***
That night, after every last call had been made, after my family had, for once, helped me through a crisis, instead of it always being the other way around, I stretched out on my bed and spread my mother’s letters out before me.
I’d let my father read them in privacy earlier that morning, but I hadn’t yet summoned the courage to read through them myself. Tonight though, on this eighteenth anniversary of the day we’d lost her, I knew it was time. My clever mom had found a way to come back to me through these words she’d written so long ago, and I knew that somehow, wherever she was, she’d led me to this point. I only hoped her letters would give me some clarity as to where I should go next.
And so, over the next hour, I poured over my mom’s bubbly, cheerful handwriting—her words making me laugh, making me cry, making me feel alive again. My mom had only been around for forty years, but she hadn’t played it safe. She’d lived—really lived. She loved my father more than I thought anyone could ever love another person, and when my sisters and I came along, she cherished every minute with us. It was all there in her letters to Magali—she traveled, she never passed up an opportunity to have a good glass of wine, she was adventurous, and most of all, she was never afraid to take a risk.
She wouldn’t have wanted me to waste my entire life playing it safe while running everyone else’s lives. And that’s exactly what I’d spent the past eighteen years doing.
It was time to change, time to move on. And like my dad had ordered me to do, it was time to let my sisters and my father live their own lives and fight their own battles. And it was time for me to follow a new path, because the old one wasn’t looking so great anymore.
Just as I was folding up my mom’s letters, being careful not to tear the thin, yellowed paper, the bedroom door swished open. My three little sisters stood in the doorway, clad in T-shirts and baggy pajama bottoms, reminding me so much of the way they used come to me when they were little, looking for a hug, a bedtime story, and comfort after Mom had gone.
But that wasn’t why they were knocking on my door. They were all grown up now, and tonight, they were here for me. I smiled at them, feeling overwhelmed with warmth at how much I loved them.
The three of them shuffled into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed with me.
“We just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Magali squeaked, all traces of her teenage attitude gone as her innocent brown eyes met mine.
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Mag.” Then I looked to all of them. “Thank you guys, for everything.”
“Well, it’s not every day that your big sister calls off her wedding,” Lily said.
“Hopefully this is the last time we ever have to call off a wedding,” I responded with a sigh. “Please don’t take my example.”
“Dude, no offense, but since when have we copied anything you’ve done with your life?” Lily retorted.
“Very true,” I said, not minding her snarky attitude after everything she’d done for me today.
“What are those?” Sophie asked, nodding toward the stack of letters in my hand.
I gazed down at the old letters filled with my mom’s words, a gift that unbelievably found its way into my hands, and I knew it was time to tell my sisters. Time to tell them the details, the juicy details, as Sophie had put it, of what I was beginning to see as my French adventure.
***
An hour later, after I’d spilled it all—from Julien kissing me in the lobby of the Plaza Athénée, to the Newlywed Romance Tour Bus, to the lingerie store debacle, to the police interrogation, to me drinking my face off in Julien’s cottage after finding his paintings of couples kissing all over Paris, to our dance and our kiss under the stars, to the late night vineyard passion, and finally to our mother’s connection to this whole crazy event—the girls sat wide-eyed and silent. Silent only because I’d made them promise to keep their mouths shut until I was finished, but still, by the stunned looks on their faces, I knew they couldn’t believe what I’d just told them.
After laying out this unbelievable course of events, and for once, not holding back my feelings, I realized I now wholly believed it hadn’t been a coincidence I’d ended up at Julien’s vineyard—the very vineyard my mother had visited and loved so many years ago.
I also knew now, without a doubt, that if I didn’t do something about it, if I didn’t follow this overwhelming urge coming both from my mother and from my own intuition to be bold and step out onto this path of the unknown, I would always regret it.
“Are we allowed to open our mouths now?” Lily asked, her clear blue eyes still widened in shock.
I leaned back against my pillow and braced myself for their questions. Except that this time, I was ready to answer them. “Shoot,” I said.
“Oh my God. You kissed a French con man, three times, while you were engaged to Paul?” Lily shrieked as she flipped a strand of her long blond hair off her face. “No wonder you called the wedding off! Where is my big sister? I think someone stole her and sent this slut in her place!”
“Lily!” Sophie snapped.
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! I like this new version of Chloe. I just can’t believe it, that’s all.”
“Was he a good kisser?” Magali asked.
“Is he still, you know, a con-man?” Sophie asked.
“I bet he’s hot in bed,” Lily said.
“Did his breath smell?” Magali asked.
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Lily said to Magali, slapping her on the knee.
“Okay, okay,” I said, quieting them down. “Yes, he was a good kisser, no his breath didn’t smell, and no, he’s not a con-man anymore. And I wouldn’t know if he’s hot in bed because I’m not as big of a slut as you, Lily.”
“Hey!” she yelled, although I could see from the gleam in her eye that she’d taken it as a compliment.
Sophie snickered. “You know it’s true,” she said to Lily.
“Fine. But I’ve never slept with a French guy. I bet they’re so fucking sexy in bed.”
