26 Hours in Paris

by Demi Alex

  Clearly in tune with the sadness in Antoine’s tone, Kat looked to Marko in question. He nodded.

  “If I may be so bold to ask such a personal question, what about your wife?”

  “My wife passed a few months after she gave birth to Aimee.” The burly man gazed at the fire, tears shining in his eyes. “My daughter doesn’t remember her mama.”

  Kat leaned over and wrapped her slender arms around his shoulders. She pulled Antoine into a hug, regardless of French etiquette. “I’m so sorry.”

  Inhaling loudly, Antoine dropped his head. “We went to the doctor because Talia was having problems sleeping through the night. Her breasts hurt too much. We were trying to have a baby, so we were hopeful that was the reason. The day we learned that my wife was pregnant, we also discovered that she had a very aggressive form of invasive carcinoma. The surgery was done immediately. We fell from clouds when we learned it was a cancer too aggressive for hope.”

  “I’m truly sorry,” Kat repeated, rubbing his back. “It must be very difficult.”

  “Before I met Marko, when I was left alone and Aimee visited her grandparents for a few days, I would spend the nights with a bottle of wine . . . or two . . . or three. The dark became very ugly when vodka replaced the wine. Since Marko came, I have been preoccupied and more productive with those nights. Manual labor helps men.”

  Marko nodded and agreed with his friend. “Yes. It does. However, you helped me as much as I helped you.”

  “The place is to your liking, no?” Antoine asked Kat.

  “Very much. It’s exactly what I’ve always thought Paris would be like.”

  “Bon,” Antoine said. “Marko was very specific in all the renovations.”

  She glanced at Marko, who simply shrugged. “I bought the place last February. I had professionals in for the major work, but as Antoine said, manual labor helps a man. I did what I could, and Antoine did even more with the woodwork.”

  “Unbelievable. This place is perfect.” Kat splayed her arms in a grand gesture and spun on her heels. “The views are surreal. The flooring exquisite. And even if the kitchen is loaded with every amenity, it looks like royalty has lived here forever. Very authentic. Right down to the two fireplaces—

  “Three,” Marko corrected. “You haven’t seen the third level.”

  Kat had always had a thing for cozy fireplaces. He remembered how she used to tell him that if he was going off campus to live, he had to find an apartment with a fireplace. She’d warned she’d move in with him if he did. He hadn’t been able to land an apartment with a fireplace—and it wasn’t for lack of trying. But on more than a few occasions, he’d pick her up in her room and walk across the quad just to sit by a fireplace and study.

  “First, we drink to the love of my life. My beautiful Talia.” Antoine poured the wine and handed them each a glass. They raised them high in the air and clinked them together. “To Talia.”

  “Second, we drink to friendship.”

  “To friendship.”

  They drank and ate, laughing over memories and speaking about the must-see Paris attractions. It was too bad the rain had ruined the afternoon picnic at the Pont Marie quay, but a house picnic worked. Contentment and joy filled the room, and Marko was actually glad to show Kat a little of his local life. He also wanted to show Kat off to every person in his life. He wanted to share everything with the woman he loved.

  “Marko said you are here for work. How long can you extend your stay?”

  Taken aback, Kat shook her head. “I can’t. I need to present my article in a few days. I’m heading home tomorrow.”

  “When will you return?” Antoine asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “She’s not leaving,” Marko said, stretching his legs beneath the table and nudging her with his foot. “Not if I have anything to say about it. You can fly out Monday and be back in plenty of time.”

  “And Aimee won’t be home until Sunday night,” Antoine added.

  “You have to give Aimee her present, sweetheart.” Marko grinned and turned to the other man. “While we were visiting the Eiffel Tower, we picked up a pair of earrings for your little one.”

  “I wish it was possible. Unfortunately, this is an important deadline.”

  “I remember. You are a writer.” Antoine trailed a finger through the air, as if signing his name. “Marko says a great writer. What about your novel? Did you finish?”

