No Trespassing

by KD Robichaux

  Two months later

  WHEN WE ARRIVE at Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris, Erin and I are greeted at baggage claim by a handsome, muscular man in a nice gray suit and dark shades, holding a sign with my last name on it. He offers us paperwork showing he’s with the Louvre security, so we know he’s not some stranger there to kidnap us. He helps us with our luggage and escorts us out to a huge, black Mercedes SUV, lifting our bags into the back without breaking a sweat.

  About forty-five minutes later, Erin and I both staring out our windows with our mouths hanging open at the breathtaking buildings and monuments we pass by, we pull up to a door situated in a large building with multiple storefronts. Looking at it from the outside, I would have never guessed it was a hotel. But sure enough, as the security guy tells us in his delightful French accent to go ahead to check in, when we walk in through the narrow doorway, it opens up into a small but super fancy hotel lobby. The reception desk is directly to our left, and straight ahead are small bistro tables and chairs, and a buffet to the area’s right, where it looks like a continental breakfast is offered. It’s empty now, seeing as it’s nearly two in the afternoon.

  The floor is made of white diamond-shaped marble tiles in sets of four, with a smaller black one in the center of them. There’s a huge crystal chandelier in the center of the ceiling, and the reception desk is a luxurious dark-stained wood, with golden pens mounted every few feet for people to use to fill out their paperwork for their stay.

  “Bonjour, Mesdemoiselles,” the pretty brunette behind the desk greets.

  “Bonjour, ça va?” I reply, asking her how she’s doing. My dad always told me the French aren’t as rude as people make them out to be, as long as you show them you’re at least trying to use their language.

  “Très bien, et vous?” She tells me she’s very good and asks the same.

  “Bien. Parlez-vous l’anglais?” I answer that I’m good, and then ask if she speaks English.

  “Oui, yes. How may I help you?”

  “We have reservations for the next week. Je m’appelle Amelia Crain.” There. I’ve used up all the high school French I can remember, telling her what my name is. Hopefully it’s enough to keep the pleasant look on her face.

  “Ah, oui! How exciting to have you, Mademoiselle! I just didn’t expect you to be so, eh… eh…” She circles her hand in front of her, looking for a word to use. I have no idea what her line of thinking is that pertains to what she thought I’d be, but I’m relieved when she goes with, “… young. How wonderful for you to make such a tremendous discovery at such an early age.”

  I’m taken slightly aback by her knowledge of who I am, and she must see it on my face. “Oui, Mme. Crain, you are all over the news. Everyone is très, très excited to have a newly discovered artifact as an addition to the world-famous Egypt section of the Louvre. Not to mention one with such a fascinating history. The unveiling gala was sold out in less than twenty minutes, and tickets were well over five thousand euros! You’ll be mingling with some of the wealthiest people in the world in a few nights.”

  This makes me a little nervous. I didn’t think the gala was going to be that big of a deal. When my parents made their discovery in Egypt, they only had a small dinner thrown in their honor. Of course, their discovery wasn’t an artifact that could be put on display in the most famous museum in the entire world. And the bit about mingling with the wealthiest people… Erin and I only brought little black cocktail dresses with us, and it sounds like the event is going to require much fancier attire than that. I guess it’s a good thing we are in one of the fashion capitals of the world. Looks like we’ll be making a shopping trip on the Champs Elysées.

  “Monsieur Savageman checked in yesterday, but he is out at the moment,” the receptionist says, snapping me out of my thoughts, and nervousness overwhelms me at the mention of Dean’s name. God, I have no idea how I’m going to react when I actually see him in person again. It’s been two months since we were rescued from the catacombs, two months since we’d made love… two months since I told him I couldn’t be with him, since I saw the most heartbroken look I’ve ever seen on another human being’s face, made worse by the fact I was the one who put it there.

  And yet he hasn’t relented. The flowers still come like clockwork. The gifts still show up on my doorstep. The calls still ring at all hours, even though I always ignore them, and similar voicemails are left every time. “Amelia, please talk to me. I miss you.” And when he found out I was coming to Paris for the unveiling, the addition of, “I can’t wait to see you, love, whether you feel the same way or not.”

