by Way, Maggie
I’m excited to land in Paris and see what happens next.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I look forward to meeting you and Mr. Langlais tomorrow, Ms. Herveaux. If you need anything in the meantime, do not hesitate to contact myself, Mr. Sasse, or Mr. Keys. Au revoir!” I hang up on my voicemail. I’ve tried to reach her and Alain separately, but since they’re not picking up I think a voicemail will be more than enough. It’s 6PM, it’s probably their dinner time and they probably don’t want to deal with it now.
Putting the phone down on the desk, I walk over to the bed and plunk my head on it, relishing at the gorgeous surroundings I am in. With a fitness centre and spa, Le Boutique Hotel Jardin is a luxurious boutique hotel located in the heart of Paris. It also boasts an elegant lobby with archways and high ceilings. Just a five-minute walk from the Luxembourg Gardens and Notre-Dame-des-Champs Metro Station, I can literally walk to the centre of the city. The hotel’s decor is a tribute to French and international literature and my rooms even have an iPod docking station and an iPad for use. Sublime! Resting my head on my hands, I look up at the gorgeous striped ceiling when there’s a knock on my door.
Fortunately, I’m wearing a bra, no more mishaps like in Bangkok.
I really don’t want to leave this plush bed, and I groan as I force myself to get up. Tucking my loose hair behind my left ear I open the door, my stomach in knots at who is standing on the other side. It’s Tristan. He’s wearing his usual open plaid shirt, white t-shirt and loose jeans and he’s freshly shaved. That’s a man right there. What is he doing here, and why am I in my daggy PJs?
He looks down at my t-shirt and smirks. “Nice peaches.”
I look down at my pink pyjama top which has, as Tristan just mentioned, two peaches. I blush. Has this man ever heard of a phone or the concept of SMS? You know, where you text somebody before you come over to see them.
“What’s up?”
“Come on, let’s go out.” His voice is curt.
I grip the back of the door tightly at his sudden request.
“Where?”
“Out. You’ve never been to Paris, I have. So we’re going out.”
A strange mix of butterflies erupts in my stomach. “Now?”
“Now.”
I point to my pyjama bottoms. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
He looks at me incredulously. “Well, you’re going to have get dressed then, aren’t you?”
Giving him a blank stare, I try to hide the wide grin threatening to emerge. “Alright, give me a few minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting out here.”
I close the door, letting out the deepest breath. Tristan is waiting for me to get dressed, waiting to take me on a tour of Paris. Think quick, Ryan, I have to get dressed now. I have to get dressed quickly enough so he doesn’t wait too long – I have to look good enough for him to ogle over me but not so good that he thinks I’m trying too hard for him. Dashing over to my suitcase, I reach for my trusty black skinny jeans which sit nice and snug over my hips, emphasising the shape of my butt. Rummaging through the pile some more, I find my long sleeve stripe top.
Quickly peeling off my top and pants, I change into my outfit as I walk towards the bathroom in search of my makeup pouch. It’s still sunny outside so I squirt out a big dollop of sunscreen and lather it generously over my face. Hands slightly jittery at the reality of my Adonic hunk/crush waiting outside to take me out, I quickly apply one thick layer of eyeliner on both my eyelids and finish off with a wingtip. One more thing, I take my peony and peach fragrance and spray it on my wrists and the nape of my neck. Done! Looking in the mirror, I quickly comb my hair with my fingers.
Grabbing my handbag from the floor by the bed, I grab my phone to check the time. 6:07PM. Wow not a bad effort! I drop my phone into the bag and go to the door to put on my black ankle boots. Quickly flattening my hair, I take a quick breath before I open the door. Tristan turns around and his mouth pops open at the sight of me all done up.
“Wow, that was quick.”
“I didn’t want to take too long—”
“You don’t need a second,” he mumbles to himself, leering at me in tight jeans.
I bask in his admiration of me, I want to look good for him. Stepping out, I sling my handbag over my shoulder.