  Her gaze flitted to Marko. Her novel was a secret. She hadn’t told anyone other than Marko about her publishing dreams.

  She didn’t answer. She sucked on her lower lip and looked down at her empty plate. Marko cut a piece of cheese and placed it there. Antoine offered her the crisp corner of the baguette. Her hand shook as she raised her glass and sipped on her wine. Antoine didn’t ask more questions, and neither man spoke. They waited, like people who really cared, and allowed for courage to build, for her to speak.

  “I did,” she breathed into the glass. “I finished.”

  Marko exhaled, apparently out of relief. Dropping his napkin, he pushed back his chair, and rounded the table. He pulled her from her seat and crushed her mouth with a celebratory kiss.

  “Congratulations, bella. I’m so happy for you. So very happy.”

  “Now you finish, now you stay,” Antoine concluded.

  “I can’t wait to read it,” Marko said. He beamed with pride. They’d fleshed out the characters together, each covertly putting pieces of themselves in the romantic duo, but she’d never shared the ending. “Do you have a copy on your laptop?”

  Kat’s insecurity surfaced, and she pulled out of his arms and turned toward the hearth. She gazed at the fire. She may have finished the story, but the ending wasn’t what she’d wanted to write or what he’d want to hear.

  “It wasn’t a big deal. The book needed an ending,” she said, hunching her shoulders toward her chest. “That’s all.”

  “How does it end?” Marko asked.

  Kat didn’t need to see Marko’s face to feel his eyes on her. It was a silent dream they’d shared, something they’d never admitted to, but a dream nonetheless.

  “She becomes a successful attorney, making partner by thirty-five.”

  “And?” His voice, lower than usual, coaxed her to answer differently. She knew he knew. He didn’t really want to hear the ending she’d written.

  “Having it all, she still wants a child. She makes it happen via a reputable sperm bank.” It wasn’t perfect, but nothing in life was ideal. “She lives happily ever after with her beautiful babies. Twins.”

  “Where is he?” Marko asked.

  Kat swallowed hard and closed her eyes. “He’s also very successful. An esteemed researcher that lectures all over the world, he’s the most intellectual eligible bachelor. Other than the pictures she sees in the papers, she doesn’t know much about him. They drifted apart. Live separate lives.”

  “I see.” Marko stepped away, and the loss of his heat on her back chilled her heart.

  Awkward silence descended.

  It was fiction—they knew it was fiction. But something about the writing was so real. Small quirks and big personality issues had found their way to the page, identifying the author’s true thoughts. Unable to admit to the desires in the book, she’d keep the finished manuscript hidden away and never let another person read it. It was fan fiction of the life she led and the life that was out of her reach.

  She’d put more of herself into the story than intended. Hurt and loneliness were common characteristics of the heroine. At least she’d found joy in the babies.

  The arrival of a text message sounded. She turned back and looked from Marko to Antoine, but neither moved. Glancing around the open space, she saw her bag by the door. A second alert dinged.

  “It’s yours,” Marko said, crossing his arms over his chest. She read the agitation in the posture, saw the anger in the color of his face, but she accepted the momentary reprieve from their situation and went in search o
f her phone.

  While she rummaged through the tote, Marko and Antoine resumed their conversation in French. They spoke quickly and at a low volume, so she wasn’t able to process what they said. She didn’t mind. Actually, she didn’t want to know. Kat needed space to save her sanity. Getting wrapped up in a day’s fantasy wasn’t the way to succeed.

  It’s about time, KittyKat. I see you’re enjoying Paris and Marko. Just do it!

  She couldn’t help but smile at Paul’s innuendo. She wasn’t shy and bashful any longer. She could give as hard as she got.

  Just do him?

  Hitting send, she strolled back to the table and dropped into her chair. She held the phone in one hand, reached for her wine with the other. Her thumb hovered over the keypad, waiting for Paul’s inevitable smartass response.