  I feel a mix of both relief and disappointment that he’s out right now. I’d fully expected him to be waiting for me, here in the lobby when I arrived. Thankfully, I’d been distracted by the beauty of the city, or I might’ve had a panic attack on the way here.

  “If you can just sign this, and then here are your two keys. They reserved you one of our suites. Monsieur Savageman and then his producer are in the other two. We put you on the same hallway, as requested.”

  A little squeak makes its way out of my throat before I can stop it, and everything in me wants to tell her to move me to a different floor, but I don’t want to bring unnecessary attention from her or my best friend standing right next to me. So, instead, I use one of the fancy gold pens attached to the desk to sign for the room, take the key cards from her, hand one to Erin, and place the other one in my hoodie’s front pocket.

  “Monsieur Doré, will you show these ladies to the lift and to their room, s’il vous plaît?” the receptionist asks our driver from the Louvre security, and then to me, she says, “He is here to escort you the entire length of your stay here in Paris, your own personal bodyguard. Anywhere you’d like to go, just ask.”

  I turn to him, and ask, “Doré? Doesn’t that translate to Golden?”

  He nods and gives me a slight smile, taking hold of the handles of our suitcases. Man of few words, but he definitely looks like he’s fit for the job of bodyguard. I have the fleeting thought of what a coincidence it is to be assigned someone whose name means Golden, when I’m here to unveil the discovery of the lost Ring of Atlantis, a symbol shaped by The Golden Ratio, but I shake it off as Erin and I follow him to the tiny elevator past the bistro tables.

  The elevator car barely fits the three of us with all four of our suitcases, but we manage to squeeze in awkwardly until it arrives at our destination on the seventh floor. We file out into the hallway, find which direction our room is according to the arrow on the wall in front of us, and head left. The hotel is much bigger on the inside than it seemed on the outside, so it surprises me how long we have to walk down the corridor to reach our room, 737. My mind briefly wonders which room Dean’s is, but I don’t let it linger.

  I hold the key card up to the electronic panel above the knob, the light turns green, and Mr. Doré pushes the door open before grabbing the handle of two suitcases that have two more attached with clips to the front. He leads the way inside and gracefully manages the luggage over to the wardrobe in the back corner of the room.

  “This is a suite?” Erin whispers next to me, and we both look around the small room, which is smaller than a normal room at a Holiday Inn. Even the accommodations in little bed-and-breakfasts around New Orleans aren’t this tiny. Where Americans are used to two double-beds or one king-sized as options around the US, it looks like we get two beds that are not even as wide as what we call a twin. But the room itself is gorgeous. Everything is modern, decorated with stark-white bedding, silver fixtures, and sleek black wood—not at all what I was expecting from the antique look of the lobby, elevator, and hallway.

  I move back to the door we passed on the way inside to take a peek into the bathroom. No tub, but it has a beautiful floor-to-ceiling glass-encased shower, and lighting over the vanity and sink that I’d kill to have in my bathroom at home.

  All-in-all, it’s much smaller than what we imagined, but I truly love it.
It’s cozy, and I know I’ll be comfortable here to rest in between all the touring I plan on doing while we’re in Paris.

  “Thanks for all your help, Mr. Gold,” Erin says, holding out some cash to the quiet man I now see is Asian, since he took off his sunglasses in the dimly lit room. She glances back at me and wiggles her eyebrows. I hold in my laugh at what she called him. My bestie is probably giddy as hell saying the name out loud to someone, since she’s completely obsessed with the show Once Upon a Time. She sidles closer to him, and I pull my lips between my teeth to keep from giggling at her antics as she reaches out to feel his beefy bicep. “Oh, my goodness. So strong. You must have to work out for hours every day,” she flirts.

  His face remains stoic, but he lifts his hand to push the one offering the tip away, and his accented voice comes out deep when he tells her, “No gratuity necessary, Mademoiselle. Everything has already been taken care of.”

  She pockets the money and now wraps both her hands around his bicep, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a practiced swish of her head. “What gorgeous eyes you have. Where are you from?”