“Anyway, let’s get going yeah—?”
“Oh to hell with it.”
A gasp leaves me when he pushes me back into the room, grabbing me until he backs me into the door, closing it decisively. My heart rate goes from dormant to active in zero point two seconds.
“What is it with you and shoving me into rooms, huh?” I tease, my mouth quivering.
Pinning me to the door with his hips, his nostrils flare loudly as he places his hands on my waist. He’s completely serious, those whiskey eyes staring heatedly at my mouth, which is parted slightly open.
“What is it with you and driving me so damn wild?” Tristan murmurs, fisting my top. Oh god, whenever he touches me it’s so hot. The things he says to me, the things he does to me drives me wild.
“What are you doing?” I moan as he leans in to my neck, careful not to kiss me. His mouth lingers over my skin, he’s smelling me, absorbing the essence of me.
“I thought we were going to have some fun here, yeah?” He places a gentle but firm kiss below my ear, and involuntarily my hands go up to the nape of his neck. “God, you smell so good.”
Running my hands over his jaw, I tilt my head so my mouth moves closer to his. It doesn’t take him long to understand what I want, and before I know it his mouth claims mine. That hot, sweet, possessive mouth. Oh god, I’ve missed this. It’s been far too long since I’ve tasted him, and I kiss him back with an eagerness that I didn’t know I had. That low grumble emerges from him, and I know he is keen to do more than kiss me. Putting my hands on his shoulders, a moan leaves me as he runs his hands under my top to start caressing my stomach.
It’s taking me all my might and strength to stop this, when it’s all I’ve been thinking about. I would want nothing more than him to take me to bed, for him to explore my body, for me to explore his body. I want to run my hands over that muscular body. The very thought gets me weak at the knees.
“I thought you were showing me Paris,” I moan as he runs his hands up and down my waist, his fingers infusing heat on my skin.
He breathes into my neck. “I can show you something else if you prefer.”
Biting my lip, I want to take control of the situation. After the last two times he’s played with me, I can’t just let him do it to me again. Besides, I didn’t get dressed up just to have him undress me!
“No, let’s go now.”
Pushing him away playfully, I stare him down and flash him a cheeky grin.
“You said you were taking me out. So, we’re going out.”
His eyes widen at my directness. “Oh, you like to tease me don’t you?”
I could say the same thing about him.
A smirk emerging on my amused lips, I open the door and step outside. I do want him, a lot. But I can’t take another moment where he makes another move and pulls away again. Instead I’m going to wait until I know for sure he won’t pull away again. Besides, I want to see Paris. Walking down the corridor, I hear Tristan sigh loudly and it takes a few moments for him to close the door and catch up to me.
We exit the hotel, headed north. It’s a beautiful day, determined to be a story-book perfect day in Paris. The warm air swirls with the chatter of people in the streets, skinny girls walking in their trendy jeans and vintage bags, lanky boys with their scruffy hair and cigarettes, old couples with their droopy dogs.
As we keep walking towards the Notre Dame Cathedral, the more crowded Paris gets. I don’t know if he suddenly had a change of heart or it is because of where we are but he decides to open up to me. He talks about how he had the best pasta ever in Paris and tried to replicate it when he got home, only to have it be a complete disaster. He talks about how he tak
es terrible photos of famous landmarks he visits, never patient enough to get more than one shot. He talks about how despite all the awful things that have happened in Paris lately, he still feels the people are as friendly and full of life as always. Then he started talking about his mom, about how she would make the best shepherd’s pie and how he always asks her to make it whenever he sees her. How she would help him with his homework every night even if she was exhausted after a twelve-hour shift at the nursing home. I’d like to get to know her better. I’ve only met her a few times, and barely spoke to her but Janet seems real lovely. A strong woman who raised a wonderful son, all on her own. Tristan says nothing of his father, and I know not to ask about it. I like this side of Tristan, the more relaxed side and I hope I get to experience him more often.
