by Way, Maggie
Without giving Tristan a chance to react she walks up close to him and tugs the sleeve of his shirt. “Come on, let’s go eat at Montparnasse Tower. You must tell me all about this little party you are planning. We have so much to catch up on. Daddy’s been asking about you, he hates that you quit and he wants you back.”
Tristan raises an eyebrow, suddenly interested. “Really? I thought he couldn’t wait to see the back of me. If I recall his exact words, he said he never wanted to see my cocky Australian head again.”
She shakes her head and titters loudly in an annoyingly childish manner. Boy, she is really testing my patience. “No way! Daddy would never say that. He misses you, I miss you! Come on, let’s go nowwww!”
Victoria continues twirling her hair, twisting it back and forth with her fingers. She’s fifteen, I’m convinced she is fifteen years old. “Let’s go Hercules, I can get us right in without any reservations needed.”
Hercules? Tristan nods non-committedly and walks up to me. “Lacey, do you want to join us?”
Victoria glares at me, making it clear she does not want me to. I ignore her and clear my throat, leaning in to talk to him.
“Umm…no I would rather not if you guys are going up so high…”
Tristan frowns. “Oh shit, yes of course. Let’s go somewhere else—”
“No, you two go ahead.” I give him a weak smile. How dare he forget about my fear of heights as soon as a pretty girl gives him attention? Is he that easily distracted?
“I wanted to do check out Ile Saint-Louis, so I’ll just hop on the Metro from here.”
He purses his lips. “Are you sure?”
“Promise. Have a good time, I’ll see you later.” I just want to get out of here, and away from the sight of Tristan standing with his gorgeous ex who would practically take him here and now if she could.
Waving at them quickly I start pacing down the cobble lined pavement, breathing quietly as I dart through the crowds, keen to visit the first chocolate shop I can find.
♦
You have got to be kidding me. I could kill him.
“Non! Non! Non! Le poisson…fish…will be served whole, guests will serve themselves,” his annoyingly pompous French accent demands. I like a sexy French accent as much as the next woman but when I’m dealing with a chef like Claudio, something’s got to give. The chef hired by the Maria and Alain has been stubborn as a mule since I started talking to him about the escargot entrees. I have been totally put off French food. Even croissants, and I love croissants.
“The couple wants the fish to be fileted,” I insist, trying my best to hide my exasperation He’s not getting away with this.
“It ruins le saveur, taste!”
“That’s what the couple wants, and you will filet the fish. End of story,” I let out a loud breath, crossing off my checklist. “Now, the chicken cordon bleu. You’re using chicken breast and then the—”
“Non, I use the leg. Thighs.”
I stare at him stony-faced. The nerve of this guy, who is supposed to be a top French chef. I can totally understand if he understands how food works but this is what the couple wants, not what he wants.
Claudio isn’t a typical chef in that he was skinny, surprisingly so. Yet, in other ways he is perfectly typical. With a distinctively big nose and heavy set bags under his eyes, his chin length curly brown hair frames his heavily structured face. He’s wearing a full chef’s apron and I can see a few blotches on his it. But the most distinctive feature about him is his mouth, and the words that pour out of it.
“Where is your boss, Monsieur Keys?”
“He’s been busy, so you have to work with me,” I look right at him, maintaining my rigid stance.
Claudio scoffs to himself and I clench my jaw at his rudeness. Remind me again why he was hired? Oh that’s right, Marie’s daughter insisted on it.
Tristan has been busy running other parts of the business and dealing with odd clients here and there so I’ve been pretty much running the wedding on my own. It’s a good thing actually, because I didn’t want to see him after the incident with his ex. It’s been almost four days since I’ve seen him and to be honest, the time has gone by fast with the wedding planning.
The only time that has not gone this whole trip has been this last hour I’ve spend with Claudio, whose opinion is the right one, always. I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall.
In a unique position of being the catering manager and head chef, I have to work with him on the menu my clients want but his own artistic flair is getting in the way. I’ve only been talking to him for twenty minutes in this quiet café in Bagnolet, but I can already tell what type of chef he is like. He looks like the type to prowl around the kitchen, shouting and cursing whenever he feels like it. He’s the type to only ever smile when he tastes his own food, and for everyone else he would mutter under his breath what he thinks. Bland, too salty, dry…or as he kept repeatedly saying, non!
“No thighs, just breasts. Marie and Alain have been quite clear on what they want, so just deliver them what they want. Otherwise you will be dealing with me,” I scowl at him, sick of going in circles. Not only are Marie and Alain filthy rich, they are both divorcees and this is their third wedding. They mean business and they know what they want.
I swear I see a semblance of a smirk quirk on his thin lips when I said breast. And then he looks at me, stroking his chin inquisitively.
“Okay, Mademoiselle Lacey, I can use the breast. But the fish will be served whole, no negociable!”
I nod, jotting down his apparent final stance. It does feel rather chic to be called Mademoiselle, even if it’s by this thickly accented pig-headed chef.
“Fine, I’ll speak to the couple and see what they say. No promises they will be happy with this, because if they are not I will be speaking to you again.”
