Honeymoon in Paris (13 page)

Adeline’s face darkened, making me worry that I was doing this all wrong. Should I have left the parenting to Luc? Especially in these early weeks of our marriage?

Her thick lashes lowered as she gazed down at Charlotte Penguin in her lap.

“You see, I’m a really nice penguin too, and I love you and your dad
so
much,” I said softly. “I promise that the three of us are going to have so much fun together. You just have to trust me. It’s going to be wonderful.”

She lifted those huge emerald eyes to mine, and just when I thought she was going to burst into tears or throw Charlotte Penguin in my face, she opened her little arms and wrapped them around me.

I don’t think I’d ever felt my heart swell as big as it did in that moment.

Holding Adeline tightly against my chest, I kissed her on the forehead and made a silent promise to never abandon her, no matter how difficult this whole blended family business could be. She was only a little girl, and she deserved to be loved.

I knew what it felt like to believe like your mother didn’t love you as much anymore, that she had other priorities, and that
you
weren’t one of them. It was a hurt so deep, I couldn’t bear to think about it. And
I
was twenty-six.

I could only imagine what it felt like to a four-year-old girl.

I knew I couldn’t replace her mom. But as I rocked Adeline in my arms until she fell asleep, watching her tiny chest rise and fall with each breath, I recognized that deep down in my heart, I wanted to try.

After putting Adeline back to bed, I remembered the message I’d sent to my contact in New York earlier. Stifling a yawn, I padded out to the living room and opened up my laptop to sign into my e-mail. But to my disappointment, my in-box was empty. Which meant that when I awoke in only a few hours, the first things on my agenda were finding a job and coming clean with Luc.

Just as I was about to head back to bed, the Paris journal sticking out of my purse caught my eye. I definitely had a few new ideas to add to
The Girl’s Guide to Tying the French Knot,
and I’d had so much fun writing the day before, I figured why not add to it? I grabbed a pen and got to work, making sure to add a note on how effective a penguin puppet divorce show can be when dealing with young step-children.

Come tomorrow morning, I’d have to find a real job, of course, but as the words flowed effortlessly from my pen, I couldn’t ignore the little voice inside my head telling me that maybe, someday, this
would
be my real job.

THIRTEEN

Giggles filled my ears as a violent bouncing rocked my body and something hit my head.

“Charlotte, wake up! Tell me another penguin story, Charlotte. Tell me, tell me!”

Still clad in her purple nightgown, bed head and all, Adeline bounced up and down at the foot of the bed, then threw another penguin at my face.

“Charlotte,
wake up!
” she cried in French.

Oh, dear God. Where was Luc?

The loud squeaking sound coming from the ancient shower head in our minuscule bathroom told me he’d avoided the penguin massacre by hopping in the shower. I forced myself up and scooped Adeline into my arms.

“Looks like
someone
is feeling better today, hmm?” I said as I tickled her sides and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Tell me another penguin story.
Now,
” she ordered, her pretty green eyes turning all serious.

“Your dad has to get ready for work, and you have to go to school, so we’ll do more penguin stories tonight after dinner, okay?”

Adeline lurched from my grasp and stomped her tiny feet on the bed. “
I. Want. It. Now!
” she screamed, hurling another penguin at me.

Too tired to deal with my penguin-wielding step-daughter, I grabbed my cell phone off the nightstand and shuffled into the
kitchen. After only a few hours of sleep, a strong cup of French
café
was certainly in order.

Just as I got the espresso machine brewing, Adeline appeared in the kitchen, all four penguins in tow. She batted her thick lashes at me.

“
S’il te plaît, Charlotte
,” she begged in her sweetest, most adorable begging voice.

Wow, this girl had learned a thing or two about manipulation. I could only guess
who
she’d picked up these skills from.

“Adeline, I told you already. We’ll have time for stories tonight. Right now we need to eat breakfast.”

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, and she lifted her foot to begin her stomping tantrum.

“Wait!” I called out, remembering that I could play this manipulation game too. “Penguins like Nutella crêpes, don’t they?”

Joy immediately replaced the tears as she jumped up and down, her auburn hair flying all over the place. “Penguins
love
Nutella crêpes!” she cried out.

Whew.

As Adeline seated all four penguins at the kitchen table alongside her, I poured my first steaming cup of espresso for the day (there would certainly be at least three more), then got cracking on my crêpe promise. In between batter pours, I checked my phone and found that a slew of text messages had come in from the girls between last night and this morning.

As to be expected, the news wasn’t good.

Lexi: Hey ladies, has your boyfriend/husband seen our incriminating photos yet? Dylan isn’t speaking to me. He’s certain it was me on that balcony. I am certain that it wasn’t. Which one of you was smooching Marcel last night?

Me: Lexi, how do you know it was Marcel on the balcony? The picture is too dark to tell.

Lexi: I have super X-ray vision. Kidding. I just know. So come on, fess up. Who kissed sex-on-a-stick Marcel Boucher?

Fiona: I don’t remember anything after we arrived at Marcel’s flat. By some stroke of magic, Marc hasn’t seen or heard about the tabloids yet. Please, God, let him stay hidden under a rock until those sodding tabloids find their next victims.

Me: Don’t you think it’s strange that we don’t remember anything? Could we have been drugged?

Lexi: Char, it’s called memory loss induced by TEN glasses of champagne. You girls had at least that much. I still refuse to believe that whoever kissed Marcel wouldn’t remember, though. Char, are you divorced yet?

I added another crêpe to the stack and quickly texted the girls back.

