You're the One: a Contemporary Romance Novella Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème)

by Nichols, Alix

  She whispered thank you, still avoiding his eyes.

  He would have left at that point, but there was something he wanted to know. “What was my part in this romcom of yours, Natalie?”

  She didn’t answer, studying her shoes as her cheeks and ears grew crimson.

  He spoke again. “Was I handy entertainment? Surveillance work can be tedious, I’m told. Or did you think of me as your plan B?”

  She lifted her head and finally met his gaze. “Adrien, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to use you. It was just so . . .easy, talking to you. You’re funny and smart, and I—” She paused and pressed her hand over her forehead. “I sound like Fred.”

  “That would be your fiancé, I suppose,” he hissed, anger washing over him in bitter-tasting waves.

  She nodded. “Yes . . .And you deserve better than the crap I just served you.”

  He gave her a surprised look.

  “I’ll try to be honest. At least as honest as I can possibly be. Because you are a great guy, and I owe you that,” she said.

  She took a deep breath. “I didn’t intend to flirt with you, but on some level I knew it was exactly what I was doing. I was aware I was leading you on. But I continued anyway. Just because it was,” she visibly hesitated about her next word, “lovely.”

  His muscles relaxed. It was weird. She admitted to having used him, and he mellowed. His anger was gone, leaving in its wake an acute sense of loss.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I was the one taking the initiative. And you were being friendly. I wouldn’t call it leading on.” He smirked. “Except when you kissed me back.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I’m really sorry about everything.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I . . .I’ve been with him for three years.”

  “I’m not asking how long you’ve been with him. I’m asking if you love him.”

  “I think love is overrated,” she said, a note of irritation in her voice.

  “Maybe, but what’s underrated is that we don’t live forever to waste a lifetime on someone we don’t love. Especially if our main reason to stay is that we’ve already wasted a few years on that person.”

  Her nostrils flared. “I will waste my life however and with whomever I chose.”

  He threw his hands up in defeat. What a shame, he thought. What a big fat stinking shame.

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “I’ll be off, since my services are no longer required. Have a good life, Natalie.”

  ***

  FOURTEEN

  “Coffee or tea?”

  Natalie blinked as her consciousness slid from her ruminations into the airplane cabin.

  “Nothing, thank you,” she said to the air hostess.

  “Coffee, please,” Fred said.

  He placed his beverage in the cup holder, turned to Natalie, and squeezed her hand. Since their big talk and his proposal three days ago, he’d been the most attentive of men. He’d taken her out to dinner and bought her flowers. Now he was taking her on a weekend trip to Rome. For the first time in three years he’d made all the travel arrangements himself—bought the tickets, booked the hotel, researched the sites to visit. She should have been happy.

  Instead, she was unsettled. She couldn’t shake the feeling something had happened during that surreal week when she wore a wig and tailed him. Something significant. Something that made her see everything in a different light. Was it the knowledge that Fred had slept with another woman? Or was it something else? It was vital she figure this out.

  Through her haze, she heard Fred’s voice. “And after that we’ll visit the Aventine Hill.”

  She tried to sound excited. “What’s special about it?”

  “The guidebook I bought highly recommends it. Great gardens, great views. And a keyhole through which you can see three countries: Italy, Vatican City, and Knights of Malta that’s apparently the smallest sovereign state in the world.”

  “Wow,” she said, her voice flat.

  He took her hand in his again. “Natalie. You’re still shaken up and upset. I can feel it. And I don’t blame you.”

  She couldn’t look into his eyes.

  He patted her hand. “Just give it time. Holy crap, if I were in your place, I’d be reeling for weeks. Months maybe.”

  He was right, she thought. She should just give it time.

  “Just remember how great we are together.” He gave her a wink. “I’m the man of your life. Your future husband and—who knows—maybe the father of your child.”

  He’s right, she told herself. They were great together. And he loved her. He must love her, even if he’d never actually said the words. When she’d declared her feelings during their first year, he’d looked away. When she’d asked him if he loved her, his answer was I’m dating you, aren’t I? When she asked again a year ago, he said, I moved in with you, remember? She didn’t bother asking now. He had proposed, hadn’t he?

  The plane jumped and shook violently.

  “Shit!” Fred looked at his thighs covered in coffee.

  The air hostess grabbed the mike. “All passengers are requested to return to their seats and fasten their seatbelts.”

  “Buckle up, folks,” the pilot said over the intercom. “A bit of turbulence ahead.”

  Turned out to be a lot more than a bit. The plane was jostled up and down and left and right, like a featherweight toy aircraft caught in a gust of wind. As cups, books and bags started rolling down the aisle, Natalie closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on her breathing. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Fred still held her hand, his grip painfully tight.

  “It’s just a bit of turbulence. We aren’t going to die,” she said.

  But what if they did?

  She’d never see Adrien again.

  She’d never feel the sweet caress of his gaze, never have the chance to kiss him again, get drunk on the taste of his tongue. She wondered what his skin would have tasted like. She wondered how it would have felt to be with him, make love to him, have him in her life.

