I sighed, shades of the Venice trip coming back to me. “Is it even worth it for me to bother arguing?”
“Nope.”
I desperately wanted to go. Paris was on my list of places I wanted to see before I died. And we were only like two hours away by train.
“It sounds amazing,” I admitted.
“We need this trip. Things have been crazy around here. It’s the perfect opportunity to let loose for a little bit.”
I hesitated for a moment. Fleur did have a point. School had been pretty hectic this semester and my classes were even worse than the fall. But…things were good with Hugh. The idea of leaving London for a week, of not seeing him, wasn’t exactly ideal. Neither was the idea of spending a week with Samir.
On the other hand it was Paris. And I’d never been.
How much trouble could I possibly get into?
* * *
We took the Eurostar from London to Paris. Samir went on ahead with Omar. That left me, Mya, Fleur and Michael on the train. The trip was two hours, but thanks to everyone’s insistence that we travel first class, the ride was smooth and way more elegant than I ever expected. Dressed in a trench coat and a scarf Fleur assured me was very Parisian, I felt like a character in one of the Agatha Christie novels my grandmother loved.
We posed in front of the Eurostar while Michael snapped our picture.
“You ready?” Mya called out, waving me over to one of the train doors. “It’s time to board.”
This was a moment I wanted to freeze. So that later on, when I was stuck working my summer job at TJ Maxx, I could remember I had this. That for a moment I went to Paris like something out of an Audrey Hepburn movie.
I just needed the big black glasses.
“I’m ready.”
I followed Mya up the train steps, filing down the narrow aisle, past businessmen reading copies of the FT and elegantly dressed women sipping glasses of champagne. I slid into a seat next to Fleur.
Once the train departed the station, I spent most of the trip with my nose pressed against the glass, watching the scenery pass us by. Mya and Fleur spent most of the time drinking in the bar car. They were both excited to be spending spring break together, but the feeling definitely wasn’t the same for them.
I was the only Paris virgin in the group.
“So how are things with your man?” Michael asked, draping his arm around the back of my headrest. He slid into Fleur’s seat as soon as she left.
“He’s good. We went out to dinner with some of his friends a week ago.”
Michael’s eyebrows rose. “Meeting the friends? That sounds important.”
“I guess. It was pretty low-key. They didn’t grill me or anything. They were really nice.”
“Does that mean he’s a boyfriend yet?”
“We haven’t talked about it. I’m not even sure if we’re exclusive.”
“How is the whole sex thing going?”
“So far it’s not. I mean we make out a lot and that’s great—”
“But you haven’t actually gotten naked in front of him?”
I laughed at Michael’s bluntness. “Basically, no.”
Truthfully, things had gone further with Samir than they had with Hugh.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I want to.” I didn’t add that I’d already gone to the student health center and gotten birth control. That had been an experience.
“Nervous?”
“Ridiculously so.”
“I was nervous before my first time.”
“How old were you?” I couldn’t help but be curious. Both Mya and Fleur seemed pretty used to having sex, so they didn’t really understand my reservations.
“Eighteen. It was last year.”
I hesitated, not sure how much I should pry. Michael was pretty open about being gay, but for as much as we all bitched about our love lives (or lack thereof), he mostly played things close to the vest.
“Did you always know you liked guys?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I mean, I never really had to come out to my parents or anything. I think they always knew. They were really supportive about it.”
“That’s gotta be nice, to be close to your parents.”
“They’re great. Honestly I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t known I could talk to them about it. It made everything so much easier.” Michael hesitated for a moment. “Speaking of parents—I don’t mean to pry or anything, but I heard about your dad getting married. Are you doing okay?”
Surprise crossed my face. “How did you hear about my dad?”
I hadn’t talked to anyone about his remarriage, not even Fleur or Mya. The whole thing still felt too new and raw. A couple days after my conversation with my father, my grandmother called me to talk about it. I had pretty much brushed her off, telling her I was fine with everything. The lie had been so much easier than the truth. My grandmother seemed happy he’d found someone. I didn’t want to bring her down by sharing my feelings.
Michael hesitated. “I was there when Samir told Fleur.”
Of course, Samir.
“He shouldn’t have said anything.”
“He wasn’t talking about you or anything,” Michael interjected. “And he wasn’t trying to be a dick. He just told Fleur that you seemed upset about everything and he was worried about you.”
Surprise filled me. Michael got along okay with Samir, but he wasn’t exactly president of his fan club. I didn’t expect for him to be defending Samir’s actions.
“I’m sorry if you don’t want to talk about it,” Michael added. “I didn’t mean to upset you. We all just wanted you to know we’re here for you if you need it.”
I shook my head, regret filling me. “Thanks. Sorry I jumped down your throat. I didn’t mean to be such a bitch.” I paused, searching for the right words. “I’m doing okay.”
“Have you talked to your dad since he told you he got married?”
“No. He hasn’t called.”
“Seriously?”
“Trust me. That’s just how he is. He doesn’t like dealing with emotions or scenes. He knows I’m upset. He’s just not going to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry, Mags.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
I turned away from Michael, staring out the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. I didn’t ever want to go home.
