Honeymoon in Paris

by Juliette Sobanet

  Yes, the finance talk could definitely wait.

  An hour and a whole lot of steam later, Luc and I emerged from the hotel elevator, our cheeks on fire with that newlywed glow we’d been carrying around all week. Hand in hand, we floated over the marble floor of the chic lobby, but just as we stepped out into the crisp autumn day, a swarm of camera-ready paparazzi stopped us in our tracks. And while I would’ve loved to think they were all waiting for the moment when Luc and Charlotte Olivier would walk out of this fancy hotel, they couldn’t have been less interested in us. It was the sleek, black limo that had just pulled up to the curbside that had all the cameras poised and ready for clicking.

  Luc sidestepped around them, not seeming the least bit interested in finding out who was about to step out of that limo.

  “Wait, Luc. This is so exciting. Who do you think it is?”

  He kissed me on the forehead, then tugged at my hand. “You are my star, chérie. Come, let’s go shopping.”

  “I’ve never seen anyone famous,” I said, peering around the cameras. “Let’s just see who it is and then we’ll go, okay?”

  He eyed the photographers warily before giving a slight nod. How could Luc not be the least bit excited to see a celebrity?

  A small crowd of tourists had gathered around the paparazzi, so I led Luc around the edge of the group until we had a clear view. As the limo door opened, a tall, slender man dressed in a crisp gray suit jacket and dark jeans appeared. His black hair was peppered with just enough gray to give him that distinguished, experienced look that only an older man could get away with. A rail-thin blonde who, from her profile, looked young enough to be the man’s daughter, took his outstretched hand and shot a sultry gaze at the cameras.

  Just as her big green eyes turned toward us, I recognized her face. She was starring in Le Problème avec l’Amour alongside one of France’s most eligible heartthrobs, and my friend Fiona’s biggest celebrity crush, Marcel Boucher. As I was trying to remember the actress’s name, Luc turned to me, the look in his eyes one of pure bewilderment.

  “Come on, Charlotte. Let’s go,” he said firmly.

  But before we could even turn around, the young actress linked arms with her much older date, fixed her gaze on Luc, and strutted right up to us.

  “Luc, what a nice surprise,” she said in French. “Obviously you remember Vincent.”

  Luc’s face went stone cold as he stared at the two of them, cameras clicking furiously around us. The older man nodded at Luc, the severity in his hazel eyes overriding the politeness of his outstretched hand.

  Luc didn’t take Vincent’s hand, though. Instead he squeezed my hand so tight I almost yelped, then cleared his throat.

  What in the hell is going on?

  “This must be your new girlfriend,” the girl purred, not masking the undertones of jealousy laced in her sex-kitten voice.

  “This is Charlotte, my wife,” Luc responded without hesitation.

  But as Luc’s eyes met mine, I saw something in them I hadn’t seen all week.

  Dread.

  “And Charlotte,” Luc began. “This is Brigitte, Adeline’s mother… and my ex-wife.”

  TWO

  I opened my mouth to say hello, bonjour, why in the hell are you crashing our honeymoon, anything, but all words had escaped me.

  This was Luc’s ex-wife? This bombshell of an actress who looked like she couldn’t be more than twenty years old was Adeline’s mother? How on earth had Luc never told me that the Brigitte he’d referred to so often, the Brigitte who’d been such a horrible mother, the Brigitte who’d made his life a living hell of divorce and custody battles for a majority of the past year was a famous actress? A famous actress who was staying at our hotel no less.

  Did he not think this was an important piece of information to share with his wife?

  Brigitte’s icy green eyes combed the length of my body, disapproval written all over her dainty features. “How lovely to meet you, Charlotte. Luc didn’t tell me he was getting married. Always keeping secrets, isn’t he, our Luc?”

  This time I squeezed Luc’s hand so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter into a million pieces at our feet.

  “And Luc didn’t tell me you were an actress,” I said through a gritted-teeth smile.

