I bit my lip—I didn’t want him to think he had to keep paying for things. This wasn’t a date. “Thanks. I need to change some money, I guess.”
“Does that mean you’re staying?” Lucas looked at me with a gleam in his eye.
I wanted to say yes, but I didn’t want him to stop trying to sway me. There was something really enjoyable about being the sole focus of his attention. “Still undecided.”
“All right, then. I’ve got work to do. Come on.”
“So nothing romantic, right?” Lucas rubbed his chin as we walked. He’d helped me change some money and now we were headed toward a Metro entrance.
“Right.”
“Damn, that’s a tall order in Paris, but I think I have an idea.”
I followed him down the cement steps, at the bottom of which he took my arm. “Come here. Do you know how to read this?” He led me over to a large map of the routes on the wall.
Quickly I looked it over. I actually love maps and I’m usually really good at reading them. “Each route is has a number and a different color, right? And the little dots are stops?”
“Yes. And the bigger shapes, the white ones, indicate where you can make a transfer to another line. The key is to look at the name of the stop that’s on the end of the line in the direction you want to go. For example, here we are…” He pointed over my shoulder to a big white oval on the map. “At Charles de Gaulle – Étoile.”
He was standing so close behind me that I could feel his breath in my hair. I wondered if it smelled like coffee and then scolded myself for having such a weird thought. “Right.”
“And we want to go here.” He slid his finger across the map to a stop labeled Père Lachaise.
“Père Lachaise…like the cemetery?”
“Yes. Dead people and stone monuments. Not romantic, right?”
I laughed, peeking at him over my shoulder. Holy shit, he was close. My temple actually grazed his chin, and he stepped back, clearing his throat.
“So, how do we get there?” he asked. “You tell me.”
“Hmmm.” Sucking my lips between my teeth, I studied the map, but my navigational skills didn’t feel too sharp, for some reason, and I was pretty sure that reason was Lucas’s scruffy jaw. It hadn’t been as scratchy as I’d imagined. What the hell, Mia? Focus. “Uh, we look for the number three and we want to go in the direction of…Gallieni?”
“Well, you could. Except the number three doesn’t stop at Charles de Gaulle – Étoile. We’d have to make a transfer.”
“Oh.” I squinted at the map again, but I could still feel his whiskers on my skin. Fucking concentrate, goddammit! You don’t even like scruff. “Oh! I see. We get on the…number two and sort of go up and around. That way we don’t have to transfer.”
“Exactly.”
Beaming with pride, I turned around. “So I need a ticket, right?”
“Yes. Over there.” Lucas led me to one of the ticket machines and watched as I got started, changing the language to English and moving through each step.
At one particular screen, I hesitated. “How many should I buy?”
“Is it just for one day?”
I kept my eyes on the screen. “I don’t know. Maybe two.”
“Aha! My plan is working!” he gloated.
I shrugged, refusing to look at him. “It might be. A little.”
“Get a book of ten.”
I paid by credit card and put nine tickets inside my wallet. Lucas had some kind of pass he swiped, and I fed my ticket into the machine and followed him through the turnstile. At that point he wanted me to lead the way, so I looked at all the signs carefully before choosing which tunnel to take.
When we arrived at the tracks, Lucas held up his hand and I high-fived him. “Way to go, princess. You successfully navigated the metro. I have confidence you can get yourself anywhere in Paris now, even when you’re on your own.”
“Thank you.” I took a small bow, but I felt a twinge of sadness when I imagined myself doing all this alone.
While we waited for the train, Lucas asked me what I did back in Detroit.
“I’m an event planner.”
He burst out laughing. “Of course you are.”
Indignant, I stuck my hands on my hips. “What’s funny about that?”
“Nothing.” He stopped guffawing but couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. “It’s the perfect job for you. I bet you’re really good at it.”