  The plane stopped shaking, and she opened her eyes. The red signs went off, and the air hostesses started picking up objects from the floor. Fred released her hand and his breathing returned to normal.

  Natalie didn’t move. She was coming to grips with the realization that no matter what, if she died today or fifty years from now, she’d never have Adrien in her life.

  She had chosen Fred.

  ***

  FIFTEEN

  Fully furnished, including comfy sofas, built-in closets, a desk and a double bed. Big windows. Floorboards. Wi-Fi and all modern amenities.

  Natalie circled the ad. The school autumn break was starting on Monday and she’d have two weeks to visit as many apartments as she could.

  “What do you think?” Marie walked into the living room and planted herself in front of Natalie.

  Natalie blinked, uncertain about what Marie was referring to.

  “Don’t stare at me like I’m a Martian. I’m wearing your present from Rome.” Marie pointed at the emerald green scarf wrapped around her neck.

  “Oh, it looks great on you, and it brings out the green in your eyes.”

  “I think so, too. I really like it.” She sat down next to Natalie and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “I’m glad.”

  “And I’m flattered you thought of me during your cathartic Roman holiday.”

  Natalie smirked. The holiday had been cathartic indeed. After returning from Rome five days ago, she left Fred and moved in with Marie. She’d finally figured out what had happened during her week as an amateur PI.

  She’d outgrown Fred.

  When she told him she couldn’t marry him, he didn’t believe her at first.

  “You can’t be serious,” he said.

  “But I am.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You’d throw out a perfect relationship because of one slipup?”

  “I don’t think it was a perfect—”

  But h
e wasn’t listening. “This isn’t like you, Natalie. You’re a reasonable person. You don’t act on impulse.”

  “Well, maybe I’ve changed.”

  “People don’t change.”

  She stared into his eyes, unblinking. “I’m leaving.”

  He grabbed her by the arm. “I’m not going to beg you to stay. Why can’t you just get over the affair with Jeanne. She means nothing to me.”

  “I am over it, believe me. But I’m also . . .over you.”

  He glared at her, a vein pulsing on his neck.

  “I shouldn’t have accepted your proposal,” she said.

  He let go of her arm. “You’re an idiot. You’re an unforgiving, intolerant, narrow-minded prude. And you’ll regret this. You’ll come back and grovel at my feet.”

  She didn’t protest. In fact, she was glad for his insults. They absolved her from guilt. Unwilling to bare her soul to him, she’d withheld an important detail—the true reason why she was ending it.

  She had decided she deserved better than him.

  And there was something else she’d omitted to tell Fred. It wasn’t his infidelity that nailed the lid over their relationship. It was hers.

  There was no denying how much she’d enjoyed spending time with Adrien. How easily she related to him. How keenly she felt when he kissed her. She’d grown emotionally involved with another man. An uncomplicated, funny, sweet man whom she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  A man whom she couldn’t bear never seeing again.

  “Why don’t you go out for a walk?” Marie asked, interrupting Natalie’s reminiscences.

  “Will you come with me?”

  “I can’t. Have to put the final touches on this stupid order. It’s due on Monday . . .But if I finish it today, I promise I’ll spend the whole day tomorrow watching romcoms with you.” Marie winked. “Unless you’d prefer to watch war movies at this point in your life.”

  Natalie smiled. “I haven’t changed that much. Still a sucker for romcoms, especially now.”

  “Romcoms it is! Now, off you go. It’s such a beautiful day. Would be a shame if neither of us enjoyed it.”

  As she walked out of Marie’s building, Natalie marveled at how the weather had changed overnight. The Indian summer had finally kicked in. It wasn’t exactly hot but it was dry and sunny. Jackets were unbuttoned, umbrellas at home, and chins lifted. As for the city, it was drop-dead gorgeous in its red and yellow outfit, bathed in golden light.

  Natalie crossed the river to the right bank and headed to La Bohème. She’d spent the past week wanting to call Adrien but chickening out. She’d thought about texting him, but even that was too difficult. She’d written about twenty different messages and deleted them all.

  He may not be there, she told herself. He could be in so many places other than La Bohème on a Saturday afternoon. Maybe he was out of the city or out of the country. She tried to prepare herself for the worst—to find him at the bistro talking to another woman. And why wouldn’t he? Would he be too angry to even contemplate giving her a second chance? His bitter words still rang in her ears, “Was I handy entertainment? Or did you think of me as your plan B?”

  She saw him as soon as she saw the bistro. He sat on the sidewalk terrace, sipping a drink. By himself. Or rather, with Fritz. He had to be playing against the devious computer program, judging by the fierce look of concentration on his face.

  She approached his table quietly.

  “Your invisibility cloak isn’t working,” he said, turning toward her.

  He squinted in the bright light of the sun, and Natalie caught her breath at how much she liked the sight of him.

  She dropped her head to her chest. “Dammit. I knew it would happen at the worst possible time.”

  “What brings you here?” he asked.

  She panicked. She wasn’t ready yet. “I had time to kill.”

  He shut his laptop and pointed to the empty chair at his table. “Want to join me?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  It was weird to sit facing him, and no longer have to pretend they weren’t really talking. Weird and wonderful.

