Vincent placed a heavy hand on my shoulder while Brigitte continued her evil stare-down. If she was already throwing a fit at the shoot, I couldn’t imagine that having me here would do anything to improve the situation.
Was Vincent asking for a petty catfight? Did he get off on this kind of stuff?
“Brigitte, I’m sure you remember Charlotte Olivier,” Vincent said calmly. “I know you’ve been having some problems working with the English-speaking staff here at the shoot, and Charlotte is here to help. She’s Bella France’s new translator.”
I could almost see the icicles forming in Brigitte’s stone-cold eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her bony hip out to the side.
“Is that going to be a problem?” By the lack of affection in Vincent’s tone as he addressed Brigitte, I wondered if there was still trouble in paradise.
“Of course it won’t be a problem,” Brigitte said, but the evil pout splashed across her heavily made-up face certainly said otherwise.
“Wonderful,” Vincent remarked, ignoring his girlfriend’s defiant attitude. “I have some business to attend to, so I have to be going. Charlotte, I’ll need you to stay for the duration of the shoot and deal with any translation issues that come up. In the meantime, I’ll have my legal assistant draw up your contract, and Mireille will show you to her office as soon as this wraps up.”
Brigitte shot Vincent another distressed look and opened her mouth to speak, but Vincent cut her off. “You’re a professional actress now, Brigitte. I suggest you start acting like one.” Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving a steaming little blonde in his wake.
Another impeccably dressed woman walked up to us, her warm smile and kind eyes a welcome sight.
“Beth Harding?” I guessed.
“Charlotte.” Her grin widened as she held out her hand. “It’s so good to finally meet you in person.”
“You too,” I said. She had no idea how happy I was to have a friendly face in this landmine of Luc’s past.
“I just heard the good news about your job offer!” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “You work fast, girl. I know you were looking to write for the magazine, but just give it a little time. Translating will be a great way to get to know everyone here.”
“Thanks, Beth. I’m excited to see how it all goes.” Excited wasn’t quite the right word, but I didn’t feel like filling Beth in on why I wasn’t jumping out of my skin at the moment.
“We’re still receiving reader mail about your latest article,” Beth said. “Women want to know what happened after you confessed your love to Half-Naked French Hottie, and now to think you’ve married the guy already! What a story. We’ll have to squeeze in a follow-up piece once you’ve been hitched for a little while. I’m sure you’ll have some more juicy gossip for us on the ins and outs of French marriage.”
Clearly Beth had no idea that Brigitte was Half-Naked French Hottie’s (aka: Luc’s) ex-wife.
But when I glimpsed the expectant look on Brigitte’s clueless face, I remembered—she didn’t understand a thing we were saying.
That’s what I was here for. Hmm… this could turn out to be fun after all.
“Do you speak French, Beth?” I asked.
She sighed. “I wish. But no, I barely speak a word. I wasn’t even supposed to be the one making this trip, actually, but my supervisor had to cancel at the last minute, so they sent me. I’m so glad they did, though.”
“What are you two talking about?” Brigitte asked in French.
“Oh, we were just discussing how that top looks a little too tight on you, and your forehead could use a little more powder,” I said. “It’s great when the lights bring out your natural shine, but we’re not going for the greasy look, if you know what I mean.”
Luckily my French lie didn’t register in the slightest with Beth as she kept gabbing. “You really are a woman of many talents, Charlotte Summers. I absolutely love your book idea on the guide to tying the French knot. With your voice, I have no doubt it’s going to be fabulous. Send it over to me once you’ve written an outline and the first three chapters. I may be able to put you in touch with a few of my contacts in the publishing world.”
“Thank you, Beth. That would be amazing!”
Brigitte nudged me this time.
“Beth was just asking me if I’d ever done any modeling. She thinks I’d be great for one of the Bella’s next cover shoots,” I told Brigitte in French.
I knew I was absolutely terrible, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I only hoped no one else was listening to my purposefully botched interpreting job.
Brigitte puffed out an exasperated breath, then marched over to the makeup artist, where she proceeded to throw a fit. Oops.
“Another high-maintenance actress,” Beth noted, watching Brigitte spin a toddler-worthy tantrum across the room. “I’ve been in this business for ten years, and every time I encounter one of these spoiled brats, I count the days to retirement.”
I chuckled, feeling only slightly bad for having contributed to Brigitte’s latest outburst. From what I’d already seen of my husband’s ex-wife, I was certain she would’ve gone off the handle with or without my prodding.
“I have some tricks of the trade that will calm that entitled little darling down real fast,” Beth said. “In fact, I don’t know what I’m doing being an editor. Instead, I should be teaching a course on how to tame wild, young actresses. Follow me.”
Thank God for Beth.
Four hours later, we wrapped up the photo shoot, and to my surprise, Brigitte hadn’t tried to tackle me or pull my hair out at any point throughout the day. That was mostly due to Beth’s superb dictations of exactly the right things to say to Brigitte to force her to focus on the shoot, rather than on her constant roller coaster of needy, irrational emotions.
As the day wore on, Brigitte even seemed to forget that it was me, the woman she hated most in the world, doing the talking.