We turn a corner and—there it is—the River Seine. I suck in my breath. It’s gorgeous. Couples and gleeful students stroll along the riverbank, where shopkeepers have lined up old cardboard boxes filled with paperback books, old magazines and artworks for browsing.
And then, as we’re turning our attention back toward the river, I see it in the distance.
Notre-Dame. I recognize it from photographs, of course. But in real life…just wow.
Mounds of green vines spill down the walls and into the water, completing the fairy tale.
I slowly exhale. “It’s beautiful.”
Tristan is watching me.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” I don’t know what more to say. After taking a few snaps, where I insisted on taking them myself instead of letting Tristan do it, we keep walking ahead.
We soon enter an area even more touristy and busy, crammed with bustling restaurants and shops and hotels. Grocery shops are filled with the most vibrant produce, tomatoes as big as apples, raspberries as big as strawberries. The roads are narrow and street vendors shout in broken English from all corners. This is sublime, I could spend hours getting lost and exploring every crack and crevice.
“Where are we?” I wish I didn’t have to ask so many questions, I sound like a typical tourist.
“Le Marais. Do you like falafel?”
I nod eagerly. “Yes, I love it!”
He takes me to the heart of the Jewish quarter where we have to wait in line for a taste, but boy was it worth it. The crunch, the explosion of flavours and herbs, the freshness is sublime.
Afterwards, we grab a coffee to go and we keep exploring the rest of Le Marais. He takes me to Place des Vosges, a lovely preserved square. There’s so much life, energy and history entrenched here. I cannot get enough of window shopping all the boutiques and small specialty shops selling just about everything I can think of. I love Paris and if I’m to be honest, I’m glad to be exploring it with Tristan. Even though he’s been keeping a respectable distance from me, he always walks slightly behind with a hand close behind my back, and I feel safe in his presence. Okay I’ll admit it. I want to be with him. I like being with him and I wish he was mine. Maybe I really should say something? It wouldn’t count as making the first move if I just admitted I wanted to be with him, right?
We’re walking back from Place des Vosges and towards the Rue des Francs-Bourgeois when I stop to take a few photos of a gorgeous boutique shop. Taking out my phone, I fail to enclose the lock of my now bulging black leather bag, which I have filled with knick-knacks I have purchased. Stepping back a few paces, I’m about to take a snap when I can feel a man stand near me. Keeping my eyes on the phone I don’t take much notice and zoom in on my phone to take a photo. He walks a bit closer and starts to say something when Tristan walks over and puts his arm around my shoulder, sweeping me away from the mystery man.
“Hey I was about to take a photo.” What the hell is he doing?
Tristan keeps his arm tightly gripped around my shoulder, moving me forward down the street until we are somewhere quieter. My heartbeat pulses at how protective he is, and for a split second I feel like we’re a couple. A couple in Paris, no less.
“That man was looking at you.” He keeps looking ahead as he keeps walking me forward, his hand hooked on my shoulder still. This display of public affection is odd, but I like it. I like it a lot.
“So? He wasn’t doing anything weird.”
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you, alright?”
I’m still very confused. “He probably wanted to steal my—”
“Either way, you have to be more careful,” he growls, making his wrath all too clear. “Who knows what he could have done.”
I wriggle from his hold and stop where I am, and he stops a few steps ahead of me. “I can take care of myself, you know. If anyone tries to hurt me I can just knock them out with my bag. It’s like twenty tonnes in here!”
He sighs loudly, his back to me. “I don’t think you realise how much men look at you.”
I raise an eyebrow at his tone. It’s suspicious. “Are you trying to say you are jealous?
“Of course not.” He turns his head slightly to face me. “But I feel protective of you.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.” But secretly, I like that he wants to.
“I know but—”
“I like it, though. I always feel safe with you.”
My words cause him to widen his eyes, softening from their typical stern appearance. This is it, this is the time for me to say something. I’m going to tell him my feelings for him, I’m going to lay it all out to him.
“Tristan, I—”
“Tristan, is that you?”
