“Oh, thanks,” I replied, surprised at his thoughtfulness, and grateful to toss the red dress into a heap on the bathroom floor.
“Do you want them?”
“Oh, yes, thanks.” Cracking the door open a slit, I reached for the pajamas.
Julien had bought me a small purple T-shirt with Annecy written on the front in bubbly white letters and a pair of light blue linen pants. To my surprise, he’d also chosen the perfect sizes.
Clean and tired, I emerged from the bathroom. Julien sat at the desk, eating a sandwich.
“Thank you for the clothes,” I said as I plopped down on the bed and attempted to comb out my long, wet hair with my fingers.
“I got you a sandwich too,” he said, sliding a plastic bag across the bed toward me. “Just cheese and vegetables. No meat. And there’s a bottle of water in there too. No wine.”
“Very funny.”
Inside the bag, in addition to the sandwich and the water, there were also two toothbrushes—a pink one and a blue one—and a small tube of dentifrice.
I peeked up at Julien munching on a gargantuan bite of his sandwich, and despite the things he’d said to me on the train and the questionable events that had just taken place with the freaky Australian duo, I felt immensely grateful that he was taking care of me. And somehow I knew in my gut that I’d been right to trust him. He’d been right about the fact that I should’ve stayed put when he went to find my passport, and he’d even managed to steal my ring back.
I could explain a stolen passport to Paul. But how would I ever have explained my missing engagement ring?
I realized then that I still hadn’t put my ring back on. The lonely diamond shimmered underneath the light of the desk lamp, next to Julien, who was looking straight at me as he chomped on his sandwich.
“You are thinking very hard over there,” he said in between bites. “What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, I . . . I don’t know. I’m just really confused, I guess, about everything. I spoke with my sister while you were out. She talked to my fiancé, and he was upset because the bank has placed a hold on our checking account.”
Julien threw back a gulp of water, then cleared his throat. “Claude works quickly. He knows what he’s doing.”
“So what should I do? I mean, at this point, it seems inevitable that Paul is going to find out the truth.”
“If we can find Claude tomorrow, there is a strong chance of getting your passport back, and you can be on the first plane back home.”
“But if the police are looking for me, and if the transfers Claude made out of my account are now apparently tied to illegal activity, how will I even get through customs at the airport?”
Julien swallowed his last bite and crumbled up the wrapping into a ball before tossing it in the wastebasket. “You do not need to worry about that. I work for the government, remember? I will see to it that you get through customs with no problems.”
“But you told me that even the people you work with won’t believe that I’m innocent. That many of the women before me were actually working with Claude. So how will you ensure that I’ll be able to leave?”
“You have to trust me, Chloe. I know what I’m doing.”
“Who do you work for? Is it like the French equivalent of the CIA?”
“That is confidential. You already know too much as it is.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Fine. If you can’t tell me who you work for, then I want to know who that Australian woman was back at the apartment, and what the deal is with the painting.”
Julien sighed. “I guess I am not going to be able to avoid your questions any longer, am I?”
“Not unless you want me to keep asking them.”
“I for sure do not want that.”
“Okay, then start talking,” I demanded.
“Marie is a woman Claude uses to run cons with . . . and he sleeps with her too.”
“And judging by what her brother said, you do as well . . . sleep with her that is.”
“No, that is not—”
I held my hand up to quiet him. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. That’s none of my business anyway. If you’re undercover, I suppose you have to do certain things to be ‘one of them,’ as you said.”
Julien raised an eyebrow at me, his dimple popping into his right cheek as he smirked. “Why do you care if I sleep with Marie or not? You are engaged, no?”
My cheeks boiled as I tore my gaze from Julien’s. “I don’t care. I’m just trying to get the whole picture of what in the hell is going on here.”
“Trust me, this is a complicated mess and the less you know, the better.”
“You never answered about the painting.”
“There is no painting,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“So why was that woman saying she knew nothing about a painting and then you told me after we left that it was confidential?”
“I used that to distract her so I could get other information without her realizing it. Marie, as you could see, is not exactly the smartest woman.”
“So there is no painting?”
“No painting. But I found out where Claude is headed next, and Marie said he still had a batch of passports with him to sell, so it is very possible that he still has yours.”
“Where is he going next?” I asked.
“Lyon. It is a city two hours from here by train. We can leave in the morning.”
“I still don’t fully understand why you would go to all this trouble to help me. Especially if your orders were to leave me with the police and find Claude. I mean, you’re putting your job at risk for me and we haven’t even found Claude yet. Why would you do that?”
“You really don’t stop with the questions, do you?”
When I didn’t gratify him with a snarky response, Julien sighed. “Fine. There was this . . . this woman I used to know . . .” He trailed off, fixing his gaze on a coffee stain on the carpet.
“Your one chance at love?”
He lifted his eyes to mine, but didn’t answer, so I took that as a yes.
“She was a victim of one of Claude’s cons. Like you are now. And I do not want to see one more woman go through what she went through.”
