and spilled the yummy details, that her friend hadn’t spent her afternoon brooding after all. And when Alexa showed Holly the photos of Xavier in the stack of magazines she was keeping next to her bed (but probably would have preferred to put under her pillow), Holly hoped she’d get to meet the famous artist.

  Standing in Frou-Frou and studying Alexa’s radiant face, Holly felt a tickle of concern over how quickly and recklessly Alexa was falling for this new guy. Though the passionate painter did sound just right for Alexa, Holly wondered, as she had before, if her friend wasn’t plunging into something too soon post-Diego. But Holly, not wanting to puncture her friend’s euphoria, decided against mentioning that issue.

  “I only wish I knew what we were doing,” Alexa sighed, sinking down onto one of the many pink beanbag chairs scattered throughout the store. The whole surprise element of their date was sexy, but the constant guesswork was stressing Alexa out much more than she was accustomed to. “Hol, why can’t you be psychic and tell me what’s going to happen?” she pleaded, smiling up hopefully at her friend.

  “Hmm,” Holly said, feeling playful now that she wasn’t dwelling on the Pierre-Tyler conundrum. “I predict…that by the end of the night Xavier will be asking you something.” Holly grinned and, despite the fact that she was in the middle of a chic boutique, wiggled her hips and softly sang, “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” in an uncannily good imitation of that cheesy “Lady Marmalade” song—which had, incidentally, taught Holly her only complete French phrase. Then she blushed and ducked her head, hoping none of the chichi customers had witnessed her impromptu performance.

  From her perch on the beanbag chair, Alexa burst out laughing. She loved it whenever her normally buttoned-up friend got her silliness on, which seemed to be happening more often lately. If only Holly, the poster girl for self-consciousness, knew how charming and funny she could be when she loosened up a little. Then, as the words to the song sank in, Alexa felt her cheeks color. She imagined Xavier actually asking her to sleep over that night, and a bolt of anticipation shot through her.

  Before Alexa could swoon, however, Raphi returned bearing a purple satin clutch with a shimmery silver clasp, and a paisley bag that were both clearly meant for Alexa. She also held the mint-green bag Holly had been admiring earlier. Urging the girls to put their euros away, Raphi sent them off, along with instructions on where to find the best vintage shopping spots.

  By the time a happily exhausted Alexa and Holly made it back to the apartment around six, they were laden with bursting shopping bags and had to scramble to take care of their respective duties—showering for Alexa and packing for Holly.

  An hour later, a towel-clad Alexa was blow-drying her golden hair in front of the guest-room mirror, trying not to feel too antsy, while Holly was stuffing two new purchases—a green safari-print wrap dress and flat-heeled suede beige boots—into her bulging duffel. Holly had just succeeded in zippering the duffel shut when the doorbell buzzed.

  “Shit, that’s him!” Alexa gasped, her stomach jumping as the blow-dryer slipped out of her grasp. “I’m not even close to ready! Hol, can you—”

  “No problem,” Holly said, getting to her feet and hurrying out of the room, her own excitement mounting. She ran through the empty apartment—neither Raphi nor Pierre was home yet—and unbolted the door.

  “Bon soir,” the extremely attractive guy leaning in the doorjamb murmured. He was wearing a battered leather jacket over a tight black T-shirt and shredded jeans. He removed his wraparound sunglasses and then slowly ran his gray eyes up and down Holly’s body. “You are not Alexa,” he pronounced in English, his stubble-darkened face breaking into a grin.

  “Um, yeah, I’m not,” Holly replied, instinctively crossing her arms over her chest as her cheeks reddened. She hated how she always shrank into herself whenever guys sized her up—though, considering Xavier’s what-do-you-look-like-naked? stare, her shyness felt almost justified. Holly couldn’t believe that this was the same Xavier that Alexa had raved about. And though the artist resembled his photographs in the magazine, Holly noticed that in real life, he gave off a vibe that was less celeb and more, well, sketch.