  He gently and politely removes her hands from his arm, and replies, “The better to see my husband with, dearie. And my family is Korean, but we moved here when I was a baby.”

  I hide my laugh behind my hand and a cough, and watch Erin’s face morph from flirtatious to pouty. Poor girl looks like he just peed in her Cheerios.

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Doré. I think we’d like to shower and get the travel funk off, but if you could come get us in about an hour or so, we’d like to go shopping for something more suitable to wear for such a big event,” I tell him, and he nods.

  “You have four other guests arriving this afternoon. Tonight, there is a small dinner with all of you at the Louvre, and then the unveiling is tomorrow evening,” he informs me.

  “Four guests?” I question. “I know my parents are flying in, but who else is coming?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, maybe they are Mr. Savageman’s guests,” he replies, and my heart plummets to my stomach. Who could be coming for Dean? He never travels without his entourage, so they’re most likely already here with him.

  Is… Could one of them be another woman?

  Mr. Doré clears his throat, interrupting my thoughts as the butterflies inside me turn frantic and start running into the sides of my stomach, making me queasy. “I will return for you in one hour. If you’d like, you can meet me out front. It will be the same SUV you arrived in.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Gold,” Erin pipes up, and she plops onto one of the beds when he shows himself out. “You all right, Em?”

  “Yeah, I-uh… I’m just worn out from the trip. I’ll be fine once I shower,” I lie, going over to one of my suitcases to get out my toiletry bag.

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbles. She curls up on her side and tucks herself around her pillow. “Wake me up when you’re done with the shower.”

  “Will do,” I tell her, and lock myself in the bathroom. Turning on the water, getting the temperature just right, I do what I’ve done for the last two months every time I’m alone and thinking of him.

  I collapse under the hot spray, wrap my arms around my legs, and cry.

  “PATRÓN, S’IL VOUS PLAÎT,” I tell the waiter, as Erin and I sit alone at the table set up in the center of the Egyptian section of the Louvre.

  “Er, we don’t have that, Mademoiselle. We do not have the full bar set up yet, like we will have at the unveiling tomorrow. But we do have a selection of wine,” he explains, his British accent lending some relief that I won’t have to fight through a conversation. “And I can make sure your drink of choice will be here tomorrow evening.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take a glass of whatever sweet white wine you have,” I tell him, and Erin orders one too. “Just keep it coming too, if you will. It’s going to be quite a night.”

  “Of course,” he agrees with a smile, and then disappears out of view.

  After shopping for four hours on the Champs, finding a dress for tonight, and then a gown for tomorrow, we didn’t even have time to go back to the hotel to change again before dinner. We paid for our clothes then changed into them in the store’s dressing room, our hair and makeup still looking fine since we’d fixed ourselves up before Mr. Doré picked us up.

  When we arrived at the Louvre, he escorted us inside. It was actually quite creepy, since it was almost completely empty of people and most of the lights were either turned off or dimmed. He led us to the Egypt section, where a long table with twelve chairs was set up, a white tablecloth covering it, and tea lights down the center. Erin and I chose two seats next to each other and sat down, and now sit alone, waiting for everyone else to arrive. I am shaky and miserable. I’d had coffee but nothing to eat, because I had a nervous stomach, knowing I’d be seeing Dean, and there is no way to avoid it. And God only knows who his guests are. The thought makes me vomity.

  “Baby girl!”

  My head snaps up from where my eyes were staring into the tea light directly in front of me, and a small sense of relief washes away some of my jitters. “Daddy,” I breathe, then “Mom!” when she walks in behind him. I stand up and rush into his arms, and Mom wraps her arms around us both.

  “There’s our girl,” Mom says, her voice filled with love and pride. “Congratulations, sweetheart. We’re so excited for you.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I tell her, my face heating at the attention.

  “We’re the first to get here?” Dad asks, looking over my head to see Erin waving from her seat at the table. “That never happens. We’re usually late for everything.”

  “Yeah, we were a few minutes early since we came straight from shopping. We would’ve been late otherwise. Nobody else has arrived yet,” I say, but then in walks Mr. Hosea, Nox, and a man I don’t recognize.