“I am, thank you very much.” I sniffed, slinging my bag higher on my shoulder. “I worked for someone else for a while after college and then started my own business when I was only twenty-five. Well, my best friend and I started it—she had inherited some money and we’d always wanted to do something together. So we went for it.”
He looked impressed. “Very cool. How’s it going?”
“Very well, actually. We were on the news last year for being two of the top up-and-coming young entrepreneurs in the city. We got a lot of business out of that, weddings mostly, but a bunch of them are pretty big-budget.” A flicker of discomfort on Lucas’s face made me pause, and for a second I wondered what I’d said wrong until I realized I’d mentioned weddings. But surprisingly, neither the word nor the idea bothered me.
Huh.
“And what’s the name of your company?”
“Devine Events. Devine is my last name.”
He smiled at me again, but it was softer. More admiring than amused. “It suits you.”
At that moment the train pulled into the station, roaring along the tracks as a blush warmed my face. I dropped my eyes to the ground. What the hell? Was he flirting with me? Was flirting allowed on this tour? And what’s with the way my heart was beating? It felt huge and clumsy in my chest as we boarded the train.
There was only one empty seat, and Lucas gestured for me to sit. He remained standing, and even though the train’s movement wasn’t smooth, he didn’t hold on to anything, just stood in the aisle with his feet planted wide and his arms crossed. Why that turned me on a little, I had no idea, but I felt a stir low in my belly.
Hmm. I guess he’s growing on me.
Haha, growing on me.
Turning my cheek so he couldn’t see the smile I was trying to hide, I berated myself for the dirty thought. Stop it, Mia. And don’t even look at his crotch right now. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t—
I did it. I couldn’t help myself.
It wasn’t a longing gaze or anything, more like just a passing glance, and it didn’t tell me anything, but I was still scared he’d noticed. I switched my focus to my sneakers.
A few stops later, the seat next to me was vacated and Lucas sat down. “So are you a cemetery person? Was Père Lachaise on your list?”
“I don’t know if I’d call myself a cemetery person, but I believe it was on the list. Remind me who’s buried there?”
“Lots of people. But names you’d know are Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, Chopin, Oscar Wilde, Balzac, Gertrude Stein…”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’m impressed, Professor Fournier.”
He shrugged. “I’m a cemetery person. I think they’re beautiful and relaxing. Peaceful.”
I considered it. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“I just hope it’s not crammed with tourists today, although it is the season.”
“We ruin your soulful hipster vibe, is that it?”
He thumped my leg and leaned closer to me. “Yes, in fact, you do.”
“Well, I’ll try to rein in my excitement but no promises.”
Our faces were close, nearly nose to nose. My breath got stuck in my lungs as his eyes dropped to my lips for a second. Jesus, he’s going to kiss me. Right here on the train, he’s totally going to kiss me!
But before I could even decide how I felt about it, he leaned back in his seat. “You don’t wear lipstick. I noticed that last night.”
It took me a second to recover. “What? Oh, no. I don’t, not usually.”
“I like th
at. I think lipstick is gross.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. It’s all sticky and goopy, and it gets all over everything, and I don’t know what the hell toxic chemicals it’s made of these days, but it never comes off.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, I think there are some hazardous ingredients in a lot of them. I’m a lip balm person myself.”
Lucas cocked his head and looked at me askance. “Good to know.”
Bang bang bang went my swollen heart against my ribs.
Damn, it was official—he was flirting with me, and I liked it.
“This is us.” Lucas nudged me, and I stood when he did, but I did not have his sea legs and immediately fell forward as the train swerved into the station. Lucas caught me easily against his chest. “Whoa. You OK?”
“Yes, sorry. But I think I have to hold on.”
“I’ve got you.” He turned me around and held me by the shoulders until the train came to a stop and the doors opened. “Here we go.” Once we were on solid ground, he let go of me.
And I kind of wished he hadn’t.
