“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
With a smile and a shrug, Chris placed his carry-on next to Kassie’s feet, wrapped his arms around her, tilted her back, and kissed her deep and long, like the iconic photo of the sailor kissing the nurse at the end of World War II. She stumbled to recover when he let go, swallowing so hard her toes tingled.
He lowered himself onto the piano bench like a virtuoso and tickled the ivories the way professional pianists do, capturing her gaze and her heart. Soon a crowd gathered as Chris launched into John Legend’s “All of Me,” a favorite of theirs. Though he didn’t sing it, Kassie knew the words and his intent. Since Friday, Chris had shown his cards—his passion, his unconditional love for her. Despite the headwinds they’d surely face back in Boston, he found her in Venice, proposed in Paris, and declared to the world—or at least to the hundred or so folks in the airport who stopped their own journey to hear him play—he couldn’t live without her in his life. Without a doubt, Chris was committed to her, now and forever, just as he was more than a year ago before their relationship had gone to hell in a laundry basket. By his cumulative words and action, he showed her that for him nothing had changed.
Kassie pressed the knot forming in her stomach. Tummy, don’t fail me now. For the first time since her meeting with Mimi, she felt anxious about how he’d react when she told him her news. Would he question whether she was as committed to him as he was to her? Foolish girl. He’s Chris. He’ll understand. He just had to.
Everyone was clapping, except for Kassie, lost in her thoughts. Someone brushed her arm, nudging her back to reality. “You’re a lucky lady.” She quickly put her hand on her heart, bowed her head, and blew him a kiss. Thankfully the woman hadn’t referred to her as “a lucky mother.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Chris said, laughing, seemingly embarrassed by all the attention. Kassie seconded the motion.
30
Once a Gentleman
They checked the airline departure board that was so large it was two stories tall. With two hours to kill before they needed to make their way to the gate, Chris whipped out his AMEX card and ushered Kassie into one of the airline lounges that offered a one-day entry fee.
The lounge was not a quiet place, but more peaceful than the terminal, to be sure. Travelers milled around the oak- and glass-paneled facility, passing the hours until flight time. Many were indulging entertainment apps on their electronic devices, others mesmerized by planes taxiing to and from the numerous airport terminals, some trying to read.
After Chris gave her the high sign indicating they could hang out there for a while, Kassie excused herself to make her much-needed trip to the ladies’ room while Chris scoped out a place for them to hunker down and relax. She welcomed time alone to gather herself and reflect on the unexpected turn of events her day had taken; neither being offered an assignment of a lifetime in Paris, nor flying back to Boston because of Mike were on her agenda when she got up that morning. Thinking back on it, coming to grips with Chris’s marriage proposal and combating a rash were more than enough to handle. “Merci beaucoup,” she said to the woman in the lavatory’s mirror.
Kassie brushed her teeth and hair, finally fresh and excited to tell Chris her happy news. She found him tucked away in a corner, dark and quiet. The smell of fresh coffee made Kassie’s mouth water.
“How’s this? We should be able to hear each other talk back here.”
She nodded and leaned toward the area of the lounge where a buffet beckoned. First things first. The pickings were slim but sufficient—mini quiches, small ham-and-cheese sandwiches, cucumber canapés, mixed fruit cocktail, and French baguettes. They filled their plates, grabbed a bottle of water, and ventured back to their cubby. Kassie vowed to return to the buffet for dessert, which she’d learned during her short time in Paris was always far more yummy than the main course.
“Guess you’re hungrier than I thought you’d be,” Chris snickered. “Didn’t you have lunch with Mimi? You were there long enough.”
“I am, I did, and I was,” Kassie answered Chris despite her mouthful of quiche. She waved her hand across her plate and picked up the cucumber canapé. She swallowed and took a swig of water. “Not quite chichitti, eh?” Her reference to when they’d first met in Venice six years ago was deliberate. By first acknowledging their love had survived events out of their control and had come full circle, she greased the skids for what was to come . . . even more separation. They’d been apart before. In fact, they were apart for most of their relationship. Nine or ten months in Paris? No big deal.