The prissy little star didn’t bother to thank me after she’d finished, though. In fact she didn’t thank the photographers, the designers, the makeup artist, or Beth. Instead, she grabbed her Louis Vuitton bag and pranced out of the room checking her cell phone the whole time.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine this woman being a full-time mother to Adeline. She didn’t seem to have a motherly bone in that stick-thin body of hers.
“Thanks for your help today, Charlotte,” Beth said as I helped her clean up. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m so glad I got the chance to meet you in person, and I can’t thank you enough for putting in a good word for me here, and for your help with my book.”
“Of course.” Beth stepped closer to me, lowering her voice. “Listen, I’m heading back to the States this weekend, and I’d love to have an English-speaking contact over here at Bella France to keep me posted on how things are running. Would it be okay with you if I touch base from time to time?”
“Of course. I’d be more than happy to give you updates.”
Beth cast a curious glance around the room before continuing in a whisper. “Our publisher over at the New York office has a few concerns about certain staff members here.”
“Oh?”
Beth nodded as we slipped behind one of the hanging racks of clothing. “Do you know Vincent Boucher very well?”
“I’ve only met him once before I got the job today, but I can’t say that I know him all that well.” I didn’t feel that it was appropriate to divulge Luc’s family drama with the Bouchers to Beth just yet, especially since it didn’t seem to have anything to do with Vincent’s current publishing career.
“I know you’ll be working directly underneath him, so if you notice anything out of the ordinary going on around here, I trust you’ll keep me in the loop?”
“Of course,” I whispered back. “Is there something specific you’re worried about?”
“Vincent is an incredible publish
er, don’t get me wrong. We’ve watched his career explode in recent years. He was very much in demand, but there’s just something off about him. I mean, I know this is France, and things are different here, but still. Am I making any sense?”
I nodded. “Yes, I completely understand. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. Now go sign your contract so you get paid for all of the hard work you put in today.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering how in the world I was going to spin all of this to Luc at the end of the night. I would worry about that later. First, it was time to sign on the dotted line, then call Jean-Sébastien to tell him about the massive contract I’d just scored for the language school.
EIGHTEEN
“Thanks so much for coming, Sandrine,” I said, leaning in to give my new sister-in-law bisous before letting her into our apartment.
“Of course. It is never a problem to watch my adorable niece.” Sandrine’s short, silky brown hair framed her heart-shaped face as she gave me the once over. “Maman tells me Luc has been working late with his new teaching position?”
“Yes, he took on some night classes, and with everything that’s been going on this week, we haven’t exactly had much time to talk. I thought it would be nice to meet him out for a late dinner. I really appreciate you coming on such short notice.”
“Only an American would think eight o’clock is late for dinner.” Even though she was smiling, Sandrine’s commentary on our cultural differences felt cool… and slightly judgmental. She was a lot like her mother.
I grabbed my keys off the counter, watching the way Luc’s sister’s wispy frame stalked through our living room.
“You know, I’ve seen the papers.” Sandrine picked up a photo of me and Luc off the coffee table, running her fingers around the black frame. “And of course I spoke with maman.”
I tucked my keys into my purse, contemplating my response. It was clear that Sandrine and her mother had been wary of my sprint to the altar with Luc, and to be honest, I couldn’t blame them. They barely knew me, and Luc’s last marriage had ended in complete disaster. It would take some time for them to learn that they could trust me and to comprehend that I was nothing like Brigitte.
Unfortunately, I’d already started off on the wrong foot by landing myself in the tabloids with the dreaded Boucher family.
“There’s more to the story than the photos you saw in the papers, Sandrine,” I told my sister-in-law.
She sighed, placing the photo back on the coffee table. “There’s always more to the story with the Boucher boys. And now that Brigitte has aligned herself with Vincent, who knows what trouble is around the corner for poor Luc. Quel désastre.”
I walked over to Sandrine and faced her square on. “There’s something going on between Luc and the Boucher family that he’s hiding from me. You wouldn’t happen to know what that might be, would you?”
Sandrine crossed her arms over her chest. “I imagine you have heard by now that our father went to prison?” Bitterness lined Sandrine’s tone as she pursed her thin lips.
I nodded. “Yes, I know about your father. And I also know that your father going to prison and breaking up your family is the reason Luc hasn’t spoken to him in years.”
“No, that is why I have chosen not to talk to our father in years. Luc and I have never seen eye to eye on this matter.”
“What do you mean? Luc still wants to have a relationship with your dad?”
Sandrine shook her head, a dry laugh escaping from her lips. “It is happening all over again.”
“What is?” I asked. “What’s going on, Sandrine?”
“Luc and his secrets. When will my brother learn that secrets like this destroy relationships?”
I stared back at my sister-in-law, remembering Brigitte’s words outside the Château Frontenac Hotel on that fateful day when our honeymoon was completely ruined.
“Luc Olivier, you and all of your secrets were never cut out for marriage… as your little Charlotte will soon find out.”
“What isn’t Luc telling me?” I pressed.