  Now you got it. Don’t worry about the piece. Charlie has it covered. Just enjoy your man and remember to come—

  An immediate second ding had her collapsing the keyboard to continue reading.

  Get your mind out of the gutter!

  He’d added a picture of an old-fashioned metal garbage can.

  What I meant was - come back to us. Maybe bring the foreigner?

  Right Like I have any control over the foreigner. Wait, what do you mean, forget about the piece?

  He couldn’t be serious? She’d traveled to Paris for research. She wanted—no, deserved—her byline. Downing the last of the wine in her glass, she folded her forearms on the table and dropped her head into them. She wanted to scream. “No fucking way,” she lamented in a whisper.

  “What’s wrong?” Marko rubbed the tight knot between her shoulders, and sat in the chair previously occupied by Antoine. “Who is it?”

  “Work,” she said, peeking over her arms and looking at the empty wineglass with longing. “Paul is being an ass.”

  “Typical,” Marko said. He reached for the bottle and refilled her glass.

  Paul’s reply dinged. She sipped on the wine, then looked at the screen.

  Fucking enjoy yourself and fucking fuck Marko in every position known to man. Do NOT waste your time on research and do NOT write the article. Charlie has more than enough material to do a ‘bang up’ job. The ship is crawling with handsome specimens. You should see the pics she sent me.

  The next ding was for a picture of a man’s snug ass, covered by a pair of Levi’s jeans worn low on his hips. The next was of three men in exaggerated flex positions by the pool.

  Best In Suit Contest. I like the one on the right, KittyKat. You?

  F-off. I’m writing the damn feature. Don’t think of cutting me out!

  She placed the phone face down on the table and drank more wine. A flush crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks. “He can’t do this. He’s such a dick.”

  “Do not let work ruin your time in Paris,” Antoine said. “Work is work. It is not worth disappointment.”

  “It’s just Paul,” Marko added. He reached across her and moved the wine just out of her reach. Cutting a small piece of the smoked ham, he paired the meat with some bread and held it by her lips. “Eat.”

  She opened her mouth, but didn’t taste what she was sure was a delicious bite as she chewed and swallowed. “I’m not listening to him. I’m not.”

  “Okay,” Marko agreed. “You always find a way to get what you want, sweetheart. Dealing with Paul is not an exception.”

  “Third, you must be true to yourself,” Antoine boomed, rising from his seat and coming around the table to place a hand on her shoulder in a show of his support.

  “Thank you,” she said in a small voice. It was as if the wind had stilled and her sails had dropped, but she wasn’t giving up. She was getting the byline.

  “I want to give my friends a little advice. A few words an old man once said to me, but I was too young to understand and follow. Today, now that it is too late, I appreciate them,” Antoine said, meeting both of their gazes in turn.

  Kat reached and picked up her glass, but Antoine indicated for her to return it to the table.

  “I do not need a drink to say this,” Antoine said. “I may want to shake some sense into Marko for not acting faster, but I do not need wine.”

  The imposing man stood between them, first touching his fingers to his heart, then dropping a heavy hand on each of their shoulders.

  She glanced at Marko, who was unsuccessfully trying to hide his annoyance at the turn of events. The little muscle in his cheek pulsed, and lines of restraint marked his forehead. He met her gaze, warning her to stay the course. She looked down and squared her shoulders in the opposite direction.

  Antoine’s fingers squeezed tighter. “Do not waste a second more when you can live with love every minute. Make every hour count. Live every day. Do not push away what is in your heart.”

  A lump the size of France settled in Kat’s throat. She blinked back her own tears and forced a smile. If only it were that easy to embrace what was in her heart.

  Marko didn’t budge. Thankfully, Antoine did.

  “Et maintenant, I must return to the boulangerie,” he said, and gave her a reassuring smile. “Faire la bise, ma douce chérie.”

  She performed the ritual air kisses and said good-bye to her new friend. Kat turned her back just in time to hide a solitary tear. She walked toward the sitting area, listening as Marko thanked Antoine for the meal and bade him farewell.