  “Well, he never was very supportive of my career. I’m back in Paris for the premiere of my new film. I’m starring alongside Vincent’s son, Marcel Boucher.” She tilted her chin and gave Vincent an overdramatic kiss on the lips, making the picture-hungry paparazzi swoon with excitement.

  A devilish grin appeared on Vincent’s rugged face. “Yes, I met Brigitte when I came to visit Marcel on set, and the minute I saw her, I knew I had to have her. I can’t believe you let this one get away, Luc.” He slipped his arm around her nonexistent waist and kissed her on the neck. “I’m so glad you did, though,” he said.

  “How’s the publishing business, Vincent?” Luc cut in with an edge to his tone I’d never quite heard before.

  “Couldn’t be better. We’re opening up a new magazine which will be headquartered in Lyon, actually. Is your family still down that way?”

  Luc’s jaw tightened as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Charlotte and I have a busy day planned, so we have to get going. Best of luck with the film premiere.”

  “Please give your father my best, Luc. And your mother and sister too,” Vincent said coolly.

  Luc didn’t respond, instead only gracing this Vincent character with a flare of his nostrils. How did Luc know this man? And how did Vincent know Luc’s family? Luc hadn’t even spoken to his own father in years.

  Luc grabbed my hand to lead me away from the swarming cameras, from his ex-wife’s dagger-filled glare, and from this suave older man with whom he clearly had bad blood. But before we could escape, Brigitte’s hand landed on Luc’s arm, her plump, scarlet lips hovering an inch from his ear.

  “I’m back in France for good now, Luc. And I want visitation rights to see Adeline. Vincent is setting me up with one of his lawyers, so it will not be in your best interest to fight me on this. A young girl needs her mother.” Then her cutting gaze landed on me. “Her real mother. Not some knockoff who’ll probably only be around for a year or two tops.” She traced her hand up Luc’s arm, resting it on his shoulder. “Luc Olivier, you and all of your secrets were never cut out for marriage—as your little Charlotte will soon find out.”

  “What was that?” I said as we left Brigitte, Vincent, and their entourage of photographers back at the hotel.

  Luc shook his head as fiery red patches splashed across his cheeks. “I am so sorry, Charlotte. I had no idea she would be in Paris this week and staying at the same hotel with that connard.”

  Noting Luc’s charged use of the French word for asshole, I continued my questioning. “Do you think she planned this?”

  “Mais bien sûr. Everything with Brigitte is calculated.”

  Orange and yellow leaves crunched underneath our feet as we walked past La Maison du Chocolat. But after that debacle, even chocolate didn’t sound good.

  “This morning in bed, when I told you that the movie I’ve been wanting to see was premiering in Paris this weekend, you knew it was Brigitte’s film, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say something?” I said.

  Luc just barely missed a pile of dog poo littering the sidewalk as he shook his head in frustration. “It’s the last day of our honeymoon. It clearly wasn’t the right time to mention her.”

  “When was going to be the right time, Luc? How could you have conveniently forgotten to tell me that your ex-wife is a famous actress? Is this how you’re able to afford such a lavish honeymoon? And you insisted on paying for most of our wedding too. Are you getting alimony from her?”

  “No, Brigitte is not giving me any money. It is only with her latest film that she has reached this status of fame. Before this, she’d only had minor roles in a few TV shows and movies. Then she started sleeping with that Australian film director, left me, t
ook Adeline, and moved to Australia with him, thinking he would make her famous. I imagine that she left him the minute it worked.”

  “Clearly. She’s a real piece of work, that ex-wife of yours.”

  “A piece of work?” Luc asked in his thickening accent—his English always deteriorated whenever he was angry.

  “To put it nicely, it means she’s difficult.” I reached over and took Luc’s hand, giving it a squeeze. As upset as I was that he hadn’t told me the entire truth about Brigitte, I could only imagine how livid he felt that she’d stormed our hotel on the last day of this amazing honeymoon he’d planned for me.

  Luc nodded. “Oui, Brigitte is definitely a piece of work.”

  “What about this Vincent Boucher guy? How do you know him?”