“Not quite Venice.” Chris paused, shifting in his chair. “How was your lunch, your visit with Mimi? You’ve told me nothing.”
This was her opening. Ready to start, but uncertain exactly where to begin, Kassie pushed her plate to the middle of the square table between them. Her lunch with Mimi would be as good a place as any. She described the scene—the panoramic view of the Seine, the exquisite porcelain china, the simple lunch fare typical of business offices no matter what country you worked in—a platter of cold meats, a variety of sliced and wedged cheeses, bread and rolls. In retrospect, she realized she hadn’t touched much of the lunch, even passing up the pastries. No wonder her stomach was talking to her. She inched her plate closer.
Chris appeared to be listening until he excused himself and left Kassie sitting open-mouthed, midsentence, before getting to the best part of her story. Just like a man, he returned with another plate overflowing with finger food. Perhaps they should’ve gone to a restaurant instead, where Chris would’ve been able to eat a proper meal.
Nevertheless, Chris allowed her to pick up where she’d left off. “As you were saying . . .”
“You’ll never guess,” Kassie started. “The Paris office is expanding in more ways than one.” Kassie reasoned a detailed description of how the Paris office of Calibri Marketing Group was planning to acquire a London-based firm and the fact that Mimi was pregnant again would serve as a logical prologue for the rest of the story. Certainly, at some point a light bulb would click inside the management side of Chris’s brain, and he’d link the two events before she revealed it.
“She’s pregnant again? What is it, every time you see her, she’s pregnant? That didn’t upset you, did it?”
“Another time, perhaps.” Still determined to take Chris along her journey to a natural conclusion, Kassie proceeded to educate Chris on the most-civilized French health care system.
“Did you know in France your maternity leave starts six weeks before you’re due and extends ten more weeks after the birth? They have paternity leave too.”
“Sounds generous,” he said, checking his phone. “Glad I won’t have that to worry about.”
“Guess that’s one advantage to marrying me,” Kassie said under her breath. If they weren’t sitting as close to each other as they were, Chris would never have heard her lament.
“Give me a break, Kassie. You know there are at least two advantages to marrying you, which a gentleman, like me, would never state in public.” He winked and caressed her thigh. He lifted her chin. “So, you spent four hours with Mimi today because she’s having a baby.”
“Two babies, Chris. Twins. And that means something really special in France.” She pounded her index finger on the table, hoping to maintain his attention. “Here, if you’re having twins, maternity leave from start to finish adds up to thirty-four weeks. Add the four weeks’ vacation Mimi’s piled up . . . she’ll be out of the office for nine months, give or take.”
“She told you all this? Why?”
“Didn’t you hear me? Mimi will be out of the office for nine months. Just before and certainly right after the merger. Critical time for the company, don’t you think?”
“Boy, she didn’t time that well.” Chris didn’t bite.
“Depends on where you sit.”
“How’s that?”
“You know Tom said Mimi had an idea to discuss with me
? Acting. Managing. Director. Of Calibri Marketing Group in Paris. What do you think?” Kassie beamed.
“Who, you?”
“You sound like an owl.” Kassie put her hand on her chest, the anxiety that had built up in her lungs had escaped, and she laughed freely.
“Of course, you told her you were flattered and you’d think about it.”
“Of course, I told her I was flattered and I—”
Chris’s phone rang. She recognized the ringtone as the one she’d heard during dinner the night before at the Eiffel Tower. Was that only twenty hours ago? He didn’t answer it.
“Come on. Time to go home.” He picked up his own bags and headed out of the lounge, leaving Kassie a dozen steps behind, fending for herself. Something she wouldn’t have to get used to. She already was.
31
Parlez-vous Français?
Chris turned around, and Kassie was gone. Not gone gone, but certainly not a step or two or three behind him. He spun around as if he was playing hide ’n seek with a five-year-old, and still no Kassie.