  “You are lovely in a different way,” Xavier said, his eyes finally moving up from Holly’s chest to her face. Running a paint-stained hand through his unkempt auburn hair, he stepped into the apartment, even though Holly had made no move to invite him in.

  “Thanks,” Holly muttered, taking a big step back. Normally, a hot guy like Xavier calling her lovely would have given Holly a minor coronary attack, but now she felt kind of…annoyed. Wasn’t he supposed to be all smitten with Alexa?

  Xavier gave a small laugh, reaching into the front pocket of his jeans and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “And you are more innocent,” he observed accurately, placing a cigarette between his lips. “So perhaps it isn’t true, then, what they say about American girls?” He grinned at Holly again.

  “What do they say about American girls?” Holly asked defensively, now putting her hands on her hips. Her timidity was starting to give way to full-on pissiness.

  Xavier struck a match against the side of his ratty matchbook, raising one eyebrow. “You know. That you are all willing to…”

  “Xavier.”

  Holly turned at the sound of Alexa’s voice to see her friend was strutting down the hall as if it were her personal runway. In a matter of minutes, Alexa had managed to change into an off-the-shoulder, plum-colored top with long bell sleeves, a tiny white skirt with a jagged hem, and lace-up, knee-high brown boots. She’d even piled her hair on top of her head in the faux-messy style worn by many chic French girls. Had Holly not been so thrown off-kilter by Xavier, she would have complimented her friend on successfully pulling off the boho-chic look she’d been coveting as of late.

  Alexa’s heart fluttered as she saw Xavier see her. He removed the lit cigarette from his mouth, his lips curving up in that familiar half-smile she was already half in love with. Then he gave her a slow, appreciative nod. Abandoning her cool, Alexa rushed over to him and draped her arms around his neck; since her boots had sky-high heels, she and Xavier were now almost the same height. Xavier slid his hands down her back and then leaned in close, kissing the soft skin right below her earlobe, which made Alexa’s head swim.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered in French, her lips tickling his. Alexa was in such a fog that, as Xavier took her hand to lead her out the open door, she barely heard Holly speak her name.

  “Hol, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, whirl
ing around to see her friend behind her, hands on hips and mouth set in a firm line. Letting go of Xavier’s hand, Alexa asked if he wouldn’t mind waiting while she and Holly had their good-bye moment. Xavier agreed to hang out downstairs, and, shooting Holly a fast wink, turned and left.

  “So I guess I couldn’t convince you to stay,” Alexa sighed, wrapping Holly in a bear hug. Though she was bummed about Holly’s departure, a tiny part of Alexa was also eager to hurry up this fond farewell so she could join Xavier outside.

  “Alexa—listen,” Holly said, extracting herself from Alexa’s embrace. “I need to tell you something.” She took a deep breath, feeling the butterflies start in her stomach; Alexa was not going to react well to this one. But Holly knew that she had to speak up that instant, before she left Paris. “About Xavier.”

  “Isn’t he amazing?” Alexa exclaimed, her face lighting up. She glanced longingly over her shoulder. “I should really get downstairs—”

  “I don’t like him,” Holly cut in.

  Alexa turned back to her friend, shocked. Holly rarely made such firm declarative statements—and, like the Pollyanna she was, always gave people the benefit of the doubt. Alexa knew, for example, that Holly wasn’t wild about Portia and Maeve, but Holly had never said anything blatantly negative about them. Why would she randomly take issue with Xavier?

  “What are you talking about?” Alexa demanded, putting her hands on her hips in an unintentional imitation of Holly’s pose. Facing each other, the girls squared off, the tension already building between them.

  “I don’t like him,” Holly repeated firmly, trying not to crack under Alexa’s hard gaze. “I felt like he was being—um—really forward with me, and he seemed, I don’t know, almost sleazy…” Holly bit her lip, not sure if she should continue. She felt terrible telling Alexa that Xavier had been semi-hitting on her, but Holly didn’t want Alexa to walk out that door without knowing the whole truth. But to her surprise, Alexa looked not upset, but amused.