We both turn around to see who this mystery woman is. Long blonde hair, waif thin, long purple dress. She’s gorgeous, and she’s only got eyes for Tristan. Who the heck is this woman who just happened to ruin this could be divine, romantic Paris moment. And why am I feeling all sorts of rage right now towards her?
I peek up to look at Tristan. He looks less than enthused to see her.
“It’s Victoria. My old boss’s daughter.”
In other words, his ex. That he’s still friends with.
CHAPTER FIVE
This can’t be happening. Tristan’s gorgeous and statuesque blonde ex is standing right in front of us and she is eyeing him up hungrily: like a brand new designer handbag. And now she is walking towards Tristan, with a huge smile on her face no less. My insides are writhing slowly. I would love nothing more than for Tristan to dismiss her or be rude to her but oh no, the corners of his mouth lift up into a friendly grin and he walks towards her, leaving me standing there to watch them embrace. The sight of him wrapping his big arms around her, and her returning it with fervent enthusiasm makes me all kinds of sick. They hold onto each other a few seconds longer than I would have liked and when they finally break away from each other’s arms they keep their arms around each other, staring into each other’s eyes. And I’m just standing here, watching this display of passion. Fuming quietly to myself.
Crossing my arms, I watch Tristan break away from the hug, purposefully putting some distance between him and her.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Victoria shrugs her pretty little shoulders. They’re broad and tan, and in that dress they emphasise her slender figure.
“Small world, isn’t it?” She bats her eyelashes furiously at him, flicking her hair. Too damn small, it’s a miniscule dot evidently.
“I always come to Paris around this time of year.”
“That’s right. You like to come here to feel more cultured and what not,” he says dryly, teasing her.
“Stop it, that is so not true! I am like so cultured.” She slaps his arm gently, giggling in a rather high-pitched manner. Her laugh is a rather shrieking sound. “So, guess what? I’m coming to the wedding.”
“What wedding?”
“The one you’re planning, silly! Marie and Alain’s.”
My stomach churns with agony. Tristan’s gorgeous ex is not only in Paris, but she is also attending the wedding. That means she will be seeing Tristan again after this. I’m lost
for words at how small the world is. It’s suddenly become a dot so small, it’s almost invisible.
I can see the colour drain from his face, but he maintains perfect composure.
“How did you…I don’t understand.”
“Marie and I go a long way back, I went to school with her daughter Alice. Of course, when I found out you were planning the wedding I called her up and she gave me an invite! Remember the last time we came to Paris? We had so much fun on that trip last year—”
Tristan knits his brows, his eyes alight with concern. “How the hell did you find out about me planning this wedding? That kind of information is not privy to you.”
She looks unconcerned with his change of tone, and starts twirling her hair.
“Umm, don’t you remember who my dad is? He knows like everybody.”
I clench my jaw at the way she is looking at him. She wants him, bad.
Finally, after what seems like the most torturous eternity, Tristan turns to gesture to me.
“Victoria, this is Lacey. My wedding planner, we work together.”
She turns to look at me and gives me a thinly veiled smile as she scrutinises me furiously, almost in a threatening way.
I half expect her to walk over and shake my hand, or give me a hug. But she doesn’t, she remains standing where she is. Standing near Tristan.
“So where did you pick this one from? She looks a bit young to be planning your fancy schmancy events don’t you think?”
Backhanded compliment of the year, definitely. I plaster the phoniest smile on my face, eagerly hoping she decides to say goodbye soon. How long is she going to talk to him?
Tristan gives her a that-was-uncalled-for-look. “Now, now, Victoria. I’ve known her a long time and she is amazing at what she does.” He looks at me softly. “Not to mention her good looks helps a lot with my business.”
This doesn’t go unnoticed with Victoria who I swear shoots daggers at me before looking back at Tristan. “I thought you only liked blondes.”
Gosh, she sounds whiny. He’s just my boss and she’s acting like we’re a couple. Which we are definitely not.