* * *
My first impression of Paris was Gare du Nord station. We got off the Eurostar, lugging our giant suitcases behind us. Three girls and a gay man could apparently produce a lot of luggage. We stood in the taxi queue, waiting for a van large enough to accommodate us.
Like London, Paris was bustling. Traffic was heavy, the early morning punctuated by the sound of drivers honking at each other. Everyone seemed to be speaking French. Or maybe it just seemed that way since I couldn’t understand anything around me. Luckily, after we’d only been standing in the queue a few minutes, a van appeared. Fleur gave the driver directions to Samir’s apartment in rapid-fire French and we all piled in.
The scenery changed from the slightly seedy-looking neighborhood outside the station to fancy streets with elegant apartments and plenty of trees. Women dressed in gorgeous outfits walked down the sidewalk with fluffy white dogs on leashes. Men dressed in business suits and trench coats carried briefcases. Parisians were every bit as glamorous as I’d imagined.
I smiled at Fleur. “This is incredible.”
She beamed back at me. “It feels good to be home.”
The driver pulled up in front of a gorgeous row of white flats and wrought-iron balconies.
“Nice place, huh?”
I blinked. “It’s amazing.”
“Glad to hear you approve.” Samir opened the car door. “Welcome to Paris.”
I got out of the car, Fleur on my heels. She exchanged air kisses with Samir. I stood there awkwardly, not sure how to greet him. I couldn’t do an air kiss
with the same aplomb as Fleur and a hug felt way too personal. I settled for what I hoped was a friendly smile while he greeted Michael and Mya.
“Did you guys have a good trip?”
I nodded, my nerves too jumbled for a proper response.
“Come on, then. Let’s get you settled in.”
We all followed him through the building’s front door, past the elegantly dressed doorman, who greeted us with a nod. Everywhere I looked antiques and gold surrounded me. We piled into the small elevator, squeezing in to make room. I ended up squished between Samir and Michael.
Samir got out first. He stopped in front of a pair of large black double doors. He pulled out a gold key, opening the door. I stifled a gasp, following him over the threshold. The floors were marble, the walls covered by enormous oil paintings in heavy gold frames. A huge crystal chandelier dominated the entryway. It looked like a small palace.
“There are five bedrooms. Omar’s staying at a friend’s place, so everyone can have their own room. The porter will bring up the bags.”
An older woman with gray hair walked toward us.
Samir grinned. “This is Lenore. She’s our housekeeper.” He put an arm around her. “She’s amazing. If you have any questions or need anything at all, she’s the person you should go to.”
Lenore smiled. “I’m happy to help in any way I can. It’s always nice to meet Samir’s friends.”
Samir and Lenore led us through the apartment—pointing out all of the various rooms.
I followed Lenore into my room.
“Samir thought you would enjoy this room. It has a beautiful view.” She walked over to the window, pulling back the heavy blue drapes. I stared out the window. The Eiffel Tower stared back at me.
It was perfect, absolutely perfect.
It took my breath away.
Chapter 36
It was our first night in Paris. We ate dinner in a little café in the Latin Quarter. The tables were small and round, votive candles covering the surface. With a guy on the street playing the violin, the night was like something out of a movie.
I liked Venice. I loved Paris.
Fleur and Samir ordered for the group, advising us on our choices and translating the menu. Fleur was clearly in her element. I could sense how proud she was to show off her city to all of us. Samir’s reaction was surprising. I never thought of him as being truly French; to me he was so Arab. But here in Paris, listening to him speak French, I saw how much this was a part of who he was. This side of him was more relaxed. Each smile he flashed had my heart tumbling in my chest.
After dinner we went for a walk. Samir and Omar walked ahead of us, laughing and joking around. I walked with Michael, Mya and Fleur trailing behind us. I wrapped my coat around me, the air surprisingly chilly for March. My hair whipped around my face as the wind picked up around us. My gaze shifted and I stopped dead in my tracks.
It rose from the ground, dominating the Paris skyline. Amid all the old buildings, the history of the city, it was this brilliant spot of magic. During the day it was an impressive sight; at night it was nothing short of breathtaking. Twinkling lights lit up the Eiffel Tower like a towering Christmas tree. It sparkled and shone throughout the night sky, each twinkle a spark of magic.
I couldn’t look away.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
My head jerked up in surprise at Samir’s voice. He stood beside me, his head tilted up toward the night sky. Omar walked up ahead, alone. The rest of the group trailed behind him, deep in conversation.
I smiled softly. “Yeah, it is.” I looked ahead, moving to catch up with the group. They were all talking and laughing, no one else staring at that spot in the sky. “You’re probably so used to it.”
Samir shoved his hands in his coat pockets, matching my stride. “Yeah, but I like it. Some people think it’s tacky.” He shrugged. “But there’s something about it. It’s fun.”
I grinned, tossing him a sidelong glance. “Yeah, it is.”
“You seem to like Paris a lot.” He said it like my answer mattered.
“It’s amazing. I love London. But Paris is incredible, too. I don’t know. It feels special here.” I waited for him to say something about how naive I sounded. Instead he remained quiet. We continued walking alongside the Seine, the others ahead of us.