  Luc picked up his pace as we rounded the corner onto the tree-lined Champs-Élysées, the crowds of tourists herding past us making me feel claustrophobic.

  “Vincent Boucher knew my family a long time ago,” Luc said. “And there is nothing else to tell.”

  “So you know his sons, the famous actors, Marcel and Nicolas Boucher?”

  Luc’s nostrils flared again, his eyes set firmly on the sidewalk ahead. “Yes, I grew up with them.”

  “Okay, so let me get this straight. You grew up with the Boucher brothers, and their dad is now dating your ex-wife? Your ex-wife who looks like she’s about twenty years old?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I said, searching Luc’s distressed face. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Luc? Something that happened between Vincent and your family?”

  Luc stayed silent for a few moments as he squeezed my hand and proceeded to walk even faster. We passed by my favorite pizzeria on the Champs—Café di Roma. An older French couple lounged at one of the restaurant’s outdoor tables, smoking their cigarettes and sipping on wine as if they hadn’t a care in the world. The gray-haired woman eyed us curiously as we jetted past—surely wondering where we were going in such a hurry on this lazy fall afternoon when most of the country was still finishing up vacation.

  Finally, Luc broke the silence. “It is a long story that is not relevant at the moment, ma chérie. What is important is that we not let this ruin the last day of our honeymoon.”

  I gazed into Luc’s chestnut eyes as we walked, knowing that it was too late. The day had already been ruined for both of us. “What did Brigitte mean when she kept referring to all of your secrets? Is there something you haven’t told me about why the two of you split up?”

  “A relationship, a marriage, always takes two people. I was not perfect in my marriage with Brigitte, but I never betrayed her. She is just saying these things to make you doubt your decision to marry me. Brigitte has always been a very jealous person, and on top of that, she has a cold heart. But she is a good actress, and she made me believe she was different. You cannot trust the things she says, Charlotte.”

  “I’m sorry, Luc. Of course I trust you. I only wish you would’ve trusted me enough to tell me the whole story.”

  As we stopped at the crosswalk, Luc reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ears, then ran his finger along the curves of my face. “It is not that I didn’t trust you; I just wanted to leave my past in the past. I promise you that I will not allow Brigitte to mess anything up for us. I will do what I have to do to handle her, but you and Adeline will always be my first priority. You must believe me, Charlotte.”

  “What about this Vincent Boucher character? Is he a threat?” I asked. “If this man was close with your family, aren’t you creeped out that he’s dating your ex? He must be at least twice her age, if not more.”

  As soon as the light turned, we headed through the crosswalk, passing by a group of American tourists, their loud voices grating on my already frazzled nerves. Normally I loved meandering down the Champs-Élysées, but today, I couldn’t wait to get as far away from here as possible. The crowds, the cigarette smoke, and the excessive amount of dog poo muddying up the sidewalks were really getting to me.

  “Brigitte’s choices are none of my concern,” Luc said. “Except if they have to do with Adeline. And Vincent Boucher was never close with my family. He knew my father, that is all. I haven’t spoken with Vincent or his sons in years.”

  “Does he have something to do with why you don’t speak to your father anymore?” Luc hadn’t even invited his father to our wedding, and every time I’d asked him what the story was, he’d been evasive.

  “No, that is a decision I have made for other reasons. But today isn’t the day to talk about these things.”

  “When will be the day, Luc? When were you planning on telling me that the tiny blond bombshell splashed across the Metro billboards is your ex-wife? Were you going to wait until your four-year-old daughter pointed to her and said maman?”

  “Calme-toi, chérie.”

  “Please don’t tell me to calm down right now. I just feel like there’s so much you haven’t told me. Like with the finances, for example. If you’re not getting money from Brigitte, where is all this money coming from? I mean, you spent the past year as a full-time student putting yourself through grad school, you just went through a horrific divorce and custody battle that couldn’t have been cheap, and now you’re starting a job as a college professor. How are you paying for all of this if you’re not putting it on credit?”

  “I used to be in finance, remember? I am very smart with money, Charlotte. We are not in debt, I promise you. You will never have to worry about that. I will always take care of you.”