He leers at me again and as he sits up he gives me a good view of his lean and broad shouldered physique, as well as a distinctive gold anchor pendant. If he wasn’t so damn insufferable, he would be quite appealing. Striking looking even, but instead he is insufferable, arrogant and boorish. And I can’t wait to wrap up this conversation.
“I’ve never seen an anchor,” I point to his neck without thinking.
“My father was fisherman. Childish, no?” He grins, and suddenly he doesn’t seem so threatening or condescending anymore.
Good, at least I was able to build rapport with him. All it takes is to get them to talk about themselves. I look over my checklist, satisfied that we have gone through everything. At least he agreed about the chicken, that he could agree to.
“I think we’re done here.”
Pushing my chair back, I stand up and he eyes me up and down in my tight black dress and heels.
His mouth slightly ajar, he stands up in a hurry and we go over to the counter to pay for our respective coffees.
I expect him to make his own way out of the café but instead he walks out with me, his hands in his pockets.
“So, where you staying?” he asks, and he looks surprisingly approachable now. We’re standing outside the cafe, and I can see the Mercurial Towers in the distance.
“The Hotel Jardin. Have you lived in Paris your whole life?”
“No, I grew up in Le Havre, near the ocean. The sea. I moved to Paris two years ago, it’s a great city, but home is home.”
Amen to that. I can feel my shoulders relax at his friendliness. I get it, he’s a chef and he has a particular vision of how things should look and taste. I just hope his food is spectacular.
“Well, Alain would not have hired you if you weren’t good,” I insist.
He looks chuffed at my compliment, “Merci! I will let you try, taste the food first okay?” he grins in a suddenly cheeky way. I guess I just had to get him to open up to get him cooperate.
All of a sudden, somebody calls out to me.
“LACEY!”
I turn around to see Tristan standing just a few metres away. And boy, he do
es not look happy.
CHAPTER SIX
Heart pummelling tremendously here. What is Tristan doing here? In a loose-shirt, cargo shorts and sandals, he certainly isn’t dressed for a business meeting. I wave, and I expect him to come over and say hi to us but he stands there, grimacing at me and Claudio standing together.
I turn to Claudio, affixed with a firm smile on my face. “Anyway, I have to go but I’ll let you know what Marie thinks. And I’ll email you if I have any questions,” I dictate.
“Très bien! Au revoir,” he winks at me and walks off.
I walk towards Tristan and his already annoyed expression has turned even sourer after Claudio’s gesture.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
He shoots a dirty look in Claudio’s direction, but his lips are firmly shut. Instead he turns to look at me, his usual deadpan expression on tow.
“I was going to come and see how you and the chef were getting along, I can see you two are getting on swimmingly.” I can hear the hostility in his tone.
“Well that is my job, to work well with everyone involved in a wedding.”
Tristan crosses his arms, making him look even more imposing. “I wanted to talk to you about the other day…when Victoria saw us.”
I raise my hand to get him to stop. To think I was actually keen on starting with him. You know what? I’m glad Victoria came, because it shot me back to reality. The reality that Tristan and I should not get together. I’ll just disregard at how much I’ve missed him the last few days, at how my heart is racing at the sight of those massive arms, those arms that pinned me to my hotel door.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” I don’t want you to explain.
“You’re not even going to let me?”
“I’m saving you the obligation.”
“No, you’re denying me the right to.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Same thing.”
“I beg to differ.”
I walk past him, keen to cease this conversation. I need to catch the train back to the hotel, and I’m eager to continue planning the wedding. Tristan walks along with me, keeping a forced distance from me.
“So, how is the wedding coming along?”
“Good, busy.” The last few days have flown by in a whirl of run sheets, re-confirming guest lists, re-confirming floral arrangements, and just reconfirming everything in general. Alain and Marie have been extremely relaxed with the preparation so far, so much to the point where they’ve pretty much entrusted Gabe and I with putting their plans together.
“Have Alain and Marie been easy to work with?” Tristan turns to look at me while we keep walking.
“They’ve been great. The only difficulty I’ve had with them is that they have been too trusting.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Can they be that loaded that they can just easily spend another $5000 on flowers last minute? Marie practically laughed when I said how expensive it was going to be.”
“Marie is a generous client, that’s for sure. And friendly too.”
“Yeah, they’ve only got two catch phrases ‘Super!’ or ‘Tres bien!’ I need them to be more firm: more ‘non non!’ and less ‘oui’.”
Tristan sniggers at my terrible attempt at French.
“Don’t stop her spending extra. At the end of the day the client’s needs come first.”
“Yeah I know but $5000 just for imported flowers? Come on?” I scoff. “Anyway other this event becoming bigger than Ben Hur, everything is coming along.”
“I know I can trust you.” Suddenly Tristan walks closer to me and I turn to look at him.
“What?”
“I wish I could have helped you out with the wedding more. I was looking forward to working with you.”
I breathe inwardly at the way he said that. Not like a manager, and definitely not like a friend either.
“Tristan—”
“Tristan!”
My stomach sinks at the sound of that nasally voice, again. It can’t be, surely it can’t be.
“Fuck, will she ever leave me alone?” Tristan mutters to himself. Odd choice of words, I choose to ignore his comment.