The heavy wooden door of the lounge groaned open, and there she was, not smiling.
“Thanks for waiting.”
“There you are. Thought you were right behind me.” He bounded toward her and put his arm around her shoulders. Was it his imagination, or did she tighten a bit when he touched her? Or was he the one stiffening, feeling guilty for shutting Kassie down when the call came in from Lexi, the second one in two days.
It’d been a month since they’d talked. He’d told Lexi he was going to try to reconcile with Kassie and was surprised when she gave him tips on how to woo her back. Sweeping her away from Venice to Paris was Lexi’s idea. “If you’re going to start anew, a change of scenery will do the trick. No better place than Paris,” she’d said. He’d noticed she hadn’t suggested Greece. That’s it, he thought, she was probably just checking to see what progress he’d made.
“Well, I’m here now.” Kassie pulled a step ahead of him.
“What did you say?”
“I’m here. Look, there’s Relay’s. Need something for the plane.”
As they wandered separately around the store, Chris kept one eye out for her, not wanting to be accused of losing her twice in one day. If he timed it right, they’d meet at the checkout together, and he could dump some of the euros taking up space in his wallet. He didn’t expect to be back in Europe in the near future. No reason to go through the hassle of reconverting once he was back in the States.
He grabbed a Lipton iced tea, a ham-and-cheese sandwich, and what looked to be the last Sports Illustrated World Cup issue available.
Spying Kassie, he hung back to give her space to shop to her heart’s content. They still had about twenty-five minutes before boarding. He could see her thumbing through books, probably making sure they were in English.
He bided his time by amusing himself with packaging and signage around the store. As a marketer, Chris soaked in the sights and sounds of the retail world around him no matter what city or country he visited, often wondering if by doing so he could write off vacations as business trips.
Wait a minute. That’s an idea.
Chris nuzzled up behind Kassie, who held two books, French cookies, and a bottle of water.
“You’re going to love me for this.”
“I already love you,” she said.
“No, really. I think . . .” Chris paused for optimum effect. “I bet you can write off part of your vacation as a business trip. Talk to Tom. The company might, actually should, reimburse you for the airfare and hotel. Maybe some of Tanya’s costs. Ooh, if I thought about it before, we could’ve tipped her more. And food, don’t forget meals. I have receipts.”
“Slow down, big guy.” Kassie’s smile was nearly a laugh. “I’m way ahead of you. Mimi and Tom already offered. But I like the way you think. You’ll make someone a good wife.”
“You talked to Tom? Today?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you about it later. Shouldn’t we get going?” Kassie lifted her merchandise in the air and headed toward the registers.
Chris sidled up behind her. “Here, let me get that.” The salesclerk foiled his attempt at paying for both of their purchases. He must not have heard Chris or understood English as he swiped Kassie’s credit card faster than fish in aquarium scarf up their food. When Kassie shook away his offer of a plastic bag, the clerk held on to one of her books.
“This is great. You’ll love it.” The clerk, who Chris gathered understood English but had chosen to ignore him, tilted the book for Chris to see. The Paris Wife.
“I’ll be over there,” Kassie said, reclaiming her book and stepping away.
“Can’t believe you’re going to eat that horrible, water-logged sandwich,” Kassie said as Chris peeled open the cellophane. “Did you check the date on it? And with mustard, no less.”
“Hey, it’s better than cookies.”
“Nothing’s better. Me want cookie. Me eat cookie.” Kassie did her best imitation of the Cookie Monster, good enough to get a rise out of Chris.
“Still wish we’d stayed longer.” Kassie stared out the plane’s window. “If I’d known we’d be cut short, I’d have shopped more. I’m bringing back no gifts.”
“Me neither.”
“I think I owe something to Vicki, and Annie. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have my gifts.” She held up her right hand, retrieved her necklace from her pocket, and slipped it into her purse for safekeeping. “Who would you have shopped for?”