  “You’re missing the point. I don’t want to be taken care of. I just want you to be honest with me.”

  Just as Luc opened his mouth to respond, a piercing ring emanated from his jeans pocket. His eyebrows furrowed when he glanced at the caller ID on his phone. “Merde. It’s Brigitte.”

  “Didn’t she do enough damage for one day? She’s already calling you?”

  Luc sighed as the sharp ringing continued. “With her threats about Adeline, I am just worried—”

  “I understand,” I said. “Take the call.”

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

  I squeezed his shoulder letting him know it was okay. But as my feet skimmed over the yellow leaves in the tree-lined park lining the Champs-Élysées, nothing about this situation felt okay. I needed to get some air, some space. And I didn’t want to hear whatever Luc and his ex were going to be arguing about on the last day of our honeymoon.

  Why couldn’t she have just stayed in Australia? And why couldn’t Luc have told me the truth about who she was? I felt like such a colossal idiot. Planning to go see that movie with Fiona—when all along I had no idea that Brigitte, my husband’s ex-wife, was the leading actress.

  And what was with Luc’s connection to the Bouchers? There was definitely something fishy going on there: something he didn’t want me to know.

  I made my way to a bench situated underneath a fan of golden leaves that were shimmering in the early afternoon sunlight. I closed my eyes and inhaled the delicious scents of chocolate and hazelnut from the crêpe stand nearby.

  I pulled out my phone to text Lexi. She’d spent the past few months in New York City getting her life on track after a rough hospital visit, and she’d just moved back to Paris with her boyfriend, Dylan. Lexi and I had certainly have had our share of hiccups as far as friendships go, but now we were closer than ever. Her blunt sense of humor could be really useful at a time like this.

  I texted:

  I could totally use a Nutella crêpe right about now. And a tall glass of wine. U around?

  As I waited for her reply, I comforted myself with the thought that at least we were leaving Paris tomorrow. Luc would get this ex-wife situation under control, and we would go back to living out the rest of our twenty-nine-day honeymoon bliss in peace. There was no way I was going to let this girl ruin the wonderful life Luc and I had just begun to create together.

  My phone buzzed. It was Lexi.

>   Girlfriend, u have no idea how much I need Nutella and wine right now. But u should be having steamy sex on last day of ur honeymoon. What’s up?

  Just as I was texting her back, Luc’s lips landed on my forehead.

  “I’m so sorry about that, chérie.”

  The sincerity in Luc’s eyes softened my response. “It’s okay, Luc. She’s Adeline’s mother, so I know you can’t just ignore her.”

  “Thank you for understanding.” Luc held my hand, his eyes darting to the leaves on the ground which were now swirling with a gust of chilly wind that had swept through the Paris park.

  “So what did she want?”

  “She apologized for what she said to both of us earlier. And while Brigitte’s apologies don’t mean much to me anymore, she did sound rather sincere… well, as sincere as she can be.”

  “Remember, she’s an actress. A good one, as you pointed out.”

  “I know this. I am not fooled. It is just that since she is back in France now and wanting to have visitation rights, we are going to have to deal with her more often.”

  “But didn’t you tell me that Brigitte was doing drugs while she was living in Australia, and that’s how you were able to get full custody of Adeline? How on earth does she expect to secure visitation rights if she’s using?”

  “She says she’s clean now. Apparently she spent the last month in rehab.”

  “Of course she did.” Was it a prerequisite these days for all actors to go to rehab?

  “Regardless of whether or not she’s telling the truth, as soon as she starts working with Vincent’s lawyer, things could get ugly. I don’t want to put you through that, or Adeline.”

  “So… what are you proposing we do?” Can we deport her back to Australia?

  “Brigitte asked if we would join her and Vincent for a drink tonight at the hotel bar, and even though that is the absolute last thing I want to ask you to do tonight, it will only be for one hour, and it will give me a chance to see if she is telling the truth about cleaning up her life. And more importantly, it could help us avoid one more long and unnecessary legal battle.”