“Luc never believed our father was guilty, Charlotte. And he is still in touch with him. He doesn’t even want me to know, but this summer, I overheard Luc speaking to our father on the phone. And by the way Luc was talking and laughing, I could tell they speak often. I understand why he would hide this fact from me and my mother considering neither of us want anything to do with the man after what he did to our family. But I don’t know why Luc would hide this fact from you, his wife, and I refuse to lie for him.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I said, trying to make sense out of all of this. “What I don’t understand, though, is that when I tried to tell Luc that Nicolas Boucher thinks your father was innocent, Luc said that was impossible. He gave me the impression that he honestly believes your dad was guilty, and that he blames him for breaking up your family.”
Sandrine raised her brows at me.
“You’re saying Luc’s been lying about all of it?” I said.
Sandrine nodded slowly, then lowered her voice. “Nicolas Boucher told you he believes my father is innocent? How interesting. He is probably just saying that to make up for what he did to Luc, and for what Vincent did to our mother, of course.”
“I know about Vincent cheating on your mom, but what did Nicolas do to Luc?”
Sandrine placed a dainty hand on her hip and leveled her gaze at me. “Before Brigitte came along, Luc was madly in love with a girl named Marion. He was going to propose to her, but then he walked in on her kissing Nicolas. As if what Vincent did to our family wasn’t enough, Nicolas had to steal the girl Luc was planning to marry. Only a week after the breakup, Luc met Brigitte. They married before he had any clue what he was getting himself into.”
I’d never even heard Luc mention the name Marion before. And why was it that I was hearing the stories of my husband’s past from everyone’s mouths but his?
Sandrine surprised me by placing her hands on my shoulders. “You must understand that my brother has a past, Charlotte. It is a long, dark past that he doesn’t like to talk about. There are secrets even I don’t know—things I will probably never know. But that doesn’t matter, because you are his wife. And while French men do not always make the most faithful of husbands, I have never seen my brother look at another woman the way he looks at you. Not even Marion, and definitely not Brigitte.
“He is truly in love with you, and I suspect this is why he rushed to marry you only three weeks after proposing. He carries too many secrets around, and he knew that once you spent more time with him, those secrets would begin to drive you mad, and you would eventually leave him for someone else. Just like Marion did. And just like Brigitte.”
Sandrine squeezed my shoulders and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t let my brother get away with living like this any longer, Charlotte. Do whatever you have to do to find out what he is hiding. I agree with you—there is more to the story with the Bouchers than either of us know. Brigitte’s new relationship with Vincent cannot be a coincidence. If you don’t want to see this marriage crumble before it even has a chance to start, you’ll have to take things into your own hands.”
“What do you suggest that I do? I’ve confronted Luc, and he’s told me flat out that there’s something going on that he can’t tell me about, but he told me to leave it alone,” I said. “Marcel even threatened me, telling me the same exact thing: drop it or else. And I overheard Luc on the phone on Saturday telling someone—an old friend, apparently—that if I knew the truth, it would only put me in danger.”
Sandrine shook her head, anger seeping through those big hazel eyes of hers. “Let me ask you a question, Charlotte. Do you know for sure that Luc is teaching night classes?”
I opened my mouth to tell her that yes, of course Luc is teaching nights now. He told both me and his mother that the university had a few last-minute course openings that they offered to him. And with more custody bat
tles on the horizon with Brigitte, now certainly wasn’t the time to turn down extra money.
But the skeptical look flashing through Sandrine’s eyes told me that Luc’s word might not be as trustworthy as I’d once believed it to be.
“You deserve the truth,” she said. “And Adeline deserves a mother who won’t be prancing around the tabloids with a different man on her arm every week.”
Suddenly Adeline bounded out of her bedroom, dressed head-to-toe in fluorescent pink princess attire. She threw her arms around Sandrine, while I ignored the queasy feeling that settled in my stomach at the thought that Luc might even be lying about his night classes. What else would he be doing in the evenings?
Could the fact that Brigitte was in Lyon for the Bella France photo shoot have something to do with why Luc was coming home late every night?
Was he seeing his ex-wife and lying to me about it?
Sandrine looked up at me as she hugged Adeline. “You better go. You’re going to be late for your eight o’clock dinner.”
As I walked down the narrow set of stairs in our old apartment building and exited onto the smooth cobblestones of Vieux Lyon, I hoped Luc’s sister wouldn’t mind staying longer than I’d originally asked her to.
Because I wasn’t leaving that restaurant until Luc told me the truth.
It was nine o’clock on the eleventh night of what was supposed to be our twenty-nine days of honeymoon bliss, and as I sat alone at a candlelit table in the corner of Les Fines Gueules—one of our favorite restaurants in Vieux Lyon—I downed my second glass of wine and wondered if by bliss, Luc had actually meant to say honeymoon hell.
I checked my phone for the hundredth time that hour, but still no missed call or text from Luc. I’d tried him three times already, to no avail, and I wasn’t about to keep blowing up his phone if he couldn’t even have the decency to let me know he was going to be an hour late to our dinner date.
Sandrine’s words grated on me as I took in the sickeningly sweet French couple cooing over each other at the next table.
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