“What happened to her?”
Julien stood and headed toward the bathroom. “I think I have answered enough questions for one night.” With that, he closed the bathroom door and left me alone on the bed, wondering what could’ve possibly happened to that woman which was worse than what had already happened to me.
I finished my sandwich while Julien took a shower, and as I stood to throw the wrapping in the trash, something on the desk caught my eye.
Julien’s cell phone.
I glanced over to the bathroom door, and still hearing the shower running, I picked up his phone. I didn’t know what exactly I was looking for, but I needed to know more. More about who he worked for, the painting that he claimed was only a “distraction,” and why on earth he’d risk his job for a woman he’d just met.
Scrolling through his phone, I quickly located his text messages, then clicked on the most recent one. It had come in the night before from a contact named G.D.
My breath caught in my throat as a picture, not a message, loaded onto his tiny cell phone screen.
It was a picture of me.
The same one the cops had shown to the hotel manager earlier that morning at the Plaza Athénée Hotel.
Underneath the photo was a message that read:
La femme s’appelle Chloe Turner. Si tu veux trouver le tableau, empêche cette femme de parler aux flics. C’est urgent.
I had to write this down. I couldn’t remember enough French to understand the entire message. I yanked the desk drawer open in search of a pen and paper, but didn’t find anything. Just then, the shower stream switched off from inside the bathroom. Julien would be opening that door any second now.
Lunging across the bed to reach the night stand, I opened the drawer and f
ound a pen next to a pad of paper. Underneath the Hôtel Splendid heading, I scribbled the text message down, tore the piece of paper off the pad, folded it up and pushed it into my bra. I hurried back across the room, fiddled with Julien’s phone to bring it back to the main screen, then returned it to its exact spot on the desk.
Just when I made it onto the bed, Julien emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist. His dark brown hair was all wet and messy, and his lips curved upward into that disarming grin I’d already seen a few times that day, revealing the dimple in his right cheek.
“That was a nice shower, was it not?” he said as he used another towel to dry off his ears.
“Mmhmm,” I mumbled, trying not to look below his face at his rock-hard abs or his tan, muscular shoulders. I rubbed my hand over my chest and felt the folded piece of paper hiding in there, then smiled back at Julien. “It was the best shower I’ve had in a long time.”
Nine
The sound of the door clicking shut jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to find Julien dressed in his clothes from the day before, a preoccupied look passing over his features.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
“Mmhmm,” I mumbled. “Like a rock.”
“Is this what you are like when you share a bed with a man?”
“Excuse me?”
“When your fiancé takes you to bed, do you go to sleep immediately?” Julien whipped open the drapes, letting in a stream of bright light.
I pushed myself up to a sitting position and squinted as my eyes adjusted. “What are you implying? That I’m frigid?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Just wondering.”
I stood up in a huff.
“Do you live together?” Julien asked. “You and your fiancé?”
“Yes, of course we do. Why are you drilling me? I just woke up.”
“Is he able to please you?”
My jaw dropped. “Did you seriously just ask me that?”
“What is the problem?”
“I just met you yesterday—that’s the problem. If you think I’m going to discuss my sex life with you, you’re crazy.”
Julien shrugged and stifled a smirk. “Don’t get so upset. I am just curious. I know that when people move in together, sometimes the romance goes away.”
“Have you ever lived with anyone?” I asked him.
“No.”
“Well, if you must know, things can get less exciting once you’ve lived with someone for a while. Not that I’m saying that’s the case with me and my fiancé, but for many couples, yes, that can happen. Of course you can still come up with ways to spice things up.”
He lifted a brow. “Such as?”
I ducked into the bathroom and splashed some water on my face. “Use your imagination.”
Julien popped his head around the corner and caught my eye in the mirror. “I have a very vivid imagination.”
“Yes, you proved that to me during your little nude beach stunt on the Newlywed Tour Bus from hell yesterday. So charming,” I muttered as I looked at my flushed cheeks in the mirror and closed the door on Julien’s laughter. “What time is it?” I called through the door.
“It is nine-thirty. I have just returned from the train station.”
“Why did you let me sleep so late? Can we get a train out of here soon?”
“Actually, there is a problem.”
I whipped the bathroom door back open again. “What kind of problem?”
Julien ran his hand through his hair. “There is a grève.”
“What’s a grève?”
“What is the word in English?” Julien sat down on the edge of the bed, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “A strike?”
“A strike?”
“Yes. That is the word. All of the transportation workers are having a strike today. There are no trains.”
“What do you mean, there are no trains? How can this be possible?”
“It is quite normal in France. There are grèves all the time.”
“We have to leave though. We can’t waste any more time. What about renting a car?”
“Not possible. They are on strike too. All the businesses relating to transportation are on strike. We are stuck.”
I stared at Julien in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. “Why are you acting so calm?”
“You think I am happy about this? What can I do though? It is not as though I am in control of the transportation situation in France,” he snapped.