“Let me think . . . folks at work? Nope. No one knew I was in Europe.”
“Karen? Would you have bought something for your mother while you’re in Paris with me? What a hoot.”
“Maybe. If only to remind her that I proposed to you there.” He snickered as Lexi’s call flashed through his mind. “What’s that book about?” he asked, hoping to change the topic of conversation and the thoughts of another woman racing through his head.
“Hadley Richardson. Hemingway’s first wife and their time in Paris . . .” Kassie paused and reminded Chris that Mike was a Hemingway buff. Perhaps she’d regift it to him when she was finished with it.
“See, you are bringing a gift back.”
“To Mike of all people. Wonder if I’ll ever stop catering to him?”
Chris reached for Kassie’s hand as she began reading the back of the book in a low voice. His mind drifted after the first two words, “Chicago, 1920 . . .” He wondered what attracted her to that particular book. Isn’t that the type of book you read when you’re flying to, not away from, Paris?
“Rumor has it, of his four wives, Hemingway loved Hadley best. Be still my heart.” Kassie clutched the book to her chest.
“Don’t understand how you can be such a romantic. You know, deep down you’re a pragmatist.”
“Can’t I be both?”
“Depends. What’s the other book you bought?”
Kassie dragged it out of the seat pocket in front of her. Learn French Fast.
32
What’d She Say?
Discombobulated. That’s the only word to describe Kassie as she tried to get her bearings. With the lingering effect of stagnant airplane air and waking up in the third strange bed in less than a week, she didn’t know where she was or what day of the week greeted her. She failed in her attempt to open both eyes, as sleep clasped her right eye shut tight like a clam.
Her one clear eye scanned the premises, checking out what it could see. A painting of the Grand Canal in Venice at night on the off-white wall in front of her and the sun slicing the canal into uniform columns provided two clues—she was in Chris’s apartment, in his bed, and it was morning. The warmth of Chris’s back against hers was further confirmation, though she didn’t need it. She wasn’t in Paris anymore.
“Alexa, what time is it?” Kassie said in as low a voice as she could.
“The time is five thirty-seven a.m.”
She calculated she’d gotten less th
an five hours sleep and expected her circadian rhythms would need the rest of the week to recalibrate. Too early to get up. They weren’t planning to head to the hospital until late morning. She closed her eye, pulled the covers over her shoulder, took several slow and deep yoga breaths, and drifted off.
Alexa, Alexa, Lexi . . .
“Hey, Kassie, you awake? Rise and shine.” The rich, toasty smell of hazelnut coffee stirred her even before Chris, all bright and cheery, all dressed in khaki cargo shorts and an aquamarine Izod shirt looking ready to go who knows where, plunked his gorgeousness at the foot of the bed.
“Ugh. Not yet. And don’t say that. You sound like my mother,” she said, lifting her head to get a peek at him. “And take off that shirt. Too bright and reminds me of Mike.” Kassie pulled the pillow over her face, covering her now wide-open eyes.
“How about my pants?” He rested his coffee and her tea on the bureau and then unbuckled his belt.
“Welcome home,” Chris said some twenty or so minutes later, give an orgasm or two. “About a year since you were here between my sheets.”
Kassie pulled herself up, propping a pillow behind her back and one on her lap. She motioned for the tea, and Chris obliged.
“Thanks. We need to talk. About Paris.”
Chris climbed back in bed and mirrored her pillow arrangement. “Really? I thought we resolved all that earlier.”
She pounded her fists on the pillow. “You stating your opinion—that you don’t want me to go—does not resolve anything. What about what I want, need?”
“Which is . . .”
“I want Paris . . . and I want you. It’s not either or.”
Chris put his head in his hands. “Let’s talk about it later. We need to get ready to go see Mike. I called Bill. He knows we are back . . . together.”
“You told him? Oh, crap, he’ll tell everybody. I wanted to tell Mike. I should be the one.”
What's Not True Page 19