Our shoulders nearly touched. I knew I should move away, put some distance between us. But I stayed there, my shoulder occasionally brushing against Samir’s. With each touch, my nerves ratcheted up a notch.
Samir turned his head, tossing me a small, sidelong smile.
I couldn’t help myself—I grinned back.
* * *
We ended up at a club off the Champs-Élysées. Just like in London, Samir whisked us through the door, bypassing an enormous line. The club was a lot bigger than most of the London clubs—two floors, with a large balcony surrounding the lower level dance floor, the decor modeled after an old theater. Foam fell from the ceiling onto the dance floor and techno music blared out of the club speakers.
Fleur’s eyes narrowed, linking her arm with mine. “None of that foam better get in my hair. I can’t deal with frizz.”
“This is definitely a new experience. Do they always do foam parties here?”
“One night a week.” Fleur’s eyes scanned the room. “It’s packed tonight.”
Mya joined us. “Well, we lost Michael. He met some guy and took off.”
“Where are Omar and Samir?” Fleur asked.
Mya shrugged. “No idea. Samir showed me where the table is and then he and Omar headed downstairs.”
“I guess it’s just us girls, then.” I hated the disappointment that coursed through me.
Despite losing our guys, though, the night turned out to be a blast. We spent the night dancing. We met some nice French guys—well, Fleur said they were nice; they didn’t speak English and I had no clue what they were saying. We danced with them, each of us pairing off, until Fleur and I were too tired and sat down.
“I think Mya’s going to get some action,” Fleur joked.
We both sat at the table, watching as Mya made out with her French guy. His name was Pierre or something. He was cute in a scruffy-looking way. French guys were definitely hot, but scruffy wasn’t my thing.
“Where do you think our guys are?” I asked, scanning the club. My heart clenched a bit at the words our guys. I hadn’t seen Omar or Samir since we got here. Michael hadn’t come back yet, either.
Fleur shrugged. “No idea.”
Was he making out with some French girl as we spoke?
I jerked my head toward the two guys at the bar, struggling to push Samir out of my mind. “What do you think of them?” I had high hopes for Fleur meeting a guy on this Paris trip. She hadn’t talked about Costa lately, but she still seemed upset by the whole thing.
“Mine’s not that great of a kisser. Yours?”
I laughed. “I haven’t kissed him. I’m dating Hugh, remember? I’m not interested in kissing other guys.”
I tried to tell myself Samir didn’t count.
“Have you talked to him since you’ve been here?”
“No.”
Fleur pulled a face. “I want you to be happy, Mags. You deserve a good guy. Someone who will treat you right. Trust me—you don’t want to be with a guy who isn’t that into you.”
“I know.”
“Have you guys had the talk yet? The exclusivity talk?”
“No.”
“You should.”
I sighed. “I know.”
I couldn’t see myself relaxing enough to take our relationship to the next level if we didn’t have an understanding between us. I couldn’t lose my virginity to a guy who was going to hook up with another girl the next day. I needed to know he wouldn’t leave—I needed some sort of a commitment from him. And deep down I knew that if Hugh and I became exclusive, everything would change. Whatever thing existed between me and Samir would have to be killed off.
&nb
sp; I just wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
* * *
I couldn’t sleep.
I tried to tell myself it was just being in a strange country, sleeping in a strange bed.
It wasn’t the boy who should have been asleep a few doors down.
After we left the club, Fleur texted Samir to see where they were, only for him to tell her he’d met up with some of his French friends and not to wait up.
That was three hours ago. Not that I was keeping track.
I stared at the clock next to my bed. Four a.m.
I turned over in my bed, punching the pillow with my fist. It was no use; I wasn’t even a little bit tired. I sat up, running a hand through my hair. Maybe a glass of water would help. I grabbed my robe from the foot of the bed, wrapping it around me. I padded down the hall, struggling to find the door Lenore had pointed out as the kitchen.
My body connected with an object.
“Ouch.” I struggled to catch my balance.
Two arms wrapped around me, steadying me. I stilled, a sense of awareness running through me. I knew the body pressed against mine…intimately. My head jerked up.
Samir stared down at me.
Chapter 37
“Waiting up for me?”
Samir’s husky tone sent a shiver down my spine.
“No.” Maybe. I backed out of his grasp.
There was enough moonlight shining through one of the apartment windows to just make out Samir’s body. He was still dressed in the same outfit he’d been wearing earlier. I scanned his appearance, looking for an untucked shirt, mussed hair, the smell of perfume.
But there were no signs that screamed he’d been hooking up with a French girl. Or anyone else for that matter. His gaze was just as searching as mine.
We both seemed to realize I was wearing little more than a robe at the same time. I grabbed the edges, pulling the robe tighter around my chest, covering myself. Samir’s gaze trailed down my body, openly admiring and probing. I pulled the fabric even tighter.
“I’m wearing clothes underneath,” I snapped reflexively.
Samir laughed, the sound low. “Now you’ve got me thinking about peeling those clothes off of you. You’re only tempting me more.”
I See London Page 20