“But I love my job. I want to work. You know that.”
“I know you do. And I don’t want to take that away from you. But you’ll be thirty soon, and I’ve been looking at real estate there, and I found some amazing homes that I know you would love . . . and they’re in a great school district.”
School district?
Just as I was about to respond, Julien’s leg pushed against mine. I’d almost forgotten where I was for a second. My secret agent travel buddy lounged back in his seat with his eyes closed, hands propped behind his head, legs relaxed out to the sides, invading my space. At least he appeared to be sleeping. Which hopefully meant he was not listening to this conversation.
Paul continued. “I’m thirty-two now, and neither of us is getting any younger. We should really start thinking about having a family. This could be it for us, Chloe. This could be our chance.”
“We’ve talked about this before.” I lowered my voice and turned my face back toward the window. “I have an MBA, and I did all that work so that I could have my own career. And I know I’ve said that I want to have kids someday, but I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that yet. I don’t know if I’m ready to leave the city for good.”
“I know, darling. It’s just that this is a huge opportunity for me, and if you could be happy for me and give it a shot, I think it would be good for us in the long term.”
“But we don’t know anyone there, and you’ll be at work all the time. What am I supposed to do?”
“Chloe, sweetie, I’m sure you’ll make friends. There will be lots of other women and mothers in a small-town like that. You can read all those books you’ve been dying to read or take walks in the neighborhood, or take up cooking.”
And then it hit me. Paul was talking about his mother. This is exactly what had happened with his parents. They’d left the city back when his father was offered a position he couldn’t refuse at a firm in a small town in Maryland. And that’s when Paul’s mom became pregnant with Paul.
He wanted me to be just like his mother. But I wasn’t like her. I had goals and dreams, and I loved my job. I didn’t want to move away from the city and take care of a house and have kids. Not yet anyway.
“Can we talk about this when I get home?” My forehead resumed its throbbing.
“Sure sweetie, but, well . . .” Paul trailed off, and I could see him then, pacing in circles around the house, the way he always did when he disagreed with me.
“Yes?”
“It’s just that . . . well, promise me you’ll think about it, okay? This could be good for us, and I—” Paul’s voice was suddenly cut off.
“Paul, are you there?” I pulled the phone away from my ear and realized the train was now racing through a tunnel.
I’d lost the call completely. And as I stared down at the phone, I had no urge to call him back.
***
I carefully laid the phone on the seat next to Julien so as not to wake him. I needed some time to process all of this.
But just as I was leaning my head up against the window, gazing out at the green, rolling hills which reappeared as we emerged from the tunnel, Julien shifted in his seat next to me.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said.
So he hadn’t been sleeping after all.
I scowled in his direction. “It’s rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, you know.”
He pressed a few buttons on the phone, then tucked it back into his pocket. “Trouble in paradise?”
I shook my head at him and laid my temple back up against the cool window. “Thanks for your concern.”
“It sounds to me like you are with a man who is not so much of a man, if you know what I mean.”
“Are you seriously trying to say that my fiancé, the man I love, isn’t a man?”
“Yes. And you, chérie, are not a woman in love.”
“How can you even say that? You have no right to make judgments about my life. You know nothing about me, and nothing about Paul. If he were here right now, he would—”
“He would run away like a scared little boy.”
The sound of Julien’s French accent suddenly had the same effect as the Catholic nuns I’d had in grade school scratching their long finger nails down the chalkboard.
“No, if he were here, none of this would’ve ever happened,” I clipped.
“And if you really loved him, none of this would’ve ever happened either.”
“What do you know about love? Have you ever actually been in love?”
Julien’s lips tightened into a thin line, giving me no response.
“So that’s all I’m going to get? You listen to my entire private conversation with my fiancé, you make judgmental remarks about my relationship, but you’re not willing to share any details about your life with me?”
Julien’s deep brown eyes focused in on mine. “I can just tell, by the way you talk with him, you are not truly in love.”
“So if you’re such an expert on love, where is she? The woman you’re in love with?”
“I am not in love with anyone. I know what I know because many women have been in love with me before. I can spot them a mile away, chérie. But you are right. Your life is none of my business. I just think that a man and woman who are about to be married should make decisions together, no?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned my face away from Julien.
I didn’t want to move to Pennsylvania. I’d been more than clear about that the first time Paul had mentioned it. But I knew my fiancé, and when he got an idea in his head, it was close to impossible to shake him of it.
I would shake him of this one though. I had to.
At least he hadn’t accepted the position yet. And as soon as I got home, we would talk it out and Paul would see my point of view.
But then I remembered that when I did arrive home, we’d have even bigger issues to discuss—such as my stolen engagement ring, a fraudulent bank account, and the night I’d spent with a stranger . . . just to name a few. Ugh.
“I messed up my one chance at love,” Julien’s deep voice cut through my thoughts. “And I don’t like to see others mess up their lives too, that is all.” With that, he stood abruptly and headed down the aisle of the train, leaving me alone and speechless.