  They were alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kat wrapped her arms across her middle, stared at the rain streaming down the tall panes, and dug her fingernails into her palms. The fairy tale had come to an end prematurely. She had to get out without falling apart.

  Silently, Marko returned to the hearth and tended to the fire. Tension rolled off his broad shoulders as he added wood. She’d made Marko feel like shit over the ending of her story, and the feature was being pulled from under her feet. Things were on a quick downward spiral.

  She wanted to go to him, to run her fingers over the muscled arms and tell him that the novel was just fiction. But she wouldn’t lie. They each had their lives, and the reality was that their paths may have crossed, but they weren’t meant to merge. She turned back to the icy chill drizzling on the beautiful church and waited for him to speak.

  “Don’t worry about Paul. You’ll get him to come around.” Big, warm palms closed on her upper arms. He leaned into her and settled his cheek against the side of her head. “I’m more sorry about the weather. Our picnic at Pont Marie is postponed, but we’ll take a walk along the quay once the rain stops.”

  “It’s okay. We’ve had a great day. Thank you,” she said, casually lifting a shoulder and trying to hide her nervousness. “I really should get going anyway. I need to check in at the hotel and start working on the piece while everything I’ve seen today is fresh in—

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “No,” he repeated, his fingers holding her steady.

  The intensity in that single word froze her in place. No amount of wood on the fire could chase away the chills that raced down her spine.

  He trailed a single finger across her arm, immobilizing Kat as he circled to stand in front of her. He cradled her face in his palms. Stroking his thumbs over her cheekbones, he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over her lips, licking slowly between them and urging them to open.

  Her lips parted and closed around his tongue. She sucked on him deep and long, wanting to commit his taste to memory forever. She closed her eyes and held back most of the tears that had threatened numerous times in the past hour. She couldn’t help it.

  Sinking against him, she let his strength carry her. His hands moved down her back and cupped her ass, pulling her closer and pressing his arousal against her tummy. Need spread over her, but her mind fought the sensation. The hurt in her chest from the realization that she couldn’t have what she most wanted intensified.

  Breaking the kiss, he smoothed away the moisture from her cheeks. Fitting a finger beneath her
chin, he lifted her face and looked into her eyes. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

  * * *

  Marko recognized the look. Hated the look. He wasn’t going to let it stand.

  “Paul said to forget the article. He said Charlie could take care of it. I should have a fucking fun time.” Her voice trembled. “I guess I’m not good enough for a byline in his mind. I’m just pretty and flighty. . . .”

  “You know that’s not true,” Marko said. “You know you’re more than good enough, and you know Paul knows it, too.” Her apprehension had nothing to do with her writing, and they both knew it. “You’ll write the feature. You’ll give City Wings a real choice on which article to publish, and I bet you’ll get your byline. I’m not saying that your friend isn’t a good writer; I’m just saying you’re a great one. You always accomplish what you set your mind to. Set your mind to it and write the article.”

  Kat worried her lower lip so hard that Marko feared she’d make it bleed. He pressed his thumb to her swollen mouth and forced her to stop.

  “You’re right,” she said, nodding her head and stepping back.

  He saw the emotional shield drop, and he clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth until they squeaked. He dreaded her next words. He knew what she’d say.

  “I’m going to do it. I’m writing the article.” Her gaze darted around the room, as if searching for something to grab on to. She wanted support. “I just need to get to the hotel and regroup—

  “No.” He reached for her hand and closed his fingers around her wrist. “You’re not leaving. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Concern crossed her face. She looked into his eyes, seeking an explanation.

  “Seriously, I should act like a true professional, get to the hotel, and start writing.”

  “We settled that. You’re a professional regardless of where you are,” he replied, refusing to allow her to justify any time apart from him.

  “The hotel is prepaid and I’ll lose the money if I don’t show. It’s a waste.”