#
Much to Lucas’s dismay, there were quite a few busloads of tourists at Père Lachaise. We managed to avoid the crowds by skipping the big names and just wandering the dirt and cobblestone paths with no particular destination. I’d asked if there was somewhere I could get a map or a Who’s Buried Where kind of guide, but Lucas insisted that we didn’t need one. “I come here a lot,” he assured me. “Let’s just walk, and if you’re curious about something, I’ll tell you what I know.”
“But I love maps. I want a map. I need a map,” I whined.
“No, you don’t.”
I gave him a withering look, and he held up his hands. “I know I said I wouldn’t argue with you, but let’s just try it my way, and if it doesn’t work for you, I promise I’ll go buy you a map.”
It made my palms a little itchy to think of meandering through such a big famous place without a guide, but I figured I could try to endure it for Lucas’s sake.
And actually, I enjoyed it.
With no particular route to follow or timetable set, I found myself in less of a rush than I usually was when sightseeing, noticing things that I probably wouldn’t have if I’d had my nose stuck in a guide.
And Lucas hadn’t exaggerated—he was able to tell me a lot of stories about the people buried there, whether they were musicians, actors, writers or politicians. “This one here?” He gestured toward a bronze-gone-green statue of a man reclining on his tomb. “Best story ever.”
I paused in front of it. “Really? Who was he?”
“He was a French president who died while getting a blowjob from his mistress. His epitaph in French is, ‘Il voulait être César, il ne fut sue Pompée,’ which could mean ‘He wanted to be Caesar but ended being Pompey.’” Lucas’s eyes glittered. “Or it could mean, ‘He wanted to be Caesar but ended being pumped.’”
I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth. “God, that would never be allowed on the grave of an American President.”
Lucas shook his head. “Probably not.”
“You’re pretty good with all this history,” I said as we continued walking.
“I find it interesting.”
I elbowed him. “Especially the parts with blowjobs, I bet.” To my surprise, he blushed, and the word adorable popped into my head. “I’m serious. It’s amazing how much you know about this place.”
“I have a good memory is all.”
I sighed. “I don’t. I have to write everything down or I forget things constantly.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Really? I’d have thought you were one of those girls who always remembers everyone’s name and where you met and what they were wearing.”
“Not if I don’t write it down somewhere. There’s a reason I like lists so much—I’m not just obsessed with them for fun.”
“Fun,” he scoffed, nudging me with his shoulder. “Lists are not fun.”
I giggled and went to shove him back but he dodged it and threw his arms around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides so I couldn’t move. “Behave, princess.” His breath tickled my neck through my hair, sending a weightless joy rushing up inside me.
“What if I don’t want to behave?”
Lucas went completely still, and for a moment I thought I might have gone too far. Change the subject.
“Hey, what’s that?” Up ahead was one of the most elaborate tombs I’d ever seen—it was almost like its own little Gothic chapel without walls. Inside the structure lay two statues in repose right next to each other, their hands steepled in prayer.
Lucas released me. “Ah. Abelard and Heloise. But that’s one I don’t know if I can tell you about.”
“Why not?” Moving closer to it, I stared at the stonework, nearly breathless at its beauty.
“Because it’s a very tragic romantic story. I’m not sure it’s advisable on this excursion.”
“No, tell me. I promise I can handle it.”
“OK. But I warned you. Ugh—” He took an elbow in the gut from me before going on. “So Abelard was a twelfth-century teacher and philosopher, and he’d heard about this brilliant young beauty named Heloise. He convinces her uncle to let him tutor her, only they don’t get much studying done.”
I put a hand on his arm. “Let me guess—more blowjobs.”
“You have a dirty mind, princess. But yes, I suppose there were blowjobs. Now don’t interrupt.”
“Sorry, go on.” I put my hands at the top of the iron fence surrounding the tomb and focused on the figures lying there, trying to ignore the way his nearness was starting to make my whole body tingle.
“They carry on a passionate, illicit love affair for a while,” Lucas went on, “long enough for Heloise to get pregnant, and it’s a big scandal because he’s so much older than she is. Anyway, the uncle finds out and tries to separate them, but they marry in secret.”