“Ew, Lily. You’re so disgusting,” Magali said.
“Can it, you two,” Sophie said, giving them each the evil eye. Then she turned her attention back to me. “I can’t believe everything that happened with Julien, first of all, but mom’s connection to the vineyard is just . . . unbelievable. Those are really her letters?”
“Mmhmm.” I held them out for Sophie to see.
“Can we read them?” Magali asked.
“Of course. She wrote about all of us, even about when she was pregnant with you, Magali. And she talks about how much she loved Dad. And how much fun they had together.”
Lily turned her face toward the wall, not meeting eyes with any of us, the way she always did when she was trying not to cry.
Sophie’s eyes glazed over with tears as she took the letters. “And the picture?”
I reached over to the nightstand, picked up the photograph and placed it in the center of our little circle for my sisters to see.
We peered over in unison, gazing at our mother, in all her youth, her beauty, and her love.
Then, one by one, the girls lifted their eyes to mine, their questions gone, their bickering over.
But one question remained.
“So what are you going to do?” Sophie asked.
I grasped the photo of my mom and smiled at them—the first genuine smile I’d had since I’d arrived back in DC. “I’m going back to France.”
Twenty-six
Last minute plane tickets to France were not cheap. But at this point, with all the money we were losing from the wedding and with half of the money in my checking account still not replaced, who even cared?
It was five a.m., the morning after The Day I Called Off My Wedding, and here I was, scouring the Internet for a ticket to France with no clue what I would actually do when I arrived. I didn’t have Julien’s cell phone number, and even if I did, would he want to talk to me? And what wo
uld I say to him?
“Hey, Julien. I just called off my wedding yesterday and I know I rejected you and made you feel small and insignificant, but now I can’t stop thinking about you. Sorry I screwed your family’s chances at getting the painting and the vineyard back, and sorry about crashing the Smart car. Can I come stay for a while? Assuming you even have a house?”
No, that wouldn’t do.
What if Julien didn’t even want to see me? Between trying to save the property, taking care of his mother, and grieving over the loss of his father, he had enough of his own problems to deal with. He didn’t need an emotional American woman hunting him down.
But when I thought back to the things he’d said to me that night at the vineyard, the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d touched me and kissed me, I was certain he’d felt the same way I did. After the way I’d left things though, I didn’t know if he’d be willing to talk to me ever again, let alone give me a second chance.
I shook my head and focused back on the computer screen. I hadn’t been able to plan or control anything that had happened in France, and this was no different. If I was going to go back to see what could happen with Julien, then I’d just have to get on a plane and let the rest come naturally. Even if that meant getting hurt in the process.
And after calling off my wedding and ending an eight year relationship, I couldn’t go much lower, so what did I have to lose?
After about a half an hour of searching, I found a one-way flight to Lyon that was as reasonably priced as it was going to get. But before booking it, I pulled up a new tab and did an Internet search for Julien’s family’s vineyard. And once I found it, there, at the bottom of the page, I spotted a phone number.
I reached for my phone and without thinking, without planning, without worrying, I dialed the international number.
“Allô?” Magali’s sweet voice came through the line, immediately making my heart beat faster.
“Magali? Hi, it’s Chloe.”
A moment of silence followed. I really hoped she wasn’t going to hang up the phone. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did.
“I thought I might be hearing from you.” Magali’s voice was soft and knowing, not at all full of the rage I was fearing.
“I made a mistake, Magali. I’m coming back. I’m coming back for Julien.”
“You did not get married?”
“No, I called it off. I know now that it wasn’t a coincidence that I met Julien, that I came to the vineyard, and that my mother knew you.”
A soft chuckle traveled through the line. “I’m glad you see now, chérie, that there are no such things as coincidences. When will you be arriving?”
The tension I’d been storing in my shoulders relaxed when I realized she wasn’t going to tell me that she didn’t want me within a thousand miles of her son. “I’m not sure of the date yet. Probably sometime this week. Will Julien be at the vineyard?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Where is he?”
“He left this morning for Annecy. He told you about the painting, I suppose?”
“Yes, did he find it?”
“Not yet. But he found out that it is in Annecy. Exactly where in Annecy, he is not sure, but if I know my son, he will figure it out.”
“Would you mind giving me his cell phone number?”
“Not at all,” she said, and I swore I heard her smiling through the phone.
“You know,” she said, after relaying Julien’s number, “you are a lot like your mother.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Magali. I hope to see you soon.”
“Me too.”
And with that, I grabbed the replacement credit card that had just come in the mail and booked a flight to Lyon that was set to leave at four p.m. I didn’t care that it cost triple the price I’d originally planned on paying.
And the reason I didn’t care was because I suddenly knew exactly where Julien would find his painting. But he would need me to show him the way.
Twenty-seven
“Allô?”
My heart threatened to pound right through my chest at the sound of Julien’s voice. “Julien, it’s me, Chloe.”
A long pause traveled through the line. “Chloe?”