Me: Still married as of this morning. Was up until 4 a.m. performing a penguin puppet divorce show. Don’t ask. I don’t remember anything either. So sorry I got you all into this mess.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

Lexi: Don’t apologize. I haven’t had that much fun in ages. Dylan and I are always fighting these days, and I needed to blow off some steam. Sucks we got caught, but at least we’re famous now. Still desperately want to know who was on that balcony…

Fiona: Screw famous. Marc’s evil mother Madame Rousseau just arrived for her twelve day visit and shoved a copy of that heinous tabloid in Marc’s face. Life = officially over.

Oh, God. What a disaster. After my horrific run-ins with Madame Rousseau the year before, the thought of having her in my home for twelve days and, worse, having her as a potential future mother-in-law made me nauseated. Not to mention the fact that she would make Fiona’s life pure hell now that those photos had been released. Poor Fiona.

I gave Adeline and her penguins a Nutella crêpe, then hightailed it back to the bedroom to have one more look at that tabloid. How did Lexi know for sure that it was Marcel on the balcony? As far as I knew, I was the only one who was aware of Fiona’s late-night tryst with Marcel, so how could Lexi be positive it hadn’t been Nicolas?

I found the magazine lying on the floor next to our dresser and flipped to the incriminating balcony photo.

I held it under the light, but it was still too fuzzy to make out. It appeared as though the guy had dark hair, which meant nothing because both Marcel and Nicolas had dark (fabulous) hair. The photo was mainly of the guy’s back, so you couldn’t see more than a dark, blurry silhouette of the girl.

Which meant that hopefully Fiona would be in the clear.

“Do you know who’s in that photo, Charlotte?” Luc’s voice startled me so much I dropped the magazine to the floor.

I turned to find him wrapped in a towel, his light brown hair a messy, wet mop on his head. He looked exactly like he had the first day I met him, towel and all. And in that moment, as I considered betraying my friendship with Fiona to tell him the truth, I wished I could zap myself back in time to that very first day and do a few things very differently—one of those things being the last forty-eight hours.

But since time travel and memory erasing weren’t an option, I opted for the truth.

“It was Fiona and Marcel.”

“Fiona?” he asked incredulously. “Are you certain?”

I nodded, immediately feeling horrible for telling Luc, even though he
was
my husband. “I’m sure. Please, Luc. You can never say anything. She had too much to drink, and she loves Marc. It was a mistake.”

Luc shrugged his shoulders as he plucked the magazine off the floor. He stared at the picture once more, then tossed the sickening tabloid into the trash.

“I would’ve thought for sure it was Lexi,” Luc said. “And how are you so sure it wasn’t Nicolas? It’s impossible to see.”

“Just trust me, Luc. It wasn’t Nicolas.”

“Why? Were you with him?”

“What? No, of course not!”

“How do you know? If you drank so much that you don’t remember, how do you know what you did or didn’t do that night, Charlotte?”

I’d thought after our talk the night before and the incredible lingerie and love-making session we’d had, that Luc believed me. That we were finished with this tabloid argument.

“You’re right, Luc. I drank too much, and I don’t remember everything. I was really stressed out after what had happened with us, and after everything I found out about you, but still, there’s no excuse. I’m sorry for landing our lives in the papers, and for the fact that I don’t remember everything. But I would
never
have cheated on you, Luc. We’re married now, and I’m madly in love with you. Please, don’t ever doubt that.”

Luc ran his hand through his wet hair and walked up to me. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I know you. I’m just upset that the Bouchers have infiltrated my life again—
our
lives. I will handle all of this, though. You can trust me, okay?”

I nodded, that uneasy feeling once again biting at the pit of my stomach. “Luc, can you tell me what it is you’re hiding from me? It will be so much easier if I know the truth.”

Luc walked to the window and gazed out, his silence answering my question.

Finally, he spoke. “There are some things you can’t know right now, Charlotte. You need to leave it alone.” The edge in his tone made me flinch. What in the hell was going on?

Just as I was about to break the news about my canceled classes, Adeline zoomed into our bedroom, a walking advertisement for Nutella. Her entire face was smeared with the sticky chocolate spread, and the two penguins she was holding had chocolate-covered mouths as well.

Luc raised an eyebrow at me, then knelt down beside her. “Chocolate for breakfast?”

“Like father, like daughter,” I said, taking Adeline’s hand. “Come on, Adeline, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Luc laid a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t mean to get angry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. But nowhere inside of me did it really feel okay.

“Do you need a ride to the language school?” he asked.

“There’s something I need to tell you about the language school, actually,” I said.

“Come on, Charlotte,” Adeline whined, tugging on my arm.

After our tabloid argument and Luc’s purposeful omission of the truth, it probably wasn’t the best time to go into the story about my recent job loss. Especially on the first day of his new university teaching position.

“I’m running a little late,” Luc said. “Can we talk tonight?”

“Of course,” I said, relieved. “I hope classes go well for you today. Are you nervous?”

Luc smiled his sweet, charming smile, dimple and all. “Finance 101 with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds—should be a slice of cake.”

“You mean a
piece
of cake?”

“I never said I was teaching English.” He laughed before heading back into the bedroom to change.

While Adeline pulled me into the bathroom, visions of a daylong nap danced through my head. But first, I had to get a job.

FOURTEEN

After Luc left to take Adeline to the
crèche
—France’s version of daycare or preschool—and begin his first day teaching at the university, I took the Metro to my adorable studio apartment by the Perrache train station.

I’d only had my apartment for a little over four months and hadn’t yet tackled trying to get out of my one-year lease since Luc and I had decided to get married so quickly.