Rapt, I imagined it all as he talked—the late night tutoring sessions that ended in passionate kisses when their desire for one another became too much to bear. The secret trysts—I pictured them lying on some kind of bearskin rug in front of a fireplace, the flames casting golden light on their glistening bodies. The secret wedding ceremony, hurriedly conducted in hushed voices in a tiny chapel. “Go on,” I urged, feeling more than a little aroused myself. “Then what happened?”
“Well, it gets a bit gruesome at this point. Abelard fears for their safety because the uncle’s kind of a dick and not too happy about the marriage. So he hides Heloise in a convent and goes back to Paris alone, where he’s attacked and, uh, castrated.” Lucas shivered and adjusted the crotch of his pants.
I gasped. “No!”
“Yes. He’s so ashamed he decides he can’t face Heloise, and he becomes a monk. She’s so devastated she gives up her child, joins a convent, and becomes a nun.”
My mouth fell open. “What? They never saw each other again?”
“I don’t think so. But they wrote to each other for twenty years. And the love letters survived.”
“Love letters, really? Are they romantic?”
“I’ve never read them, actually. But I think they are. And lovesick crazies from all over the world come and leave letters here, hoping it will bring them good luck, although if you think about it, that makes no sense at all. These two weren’t reunited until death.”
I sighed again, exasperated. “You were right. You shouldn’t have told me that story. Now I’m all…” I fidgeted uncomfortably. Turned on. “Discombobulated.”
“I think I know what will fix that.”
My stomach cartwheeled, and I licked my lips. “What?”
“Wine. And maybe some food.”
“Oh. Right.”
Wait a minute. Was I actually disappointed that he meant wine instead of something more suggestive? What the hell was wrong with me? It was wine, for fuck’s sake. My favorite thing.
Tucking my sweater more snugly a
round me, I smiled at him. “Yes, that sounds perfect. Let’s go.”
Lucas chose a table by the window in the brasserie we’d picked, and I took a seat across from him. “I’m famished. What time is it anyway?”
“It’s just after two.”
“Is it? Wow, time flies when you’re having fun.” I thanked the waiter who handed me the menu and opened it up.
“Are you having fun?”
I looked up and saw Lucas studying me curiously. “Of course I am. Aren’t you?”
“Yes. But I don’t need to be convinced to stay in Paris. Have you made a decision yet?”
“I’m this close.” I held up one hand with my thumb and finger just an inch apart and continued in a whisper. “After some wine, it might be official.”
“OK, then, this bottle better be good.” He considered the list and looked up at me through thick, dark lashes. “What would you like?”
“Hmmmm. I really loved what you poured for me last night. The one from the Rhône Valley.”
“Want to try another Rhône or something different?”
“You pick. I’ll just enjoy. Oh, could you order me a salad like the one that’s on that lady’s plate over there?” I tried to point without being obvious.
Twisting in his chair, Lucas looked behind him. “It’s a Salad Niçoise,” he said. “Now you can order it.”
“But your French is so much better.” Lacing my fingers together under my chin, I attempted a winning smile. “Really, I don’t speak it well at all. Could you order it, please?”
He shook his head. “What are you going to do when I’m not around to order for you? You should do it. Don’t be scared.”
The thought of uttering French words in front of Lucas made me sweat a little, but when the waiter came around, I managed to order the salad and even ask for some water. Lucas ordered the wine—at least that’s what I assumed all the rapid-fire French was about—and a Salad Niçoise also.
“See? Was that so hard?” he asked when we were alone again.
“I guess not,” I admitted, smoothing my napkin onto my lap. I knew he was right about learning to speak for myself, because even if I did stay, I couldn’t expect Lucas to spend all his time with me. This was probably just a one-day deal. A hollow pit formed in my stomach, and I realized how sad I would be if I didn’t see him again after today. When I looked up, I saw him watching me with a serious expression on his face.
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