“Listen, I don’t have much time to talk. I’m just leaving the airport in Lyon to catch a train to Annecy in a half an hour. You’re still there, right?”
Julien paused again. Please don’t hang up, I begged silently.
“You are here? In France?” he asked.
Just hearing Julien’s deep voice again made me smile, but I couldn’t ignore the dread that had coated my butterfly-filled stomach. What if I arrived in Annecy and he didn’t want to see me?
I couldn’t worry about that right now though. I had to help him find the painting.
“Yes, Julien. I’m here, and I know where the painting is.”
“Yes, we already know it is in Annecy, but—”
“No, I know exactly where it is. I need you to trust me. I’ll be at the train station in Annecy at ten a.m. Can you meet me there?”
He paused again, his heavy breath traveling through the line. “Yes, I will be there.”
“Okay, I’ll see you at ten.”
I hung up my new international cell phone and exhaled the giant breath I’d been holding in during that phone call. I didn’t know if Julien would be happy to see me again, but at least I could help him find the painting.
I closed my eyes as I settled back in my seat on the shuttle bus, unable to believe that I was actually here. That on the same morning I would’ve been walking down the aisle, instead, I was traveling through France to find a stolen painting . . . and to see an ex con-man who I couldn’t stop thinking about and who may never want to look at me again.
Maybe Lily had been right. Maybe someone really had stolen me and replaced me with a new, crazier version.
But I had to admit, even if this was all for nothing, I was liking this version more and more each day.
***
Carrying only a purse and a small duffel bag, I stepped off the train in Annecy and breathed in that crisp mountain air, hoping it would relieve the bundle of nerves that had seized my gut.
No such luck.
I gripped my stomach as I followed the herd of passengers down the stairs, scanning the ground below for Julien.
And when I spotted a pair of deep brown eyes, a five o’clock shadow covering a set of defined cheek bones and a hint of a dimple that made me melt right there on the stairs, I couldn’t help but smile.
The minute our eyes met, he set off toward me, and there, in the middle of a crowded train station, we found each other.
Standing face to face with Julien, all words evaporated from my tongue. And as I saw the look in his eyes, I immediately knew that I’d made the right decision in coming back. I didn’t know what would happen, how long I would stay in France, or where any of this would lead me, but it didn’t matter. For once in my life, I’d followed my heart instead of my head, and as Julien took my hands in his and brushed my cheeks with his soft lips, I felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders.
“I cannot believe it is you.” Julien’s eyes combed my face, his mouth forming a hesitant smile. “What are you doing here? What happened with your wedding?”
“We called it off,” I said. “In the end, you were right. I wasn’t in love with Paul. And as it turns out, I have feelings for someone else.”
Julien arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And who might this someone else be?”
I poked him in the ribs and laughed. “I think you probably have an idea.”
He grinned, his eyes still wide, his breath fast. “How long are you here for?”
I shrugged and shot him a flirty smile. “That depends.”
“On what? When you must return to work?”
“I’m not worried about work,” I said.
“You not worried about your job?”
“No, for once, I’m not. I
t depends on how long you can put up with me. I bought a one-way ticket.”
Julien finally broke into his sweet, goofy grin, then slid his arms around my waist, picked me up and kissed me smack on the lips right in the middle of the bustling train station.
“You are here to stay?” he asked after he’d pulled his lips from mine, his electrifying touch still lingering on my skin.
“Yes, I’m here to stay.”
He squeezed me one more time and kissed me again on the cheek. “I am sorry about the wedding. You are okay though?”
“Let’s not pretend like you’re that sorry.”
“I am trying to be sensitive and see if you are okay, and here you go again assuming I have bad intentions,” Julien said, stifling a laugh.
“You’re impossible.” I shook my head, still unable to wipe the smile from my face. “But we can argue later. We have a painting to find.”
Julien took my bag from me and slung it over his shoulder as we set off in the same direction we had just days before, yet things were now so, so different.
“So, tell me,” he said as we left the station and waited at a crosswalk. “How do you know where the painting is? And where is it? Because I have been here for one day now, and I know who has it, but I still cannot find it.”
“You know who has it?” I asked as we wound through the familiar cobblestone streets and past all of the charming sidewalk cafés, where just days before we’d been running from the police.
“Yes. You obviously remember the man with the tattoos and his girlfriend in the lingerie store?”
I didn’t miss the glimpse of flirtatiousness dancing around Julien’s eyes. “How could I forget?” I said.
“I have not forgotten about it either. In fact, I have thought about it many times.”
I smacked him in the arm. “Of course you have. Just get on with the story.”
He snickered. “Okay, okay.” Julien looked to either side of us, then lowered his voice. “I went to the prison and threatened . . . I mean, talked to my brother. He told me that he gave them the painting because he knew the police were close to catching him. The plan was that Ralph, the man with the tattoos, and his girlfriend, Sara, would take the painting abroad and sell it to a museum, and then they would split the money three ways. And you remember Ralph’s sister, Marie? The woman with the long, black hair?”
Kissed in Paris Page 26