  “Emmy, m’doll. Nice to see you again, dear.” Mr. Hosea holds his hand out to my dad. “Chase Hosea.”

  “Ah, nice to finally meet you. I just have to say, sir, you are a good man for what you’ve done for my daughter. It takes a great person to allow all this to happen, under the circumstances,” Mom says, and he turns to shake her hand as well.

  “Hey, I give credit where it’s due. That ring and all of those tombs would have never been found had she not been down there. The entrance to Tunnel 3 in the catacombs has already been repaired and everything is as it should be. Emmy deserves her time in the spotlight, whether she wants it or not,” he chuckles, referring to how I fainted when Dean and I were first rescued. “We’re not going to have a repeat of that, now are we?” he asks, looking at me.

  “I hope not, sir,” I mumble, and turn to smile up at Nox. “Hey, big guy.” I walk up to him and give him a hug. We’d become pretty good friends over the last couple months. He brought me my camera—which was full of all sorts of pictures of everything going on inside the catacombs—when I stayed the night in the hospital the day after my big adventure. They wanted to keep me for observation, even though Dean had apparently caught me before I hit the ground. They gave me fluids through an IV, ran lots of blood tests, and a full check up to make sure we hadn’t breathed anything terrible in when the tunnel entrance collapsed. Turns out, I hadn’t destroyed the entire main chamber like I thought I had. If Dean had run to take cover in either one of the other two tunnels, or up the stairs, when he picked me up, we could’ve walked right out of there, no problem. But then, none of this would’ve ever happened. It all still feels like fate.

  “Hey, little bit.” Nox crushes me to him then sets me back on my feet, and I turn toward the man I haven’t met yet, holding out my hand.

  “Hi there, I’m Emmy,” I introduce myself, feeling pretty proud. I’ve been practicing for the last month and a half, when I realized that living so close to the catacombs after the news of what happened broke and what I’d found meant I would be recognized constantly. I hid in my room for a couple weeks, but then Erin dragged me out. She pointed out I wouldn’t be able to hide forever,
and started preparing me for the big reveal here in Paris after Mr. Hosea contacted me, letting me know all the details of what would be happening to the Atlantean Ring. She’s learned all sorts of techniques in her psychology classes to help people with anxiety, and I could feel them actually working.

  “My boy wasn’t lying. You are quite beautiful, Amelia. My name is Watson,” the older gentleman says, taking my hand in his, flipping it over, and placing a quick kiss to my knuckles before engulfing it with his other hand.

  I gasp. “Mr. Watson?” My heart races, and my knees almost buckle. “I-I… it’s so good to meet you. Dean told me so much about you when we got… um, when I made the… well. You know.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, I know what you mean. And he’s told me all about you as well.” He leans down so only I can hear, still holding my hand in his. “He’s been a wreck without you, dear. Like you’ve stolen part of his soul.” He stands back up and gives me a sad smile before turning to introduce himself to my parents.

  I make my way back over to the table, feeling like a zombie, plopping down next to Erin, and absently taking note when Nox sits down on the other side of me. I don’t know what to think about what Mr. Watson just told me.

  “Right here for you, little bit. You need me to run defense, I got your back,” Nox grumbles low.

  “Thanks, big guy,” I whisper.

  Mom and Dad take seats at the end of the table, Mr. Watson sitting to the left of them, and I assume Dean will want to sit next to Mr. Watson, since I’m blocked in on both sides, which will put him directly across the table from me.

  Fuck. There will be no hiding from him.

  Mr. Hosea chooses a seat on the opposite end, leaving room for five more people, Dean included.

  Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes off the quiet museum’s walls, and my stomach plummets. Heels. It’s clearly the sound of a woman’s high heels clicking rapidly through the entrance, and I cannot bear to see who Dean has brought with him. I have no right to be jealous. He’s made countless efforts to see me, to get me to accept him. But I just couldn’t. The day we left the hospital, we were met outside the doors by hoards and hoards of women vying for his attention. Begging for his autograph and to take pictures with him. And when someone’s disgusting panties flew past my face, I was done. I knew I couldn’t handle Dean’s fame, so I ran. I jumped in a cab and made it to my house, locking the door behind me.