  He looked into her eyes. “Natalie, I think you should dump your fiancé and go out with me.”

  “So you’re not upset with me anymore?” She couldn’t keep the corners of her mouth from quirking up.

  “Only if you dump him. Otherwise, I’ll relapse.”

  “Done,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I left him on Monday. Moved in with a friend.”

  “Ha!” He smiled an unapologetically jubilant smile that filled her with joy. “So you will go out with me then?”

  “You really need me to spell it out?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “All right.” She leaned in and said in a low, determined voice, “Adrien Aubert, I’ll go out with you. I’d be seriously happy to go out with you. And thank you for asking.”

  He opened his wallet and placed a ten euro bill on the table. “This should take care of the check. Shall we?”

  “Shall we what?”

  “Go out. Literally. I can’t kiss you here the way I want to. And I wouldn’t want my favorite bistro to blacklist me for improper behavior.”

  ***

  SIXTEEN

  They walked all the way up rue Lafayette and turned on avenue Secrétan, until they reached a large park. Adrien took her hand and led her up a soft hill.

  “You know where we are?” he asked.

  “Buttes Chaumont?”

  He nodded. “This is my favorite park in Paris.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  As they walked up the slope, she drank in the colors, shapes, and smells around her. Her parents had brought her here as a child, but she had never come back. Too far, too busy, too many other places to be and things to do.

  As she rediscovered the vista, she marveled at how completely different it was from all the other primly formal Parisian parks. With no geometric patterns, impeccable flower arrangements, or rows of square bushes, the park wasn’t French; it was a wildly romantic English garden. It had grottos and cascades, artificial lakes and bridges leading to a rocky island with a fake Roman temple. It had too much relief for any self-respecting French landscaper. It was an unlikely—and magical—oddity in the City of Light.

  “And this is my favorite spot,” Adrien said as they reached a small plateau with a vista of the temple extravaganza and, in the distance, Paris.

  “Great view,” she said. “And so quiet. I guess Parisians are too lazy to climb all the way up here.”

  He pulled her to him. “Lucky me.”

  He cupped her nape and kissed her gently, tentative in his touch. His fingers went into in her hair, massaging, combing through the silky strands. She groaned into his mouth and melted into him. Her breasts ached for his touch, their taut peaks thrusting against her clothes. As if sensing her plight, he cupped one breast. She let out a long, throaty sigh. Ooh, this was so good . . .

  He placed his thumb against the tip of her breast and rubbed it through the thin layers of her lingerie and blouse. She gasped as a pleasure shock jolted through her nerves. Her nipples had always been sensitive, but now they were on speed dial to her core. She was on fire, spurred by the exquisitely sweet torture his thumb inflicted while he kissed her, by the way his other hand—now flattened against her lower back—pressed her to him, and by her awareness of his arousal that left no doubt as to how much he desired her. Sweet Lord, she would have said yes to anything he fancied doing in that moment.

  A moan escaped her lips. He tightened his grip on her waist. His mouth descended on the side of her neck and covered it with hot kisses, branding her skin. She arched her neck and opened her eyes to the immense blueness of the sky. When her gaze fell on the tips of the trees, she remembered they were in a public park, even if it was a secluded corner of it. She should be ashamed of herself—a nursery school teacher making out in the park like some hapless teenage girl.
What if someone saw them? What if someone recognized them?

  She placed a hand on his chest and pulled back a little. “This is crazy. We must stop.”

  “Must we? Are you uncomfortable? Look around—there’s no one else here,” he said in a raspy voice.

  When he moved his hand from her breast to her hip, she felt bereft. They stood like that for a few moments, gazing into each other’s eyes. In the silence of the park she could hear the sparrows, his ragged breathing, and her own pulse. She could feel the thumping beat of his heart against her hand. But what made her mouth dry and her knees wobbly was the stark want in his darkened eyes. Knowing she held the power to unleash the restrained fierceness of it—right now, right here, if she wanted to—was like having a bag of her favorite candy in her pocket when she was a kid. The pinnacle of sweetness.

  Adrien closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. This was becoming unbearable. He wanted to kiss her until she’d abandoned herself and then peel off her clothes, feast his eyes on her body, and taste her skin—every inch of it. But they were in a park. He had already gone too far. Had he shocked her? Did she think he was a manwhore unable to control his lust? Oh God, did she feel about him the way he’d felt about Louise a few weeks ago?

  Release her now. Go explore the park with her, like a decent man would do on a first date.

  Instead, his hands began to explore her back. He reveled in learning her curves and dips, in the silky feel of her blouse against his fingertips.

  She sighed and leaned into him ever so slightly.

  “Natalie,” he said, his voice low with emotion.

  He repeated her name again and again, caressing her with his voice, making love to her with it. He made unspoken promises.

  With superhuman effort, he let go of her and walked over to the large chestnut tree. He pulled off the sweater he’d had over of his T-shirt and spread it on the ground.

  Then he sat on it with his back against the tree trunk and patted the space between his open knees. “Come here.”

  Natalie couldn’t stop staring at his V-shaped torso as she walked toward him. He wrapped his arms around her as soon as she nestled her back against his chest.