Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty)

by Lakes, Krista

  I instantly went out into the living room and found Carla and told her the good news.

  “Oh my God, I didn’t even know you applied for the program!”

  “I know! I didn’t want to tell you because a part of me thought that I’d get denied, so I wanted to make sure that I was going to get in before I let you know.”

  “I should be mad at you for not telling me right away but I’m just way too excited. We totally need to go out to celebrate,” Carla continued, grabbing her purse. I laughed as I joined her, thrilled to have such a good friend.

  “I’m going to miss you,” I told Carla as we shared a plate of fries from the local diner. Carla knew about my life growing up, and as a result, our celebratory nights out never involved bars.

  “I know, I’m going to miss you too,” Carla replied, “but it shouldn’t be too bad. It’s only for six months after all, and then you’ll be back here. I think it’ll be good for you, plus you’ve never even left the country. Are you nervous?”

  “You know, I wasn’t before, but I’m starting to feel it now that I know that I’ve been accepted. I mean, I barely speak any French, I can say ‘bonjour’ but that’s about it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If you had to speak French, then they wouldn’t have sent you to France. Besides, you’ll be like a two-hour train trip from England, if you’ve really miss English that much you can just go visit London for a day.”

  “Sure, but that’s not going to help me order food in a restaurant.”

  “Just stay away from the escargots and you’ll be fine. You’re such a worrier Sophie, this is your opportunity to live, this is your chance to do something spontaneous and to have some fun.”

  “I know, that’s kind of why I did it originally. I wanted to get away from here, hopefully spending six months on the other side of the world will make me forget about Mike.”

  “Exactly! You can totally hook up with sexy French guys instead. They’ll absolutely love you.”

  I laughed. “I’m absolutely not doing that. That’s way more of a Clara thing to do. In fact, I’m not going to go looking for men at all while I’m in France. I’ve sworn off love for good, I’m going over there to forget about Mike, not to find someone new.”

  “Oh Sophie, you’re so naïve. This is absolutely why you should go to France and just have some fun with random guys. Try being a slut like me for a change, you might find that you actually like it,” Clara added with a grin. I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm for me.

  “Well, maybe I’ll think about it,” I replied to appease her, but I’d already decided that France was not about men. France was about me, and about getting myself back to the place I wanted to be. And I’d already decided that meant no romantic relationships for me while I was there. Or even one night stands. That was final.

  Chapter Three

  My flight to France was scheduled to leave on December 14th, the day after my last exam. I was more excited about that flight than I’d been about anything in months. I found it incredibly difficult to focus on my work, but I still managed to keep my grades up and then spend every other waking moment focusing on my upcoming trip. I ordered a passport, I worked with the University to get my student visa for France organized, I packed up all of my things into one suitcase and I got ready for what was described and I really hoped would eventually be an adventure of a lifetime.

  One of the local community colleges had a basic French class that they offered on evenings, which lasted for three weeks, which I promptly signed up for.

  “Why on earth are you taking a class like that?” Clara asked when I told her about it.

  “Well, I’m going to France, at the very least I’d better be able to speak a few words of French.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure Sophie? Go to France about speaking a word of French, I’m sure you’ll find sexy men will help you get around and teach you everything you need to know.”

  “Just the fact that I’m going to France is enough of an adventure for me Clara. You know how I am, I’m the goody two shoes. I’d feel so out of place and rude if I got there and I couldn’t speak even three words of their language.”

  “Fine, fine. But my way of doing things is way sexier.”

  I had to admit, Clara was right. But still, I refused to believe that was actually how the world worked. Surely if I got to France and I couldn’t speak a word of French I would just either have to wait until I found somebody who spoke English, or I’d get ignored and considered rude for not speaking their language. I mean, I was only assuming, since I had never been anywhere where English wasn’t the main language, but Clara’s ideas always seem to be based off what happened in romantic movies and novels. I was sure they had absolutely no basis in real life.

  Besides, I quickly found that I was enjoying my class. I learned how to say a few basic phrases in French, and by the time the class had ended I could string together some basic sentences. France was going to be fine.

  The university also organized for me an apartment in a building near the University. They didn’t have any dorms specifically, but these apartments were about as good as it got. They were filled with students, and I was going to get my own studio, a small place of 39 m². I had no idea how much that was, but the Internet told me it was about 120 square feet, which was pretty small, but I had also heard that all apartments in Europe were a lot smaller than their equivalents over here in America. Besides, it wasn’t like I was going to bring a million things, I was sure the apartment was going to be fine. I planned on spending most of my days discovering Paris, having picnics in the garden, visiting the Louvre and just generally enjoying my time overseas. I had always loved art, especially Greek statues, and knowing how famous France was for its museums, I was really looking forward to it.