As the train rumbled down the tracks, I took a deep breath in an attempt to forget about my conversation with Paul, and even more so, about Julien’s projections onto my life. He didn’t know what he was talking about. He was clearly pinning his own fears and insecurities from his screwed-up love life onto me.
And in less than a day, I would never have to see Julien again.
While this thought should’ve comforted me, I noticed that the giant knot that had formed in my stomach over the course of the day wasn’t loosening up in the slightest. And as I stared out at the looming, gray clouds now hovering over the white stone cottages off in the distance, I realized that this was the first time since those early years after my mother had died that I’d felt so helpless and so utterly out of control. I yearned to hide in one of those cottages and wish away everything that had taken place in the past twenty-four hours.
But I couldn’t. I was on a train with a man I barely knew who was telling me I didn’t love my fiancé.
That was ridiculous. Of course I loved Paul. Of course I did.
Seven
A light summer breeze kissed my cheeks as Julien and I stepped off the train in Annecy.
The sun had just set, but street lamps lit the way while I struggled to keep up with him, my heels digging into the backs of my feet, giving me no mercy whatsoever.
After jetting across a busy intersection, we wound through a sea of dimly-lit cobblestone streets, combing past the crowds of jolly, wine-drinking tourists who were lounging and smoking cigarettes at the endless array of outdoor cafés.
I spotted a couple feeding each other large, steaming bites of chocolaty dessert crêpes, the woman’s expressio
n one of pure ecstasy as she licked a drop of gooey Nutella off the man’s spoon. For a split second, I found myself wishing I could trade places with her. What I wouldn’t give to be on vacation in some fairytale town, eating chocolate off my lover’s spoon without a care in the world.
Julien’s stern glance snapped me back to reality.
“Hurry, we are almost there,” he said, all the while never breaking his brisk stride.
I ignored the throbbing in my feet and powered forward. I hadn’t said a word to Julien after our conversation on the train, and I didn’t see any reason to. I would follow him to retrieve my passport, and then I’d get right back on the train to Paris—by myself this time. With no judgment from the mysterious French agent who didn’t know me at all.
After crossing over a small river that flowed through the town, we squeezed past the meandering tourists and sped down a pedestrian-only cobblestone walkway. The delicious aromas of melted cheese and chocolate wafted out onto the street, making me feel faint.
Julien took my hand and led me to a miniature table at a café on the corner. “Have a seat, drink a glass of wine, and I will be back in fifteen minutes.” He pulled out his wallet and handed me ten Euros.
Have a glass of wine? Seriously?
“Where are you going?” I asked, not taking his instructions to sit down.
“Do not go anywhere or talk to anyone,” Julien instructed before turning and leaving me at the café by myself.
“But why can’t—”
Julien swiveled back around and marched up to me, leaning in so close that his lips just barely grazed my ear. “The place I am going to may not be safe.” He pulled the chair out and laid his hand on my shoulder. “Please, sit down and do not worry. I will be right back.”
I noticed a weariness in Julien’s eyes that I hadn’t seen all day. He gave me one last serious nod before heading back down the crowded cobblestone street, and leaving me alone at what would’ve been the most charming café I’d ever been to, had it not been for the fact that I was sitting there alone in a tight red dress baring my skin to every sleazy French guy who happened to saunter past. Not to mention the fact that we were hunting down an evil con-man to find my passport.
My eyes remained glued to Julien’s back as he strode down the pathway, and just when he was barely visible, I shot up from the table.
I didn’t care what he’d said. I needed to know what in the hell was going on, and I wanted my passport back.
Much less gracefully than Julien had, I stumbled my way over the rocky cobblestones in my heels. I spotted the back of Julien’s head and his gray T-shirt not too far ahead of me as he took a sharp left underneath a stone archway. I slowed down so he wouldn’t notice me, then peeked around the archway to find him messing with a blood red door across a quiet alley.
After a few seconds of jimmying the handle, he managed to open the door and slip inside. As the door clicked shut, I realized that sneaking in behind Julien was probably my only chance of making it into that apartment building, and I’d just missed it.
I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. I probably should’ve just listened to him and stayed back at the restaurant. But this part of town didn’t seem unsafe. So why hadn’t he let me come with him? He didn’t have a problem taking me into the country cottage in Giverny earlier and beating up that man right in front of me.
As I was trying to decide if I should wait it out in the alley or head back to the café, a flash of wavy auburn hair—almost the exact color and length of my own—caught my eye. I focused in on the woman who stood a couple of blocks down the street, wondering why I felt so drawn to her. Just as she was about to round a corner, she stopped and pivoted to the side, her profile now clearly visible to me.
I blinked my eyes and took a double take. There was no way that what I was seeing was real. But as I took a few steps toward her, there was no mistaking it.
That woman looked exactly like my mother.
She disappeared around the corner, and without thinking, I found myself trekking across the street, rounding the corner, and following this woman with red hair and a face I longed to see again.