“But there has to be something we can do! Is there any way we can get to Lyon today?” I stood up and paced back and forth next to the window.
“I have left a message for someone who may be able to pick us up and take us to Lyon. We will wait for a call back. If that does not work, the strike will only last for one day. We can take the train to Lyon first thing tomorrow morning. Claude has a girlfriend he stays with, so he will be there for at least a couple of days.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure.”
“Just like you were sure we would catch him in Giverny, and then in Annecy? I’m starting to think you’re not the best undercover agent after all. I mean, why can’t one of your fellow agents come and get us? How is it possible that we’re stuck here?”
“I told you, I have left a message for the one person who is able to take us to Lyon, but the details of my job, of my connections are to be kept confidential. And if you want to insult my job abilities, that is fine. But I’d like to know, do you have a better plan?”
“No, but still. This is insane. What are we supposed to do in the meantime?”
The tense look in Julien’s eyes faded as they combed their way down my body. “I could come up with a few ideas.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and stalked over to the window. “Oh my God. This cannot be happening to me.”
Julien stood from the bed and grabbed his phone off the desk. “You American women—so uptight. Come, I take you to breakfast, and we can discuss ways to lighten you up.” Julien eyed the red dress lying over the back of the chair. “First, we need to get you some new clothes.”
“In case you’re forgetting, I don’t have any money on me,” I told him, my insides cringing at the thought of wearing those scuffed-up black heels and that awful red dress for another second.
“I will take you shopping. It will be fun.”
I scrunched up my forehead. “Shopping? Fun? No man thinks shopping is fun.”
“You mean no American man thinks shopping is fun. You forget, I am French. We are a very different breed. There are great shops in Annecy. Get dressed. It’s time for a real French breakfast.”
“If you think I’m going to run around eating and shopping in some obscure town in the French Alps with a man I barely know, acting like everything is okay when my wedding is in five days, you’re insane! I’m going to find a way out of this city, with or without you.”
Julien arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How?”
I stared at him blankly. Clearly I had no plan. And my stomach was growling something fierce.
“Fine. I’ll come with you. But only because I’m starving and I don’t see any point in sitting in this hotel room by myself.”
After a quick shower, I tucked the piece of paper with the text message written on it back inside my bra, making a mental note to be sure to translate it as soon as possible.
My two choices in apparel were either the skimpy red dress or the pajamas, and with either option, I would be sporting my three-inch black heels. As much as that damn dress made me think of Claude and what I may or may not have done with him two nights prior, I decided to wear it. I simply could not bring myself to walk around outside in pajama pants and high heels. After I finished in the bathroom, I found Julien lounging on the bed, flipping channels on the TV.
He lifted his eyes from the screen, his chocolate brown gaze landing on my chest.
“What are you staring at?” I snapped, hoping he didn’t notice the flush spreading up
my neck.
Julien’s gaze flicked up to my face. “I am just thinking that for all of his flaws, Claude has good taste in women’s clothing. No?”
Men.
“I need to call my fiancé before we leave,” I said, taking a seat next to Julien on the bed and slipping on my heels.
“Did you not just speak with him yesterday? He thinks you are working, no?”
I peered down at my watch. Julien had a point. Paul would think I was working right now, and it was only three-thirty in the morning there. Waking him up in the middle of the night had never been a good idea, so maybe I should wait until he was up for the day.
The tightness in my stomach dissipated the slightest bit. I could talk to him later. No need to make the situation worse than it already was.
“Okay, I’ll wait. Let’s go.”
Julien smiled at me, revealing his big dimple. “On y va.”
***
Julien ushered me through the front door of the hotel, and as I stepped out onto the sidewalk and took in the view of the crystal blue lake surrounded by tree-covered mountains, I forgot about my feet hurting, about the miniscule red dress I was wearing, about Paul, about our checking account, about how much Julien was grating on my nerves, about everything.
I’d never seen anything like this place. It was breathtaking.
“I told you it was beautiful here,” Julien said as he placed his hand on my arm. “I will show you all around after breakfast. Come.”
I followed Julien but couldn’t keep my eyes off the scene that unfolded with each step through this enchanting town. White boats speckled the enormous, sparkling lake. They floated aimlessly, with no cares, nowhere to go, no race to run. Small, laughing children frolicked in the grass, their parents lined up on benches under lush trees, the view of the mountain tops just beyond the leaves that swished in the breeze. The air was cool and refreshing and smelled of pine. As we turned our backs to the lake and walked into town, the mouth-watering scent of chocolate mixed with coffee drifted out into the cobblestone streets, making my empty stomach growl.
The lake funneled into a bubbling stream that flowed peacefully through the town. Vibrant bundles of pink, purple and white flowers spilled over the small pedestrian bridges that stretched across the stream. Meandering tourists strolled up and down the path, shooting pictures of buildings the color of sunset, their shutters open to let in the fresh mountain air.
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