  The night before I left Clara, Annie, Pete and a couple other friends and I all went out for dinner to celebrate the fact that I was leaving the next day. We got a big table at a local restaurant all to ourselves, and all through the night I was teased about sexy French men, about whether I was ever going come back, and then generally given good wishes all around. We partied late into the night, and I didn’t care. After all, I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to be able to sleep that night. Besides, the next day I was going to be on an eight hour flight to Amsterdam, then I was going to have to change planes and get on another one hour flight to Paris. I was arriving at noon, and figured that if I didn’t sleep on the plane I would be exhausted. I’d never been on a plane before, but everyone that I knew who had told me that it was incredibly difficult to sleep on them, so I figured the less I slept tonight, the better I’d sleep on the plane tomorrow.

  Early the next morning I had to get up. Clara, Annie and Pete all sent me off, hugging me and giving me final good wishes as I stepped into the cab which would take me to the airport. When we were finally speeding off, I could feel myself getting even more nervous. What was this trip going to be like? I had never been to the airport before, I had never been on a plane before, and I’d never been outside of the country before. What if I hated France? What if everyone hated me? Could I just come home any time? All these thoughts ran through my head as the signs indicating the airport became more and more frequent and I started to panic. What if they didn’t have my ticket on record? What about security? Would I look like an idiot? Would I be the only one there who had never been on a plane? I mean, probably. Most people I knew, even if they hadn’t left the country, had at least flown out of state to visit relatives elsewhere. I don’t think I knew anybody like me, just having turned twenty years old and never having been on a plane before.

  When we arrived at the airport the taxi driver dropped my bag off on the sidewalk next to me, I looked up at the big glass doors, took a deep breath and went in. The airport was a gigantic bustle of people. I didn’t think there’d be that many people around this early in the morning. Giant screens indicated all of the flights, and I saw mine, the flight to Amsterdam
leaving at 8:50am. I looked around and found the counter for my airline. I stood in line, then was finally called, and as the lady took my passport for a minute then weighed my bag and gave me my ticket, I actually started to wonder why I had panicked so much. Everything so far was going pretty smoothly.

  I went through security and found a seat near my gate, waiting at my gate for my flight to be called. With every passing second I began to feel more and more excited. I was alone in the world now. Carla, Annie, all of my friends and everyone that I knew were back in the city, whereas I was about to get into a giant metal box that would take me to the other side of the world. I didn’t know anybody in the airport, and for the next six months everyone that I met was going to be new to me. There was something exhilarating about that, it made me feel like I was starting my life again, completely from scratch.

  An hour later I was on the plane, settled into a seat that was surprisingly comfortable after all of the horror stories I had heard about economy flights on TV and in movies. When the plane began to move, it was absolutely exhilarating. First it was slow, and I knew we were being tugged away from the gate by a big truck, then the plane just kind of gently drove over to the runway. When the pilot finally turned on the engines, I grabbed my seat in surprise. It was like a huge roar, overtaking any other sound that I might’ve heard. I thought something was wrong, but no one else seemed to be worried. I looked out the window with excitement as the world sped by faster and faster. Suddenly, it was like I became weightless. For a split second I felt like I was in space as the plane took off and the world became smaller and smaller as I looked through the small window. We were climbing, we were in the air. I was in the air! I couldn’t believe it. As we climbed higher and higher, I eventually began to feel sick looking at how far below us the earth was. I couldn’t make out individual cars anymore, and the houses were like specs in the distance. I looked away, not wanting to scare myself too much.

  I had brought a book to read during the flight, but to my surprise there was a small TV screen in the seat in front of me, controlled by remote control in my seat which offered a wide variety of TV show episodes, movies, games and music.

  “This isn’t nearly as bad as all those movies and TV shows make out,” I thought to myself.

  I spent the first four hours of the flight catching up and watching a couple of movies that I had been meaning to see but had never had the time to. Then, I settled into my seat, trying to fall asleep before we landed. Sure enough, I found it pretty tough, but I did get a nice nap in before the stewardess came over the PA system to announce that we were landing in Amsterdam shortly.

  When we finally landed at Schiphol, I hurried to transfer to my new flight, but arrived in plenty of time. Two hours later I was landing in Paris, my new city. As our plane flew over the city, I got my first glimpse of the Eiffel tower, the icon of Paris. I knew as I looked over that I was going to love this place.

  The plane landed and I followed the signs to get to the subway system, called the RER in Paris. I had looked up before I left exactly which train I had to take to get to my new apartment, and with ticket machines that had an English option, it wasn’t very difficult to buy my ticket either. The machine wouldn’t take my credit card, so I was glad that I had stopped at the bank a week earlier and ordered a few hundred Euros just to be safe. Carla had made fun of me for planning so deliberately, and I was tempted to text her and tell her just how useful that cash had been.

  I arrived at my apartment forty-five minutes later. I already had the key, and when I entered I had to admit it was even smaller than I had expected. My little kitchen was to the right, with two stove tops, a microwave, a bar fridge, a sink and a bit of counter top. The counter overlooked the living room and bedroom combo, which had a pullout couch and a small TV on a table. To the left was a door leading into the bathroom, which consisted of a shower and a sink, with the actual toilet being in its own separate small room right next door. It was small, but it was cozy, clean and furnished and really that was all I wanted.

  Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, I was completely exhausted. I knew this was jet lag, and even though everybody had told me that to avoid jet leg I had to stay awake, that I had to do my best to stay on a normal sleep schedule, I decided I was going to test out my new foldout bed, and maybe just have a little nap for a few minutes. Of course, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, dreaming of the new adventures I was going to have here in my new home in the city of Paris.

  Chapter Four

  The next day I woke up ridiculously early. The sun wasn’t even close to up yet, and I knew thanks to the jet lag I knew it was going to take days before I was finally on a normal schedule again. Way to go, everyone told you not to fall asleep so early and that was the first thing you did, of course. As I scolded myself I also realized I had literally no food, and I was ravenous. I hadn’t eaten since the day before on the plane.

  Looking at my phone, I saw it was just after five in the morning. I doubted whether anything would be open this early in Paris. Besides, I didn’t want to go out into this strange city, in a country where I didn’t speak the language by myself at night. I was just going to have to wait until the sun came up.

  A few hours later I was showered, dressed, and had watched the news on the little TV on the table, although I understood absolutely nothing of what was said. The sun had come up, and I grabbed my purse and put on my coat and headed out.

  My first day in Paris was absolutely nothing like I had imagined. I left my apartment and went down to the local bakery, or boulangerie as they’re called in French. I ordered “un croissant s’il vous plait” and although it took the bakery owner a second, he finally understood what I meant. The croissant was literally the best thing I had ever tasted in my life. I know everyone always says French food is better than everywhere else, and going from my first experience with it, I knew they were right. It practically melted in my mouth! I was halfway down the street when I finished it, and actually turned back and went to buy another one, it was that good. I’m going to have to be careful when I’m here, or I’m going to lose my figure completely I warned myself as I devoured my second croissant of the day.

  Next I went to the grocery store and bought some food to take back to my apartment. Much to my chagrin, I found that with my basic French lessons and a dictionary on my phone I was able to figure out what all the food was, but the people of France definitely didn’t understand my French. As soon as I said two words to anyone they would try to speak with me in English. Was it really that obvious that my French was so bad? I realized that I was going to have to do a lot more work with the language than I originally thought.

  Even though I still had about two weeks before the next semester started, I almost immediately set about doing all the touristy things. I visited the Eiffel Tower, getting an amazing view over Paris, and the Louvre, which housed collections of things I couldn’t even fathom existing. Even though I was a marketing major, I always had a love for the arts in my heart. I took an art history class in high school, and found I had an absolute passion for it. Seeing all of these paintings in person that I’d seen so often in books, analyzed in print many a time, it was unbelievable for me. Art was an escape from my life, analyzing it was like analyzing the past and seeing that people then weren’t that different from us now. I wished I could have majored in Art History, but I knew the job prospects were slim, so instead it remained a hobby. For the first time in months I actually went entire days without thinking about Mike once. Being here in Paris, being in this city, made me feel that all my other problems back home weren’t really problems at all. The city felt so liberating, so free, and even though I couldn’t speak with anyone (although I did try) I actually felt extremely close to the French people.

  The first week of January my new classes started. They were in English, mainly comprised of international students like myself and of French students who had been taking English immersion classes since kindergarten.
I almost instantly became friends with Claire and Noelle, two girls who were assigned to my group assignment in a marketing course. They wanted to know all about America, and in exchange they helped me with my pronunciation of French words.

  “You have to just be a bit assertive with the French people,” Claire told me one day. “A lot of them, when they hear you speak, they want to practice their English, without realizing that you would like to practice your French, so you just have to keep trying and they will understand.”

  I thanked them both for the help. I found that despite the stereotype, some of the French people I met were extremely helpful in allowing me to practice the language. The owner of the boulangerie where I bought my bread and pastries always helped me to pronounce the names of new breads I tried to order, or told me the total of my order slowly and then had me repeat it. Numbers were actually getting to be my strong suit. I really liked the city, and so far, despite a few hiccups, nothing bad had happened.

  It’s not like I’d expected to be kidnapped in the street or anything like that, it was just that I had imagined something bad would happen to me eventually. I’d never left the country before, and I didn’t expect to be a part of some international horror story or anything, but I thought I’d screw something up at some point.

  It finally happened when Noelle and I were visiting Notre Dame. It was snowing, and Noelle wanted a photo of her in the snow in front of the church, her arms held out. I took her phone and stepped backwards to take the photo. The church was so huge though that I had to keep stepping back, until I felt my leg hitting something. I turned around to see what I’d hit and lost my balance, landing right in the middle of the display of one of those street vendors selling little souvenirs of Paris... Eiffel Tower key chains, snow globes, that sort of thing.

  There was a crash and a boom and I found myself on the ground, pain coursing through my leg. I must have twisted my ankle on the way down, because all I could feel was fire running through my foot, like it was on fire. Noelle came rushing over to help me up as people crowded around. All of a sudden, I heard a gush of yelling, and a second later realized it was directed at me.