I turn around to see Victoria standing down the street. Looking very chic in a pinstripe jumpsuit and oversized hat, she sees me and glares at me derisively. She really should learn to be more subtle. Strutting towards us in her stilettos, she stares me down as she stands next to Tristan.
“What is she doing here?” She asks, her voice ever so shrill. Wow, she just spoke about me as if I am not standing right in front of her.
“She is just leaving,” I narrow my eyes slightly at her and start walking away but Tristan grabs my arm. My heart races at his touch, again. Dammit, why must I keep reacting like that? Dammit, why does it hurt so much to see him with another woman?
Tristan looks at me, his blazing stare is so heated it makes my face feel warm.
“It’s not what you think it looks like.”
Leaning in to stare back at him, I try to avoid looking dejected. Because that’s how I feel right now.
“I don’t care what it looks like, you can do what you want, alright?”
“I wanted to go for another walk with you.”
“What are you two talking about?” Victoria whines. “Hurry up, I have to go back to Galeries Lafayette to pick up my custom made dress for the wedding.”
That’s right, little Miss Brat is going to the wedding where she will no doubt be hanging off Tristan’s arm. Hurray!
Victoria cocks up her head at me, looking insufferably smug. “Oh yeah, I’m coming to the wedding as his date.”
My eyes widen and I pull myself from his grip. I can’t stand the thought of them hanging out in Paris, and to think that I will be forced to see her at the wedding is irritating beyond belief.
“You are not coming as my date,” Tristan says dryly. “You were already invited to the wedding.”
She huffs loudly. “Same thing. Come on, are we going or what?”
“I am.” I walk away from him and her without saying anything.
“Lacey, don’t go—”
“I have to go and do some work. Not all of us have time to take girls shopping,” I spit out.
“Don’t be like this.” He walks closer to me and leans in. “I want to see you.”
“Well, I can’t with her there.”
Tristan’s eyes flare momentarily in surprise. “Are you…jealous of me and—?”
“I don’t have time to argue with you now. Bye, au revoir,” I mutter and turn around.
All I want to do can do is walk straight. And fast.
♦
It’s almost crunch time! Brushing aside the fact that Marie and Alain did not want a rehearsal that made me want to reach for a paper bag and hyperventilate, by all accounts everything appear to be in place for the first day of celebrations tomorrow. Everything is set to go for the first day, for the family-only ceremony and dinner reception on at Chateau de Riviera, a forty minute drive from Paris. All the arrangements have been made with the chateau: all the food, decorations and programs have all been set. In terms of transportation, Gabe and I are hiring a car and will drive up to stay at the chateau tonight, giving us plenty of time to start setting up in the morning. Tristan is arriving on the day with the bridal party, and will ensure everything is smooth from the guest’s side of things. It might be all smooth sailing, but I’m trying my best to suppress my disappointment and how things have turned out with Tristan.
I thought that things were going well with him, I was about to give him my all and then Victoria turned up. I don’t know what’s going on between them but I sure as hell know that I don’t want to start anything with him if she’s going to be in the picture. Nonetheless, I’m here to make Marie and Alain’s special day come true. Well, actually two special days.
It’s 2pm and I’m lounging with Gabe in my hotel room. We’re going to drive up to the chateau in a few hours so I’m just
sitting at the table, working on my laptop.
“I didn’t think it was possible but I feel even more fab in Paris,” Gabe teases his hair as he admires his reflection in the mirror opposite my bed. Having just gone through the final guest list, I’m reading through a critical email I have drafted to the manager of the château for tomorrow’s ceremony, Pierre.
“Get a beret and bicycle, you’ll be all set,” I suggest.
“Don’t forget the bread stick. God, the bread is good here.”
Yup, so are the pastries, the cheese, the fruit...I could go on.
“Speaking of food, I’m so darn excited to try the wedding cake. I can’t believe they ordered a pink champagne flavoured cake! What an insanely awesome idea. Eat cake and get tipsy at the same time!” he chuckles.
“Mmmhmm, genius idea.” I press send on the email to Pierre, going back to check my inbox. Everything has been dealt with, think I will just send one final confirmation to the restaurant.
Gabe scoots back from the mirror, clearly content with his hair for now and sits down at the table opposite me.
“So, why are you not hanging out with your man? I mean, I know I am way better company but you two should be making out like a couple of teenagers right now.”
Any mention of Tristan gets me irritated and I continue looking at the screen. Ever since I made it clear I did not want to hang out with him other than in a work capacity, our communication has been strictly limited to emails. He’s still asking to hang out, but frankly I don’t want to. I just want to put a wall of work between us as it distracts me from the mountainous frustration I feel about his ex being here, and how angry I am that he has been hanging out with her. Ever since that day where she practically snatched him away, it’s hard for me to be in the same room as him.
I feel like a fool for thinking things were going well, that he was opening up to me. I even thought that we were about to...never mind. It’s not going to happen, not in Paris.
“He is not my man, he’s just my boss.”
“Yeah right, your boss who practically drools every time you walk in the room. What’s wrong, why have you been so snarky towards him lately?”