She stayed several steps ahead of me, winding through the dark, empty cobblestone streets so quickly I could barely keep up. I had no clue where I was going, but nothing could’ve stopped me. I had to see her face one more time.
I struggled to catch up as her slim figure whipped around another corner, but just as I traced her path around the bend, she was gone.
Poof. Just like that. As if she’d disappeared into thin air.
I frantically combed the street where I was certain, certain, this spitting image of my mother had just turned, but she was nowhere to be found.
My hands trembled and a couple of stray beads of sweat slid down the back of my neck as I stopped to catch my breath. Was I losing it? Thinking I’d seen my mother walking through an alley in Annecy? What in the hell was wrong with me?
But when I pictured the woman’s profile again, I couldn’t deny it. She had looked exactly like my mom.
I leaned back against one of the buildings and peered around the street, trying to regain my bearings when a tiny woman, not more than five feet tall with a head of long, golden blond hair emerged from a small garage. She turned and lowered the clanking metal door to the ground, being careful not to let it slam. Then she locked it with a massive key, stuffed the key into her pocket and cautiously checked to either side before booking it down the street. She visibly startled when she caught my eye, but quickly flicked her eyes back to the path ahead and kept walking.
I shook my head, wondering if she was an illusion too. What was up with me? I must’ve been severely dehydrated.
And now I had no clue where I was or how to get back to Julien. I should’ve just stayed put, like he’d told me to. Ugh.
I decided to follow the tiny woman, hoping she’d be heading back to the main part of town, which would hopefully bring me past the door Julien had broken into just minutes before. But as I turned the corner, she too was gone.
Okay, I really needed some water.
I walked alone for several minutes, weaving in and out of the winding streets, when suddenly a crisp breeze cut through the dark alley.
To my relief, the deep red door loomed at the end of the tiny rue, and a massive man—well over six feet tall—was unlocking it with his muscled, tattoo-bearing arms.
I don’t what came over me then—maybe it was a gut instinct, or curiosity at what was lurking behind this red door that I wasn’t allowed to see, or fear of standing alone in that alley for another second and seeing another phantom woman—but I suddenly found myself running to catch the red door from clicking shut.
And I made it, just by a hair.
I held the door in place for about thirty seconds as I listened to Tattoo Guy’s black boots scuffing down what sounded like a long hallway. When I didn’t hear his footsteps anymore, I cracked the door open just the tiniest bit and peeked inside to find complete darkness. My heart pounded through my chest as I listened once more to be certain he was gone, then slid through the doorway, trying not to make a sound.
After closing the door as quietly as I could, I reached for the wall and tip-toed down the clammy, pitch-dark hallway until my eyes began to adjust. A flicker of light emanating from a doorway down the hall caught my eye.
I peeled my heels off my aching feet, then crept up to the door and pressed my ear against the rough wooden panel. I immediately recognized Julien’s deep voice, but there was another voice too—a woman’s.
I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but I knew one thing for sure. She wasn’t speaking French. She was speaking English. With a posh-sounding Australian accent.
As I leaned closer in an attempt to understand their conversation, the door inched open. I leapt to the side, plastered my back against the wall and held my breath, praying they hadn’t seen me.
My pulse raced, telling me to run
, but I clenched my fists and stayed put. After about thirty seconds, with no changes from the other side of the door, I inched closer once again.
My heart caught in my chest at the sight that was now clearly visible inside the apartment.
A striking woman with legs for miles and jet black hair that spilled over her shoulders and ran the length of her torso lay across a plush, white couch, her curvy figure barely covered in a black, slinky dress that accentuated her snow-white skin.
Her oval-shaped green eyes gazed upward as she unraveled the red, silky scarf that hung loosely from her neck.
And there, standing over her, was Julien. Firm and unmoving, his head cocked down toward her. I could only imagine the expression that passed across his face as Seductress stood up, wrapped her scarf around his shoulders and pulled his chest into hers.
The place I am going to may not be safe, he’d told me.
Humph. She was dangerous, all right.
“I don’t know anything about a painting,” she hummed in his ear. “And as for Claude, well I hadn’t seen him in almost two years before he showed up earlier today. And now you, Julien. My Julien.”
I tore my eyes away from them as a wave of nausea passed through my stomach. What painting? What was Julien not telling me? And was this the woman he’d spoken about on the train? The one chance at love he’d messed up?
Just as I was about to bolt and never look back, a glimmer from the other side of the door caught my eye.
And that’s when I saw it. My engagement ring, lying carelessly on a dirty coffee table, next to a slew of passports.
Suddenly I couldn’t have cared less about Julien or that woman or whatever he was about to do with her. I lifted my hand up to the door, but just as I was about to barge in, a bulge of muscles wrapped around my neck, cutting off my air supply.
I gasped for breath, but when none came, I panicked. I tried my best to squirm, but before I could move a muscle, the grip on my neck released and the bulging arms shoved my body through the door.
“What the hell is going on in here?” the man behind me boomed in an accent identical to the woman’s. “And who the hell is this bitch spying through your door?”
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