Honeymoon in Paris (5 page)

“Thanks, Lex. I did really love writing the posts and especially the articles for
Bella Magazine.
A guidebook to marrying French could be really fun to play around with…”

“Well, promise me you’ll think about it. I’ve lost enough friends to the demands of marriage and kids. I’m happy for you and your new life, I really am. And while I think Luc is amazing, and I really believe you two are meant to be together, he
still
hasn’t been one hundred percent honest with you. I mean, he’s a dude, after all. And if you need an outlet in the form of a spicy, hilarious commentary on the ins and outs of French marriage, well, then I’m all for it.”

I laughed. “Fine, I’ll
think
about it. But no promises.” I peeked at my watch and at our half-full bottle of wine and remembered that besides our afternoon wine binge, we still had one
extremely
important task to accomplish. “We need to speed it up. I have to find the perfect dress for tonight, and I can’t do it alone.”

A conniving grin passed over Lexi’s red-lined lips as she raised her glass to mine. “I may be a mess in every other area of my life, but when it comes to finding a dress to put the evil ex in her place, I am
so
your woman.”

FOUR

With one sparkly silver stiletto in front of the other, I walked across our elegant suite to where Luc was standing at the mirror, buttoning his crisp gray shirt. I wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed him on the neck.

“
Bonsoir, ma chérie
. Let me see you.” He flipped around and took a step back, his eyes combing the length of my silky black slip dress, his gaze stopping at the low-cut neckline. “Wow. You must go shopping with Lexi more often. This dress is absolutely stunning on you. No one will ever believe me when I say you are my wife.”

Luc ran his fingers down the thin cami-straps and over the tops of my breasts, making me wish we weren’t going anywhere tonight. His lips found that space between my neck and my collarbone that made me lose all control… and not long after, his hand slid underneath the short hem of my dress and up my thigh.

His husky voice tickled my ear. “
Tu me rends fou, Charlotte.
”

“You drive me crazy too, my sexy husband. But if you don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late.”

“It’s a shame because seeing you in that dress just makes me want to rip it off.
Right now
.” Luc’s hand moved to the inside of my thigh, a little higher up this time.

I pinched his arm. “There will be plenty of time for this later on, but we have to go. You’re the one who agreed to this lovely drink date in the first place, remember?”

Luc sighed. “
Oui
, I know. It will be quick, though, like I told you. Just an hour and then you will love what I have planned for us
after. Although, I don’t know if I will be able to get through the whole night with you looking like this. Seriously, Charlotte, you are incredible.”

I smiled at my sweet husband, realizing that I had nothing to worry about. This man was head over heels in love with me, and nothing his bitchy little ex-wife could do would ever change that.

Well, not if this dress had anything to say about it.

Downstairs, we spotted Brigitte and Vincent seated across the chic hotel bar, already sipping on their wine.

My heels tapped against the dark oak floor, each step making my heart constrict inside my chest. Never mind all of that ridiculous self-talk upstairs about having nothing to worry about. Just the sight of Brigitte’s profile, her high cheekbones, her endlessly long lashes, those seductive lips, made me want to pack it up and ship out.

Luc’s hand found mine, his sweaty palm indicating that even though he looked as calm, cool, and collected as ever, he wasn’t too jazzed about this meeting either.

Before I had a chance to hightail it out of there—slinky dress, stilettos, and all—Brigitte made eye contact. The expression on her perfectly made-up face morphed from slutty seductress to fake sweetness to… horror.

When she and Vincent stood to greet us, the reason for the horror registered.

We were wearing the same dress.
Merde.

As icy kisses were exchanged underneath the crystal chandelier, I had to stop myself from stealing her wine and dumping it down the front of her dress. I knew this dress looked great on me, but on Brigitte—well let’s just say that with the exception of my gentlemanly husband, every man’s gaze in that bar was glued to her and
only
her.

“How adorable that you’re wearing the same dress as me, Charlotte,” Brigitte cooed in French, her dazzling smile slicing right through the armor I’d spent the
entire
afternoon building up. “I guess Luc’s taste hasn’t changed that much after all.”

Vincent’s deep voice interrupted the awkward silence that followed. “I must say,
both
of you wear the dress
quite
well.…”

It suddenly became clear that the only
other
man in the bar who wasn’t mentally undressing Brigitte was Vincent. To the contrary, he didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off of
me.

Oh, dear God.

I squeezed Luc’s hand and raised my eyebrows at him.

He knew what that look meant. He immediately motioned for the server, then ordered us our own bottle of wine.

As soon as we settled into our seats, Brigitte crossed her slim, toned legs and leaned forward just enough so that her cleavage was on full display. As if I needed one more reason to hate her.

“So Charlotte, what do you do for a living?” Brigitte asked coolly.

I forced a smile. “I’m a teacher at this wonderful language schoo—”

“Oh, how cute,” she cut in as her dainty hand landed on Luc’s arm. “You know I never understood your desire to leave finance and become a professor, Luc. Maybe Charlotte understands this lifestyle better than I ever could.” She shot a suggestive glance in Vincent’s direction. “I needed more… I needed a
different
lifestyle.”

“Yes, that was clear,” Luc said, the sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“Lucky for you,
ma beauté,
” Vincent chimed in as he ran his hand over Brigitte’s knee, “the lifestyle you wanted is exactly what I can give to you… and more.”

It was odd, though, that even as Vincent’s hand ran inappropriately high on Brigitte’s thigh, the look in his eyes was cold—dishonest, even. What was he doing with her?

Luc cleared his throat and sat up taller in his seat. “Well, we didn’t come here to discuss your new choice in lifestyle
or
in partners,” Luc said to Brigitte.

Brigitte’s flirty eyes refocused on Luc as she pushed Vincent’s hand off of her. “You’re right. I need to speak to you alone for a minute, Luc. Charlotte won’t mind, will she?”

Yes, you conniving little actress. As a matter of fact, I do mind.

Luc kissed me on the cheek, his whisper coming softly in my ear. “Just a few minutes so I can discuss the matter of Adeline with her. Will you be okay?” He looked from me to Vincent, the skepticism in his eyes palpable.

I summoned up every ounce of politeness I had in me and aimed the sweetest of smiles at Brigitte. “Of course. Now that the wine has arrived, I’ll be just fine.”

Luc winked at me, then stood and headed to the bar with Brigitte while I took the longest sip of wine ever known to man.

This drop-dead-gorgeous-famous-actress-ex-wife business was not made for the faint of heart.

Vincent poured himself another glass, his black-and-gray hair shimmering underneath the dim lights in the hotel bar.

“So, Charlotte, how long have you been with Luc?” he asked in French.

“We met about a year ago, and we actually just got married last week. I couldn’t be happier.”

Vincent ran his hand along his structured jawline, accentuating his salt-and-pepper five o’clock shadow. “I see. I imagine meeting the lovely Brigitte on your honeymoon was not exactly in your plans.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Not exactly, no.” I wanted to tell Vincent that
lovely
wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe Brigitte, but something in his tone told me that he hadn’t really meant it either. “So how do
you
know Luc, Vincent?”

“Luc didn’t fill you in on our family history? I am surprised. After all, shouldn’t a husband and wife be completely transparent?”

When I responded with a cold look and another sip of wine, Vincent shot me a teasing grin. “Ahh, you’re a feisty one I see. You mustn’t take me so seriously, Charlotte. I have had
three
unsuccessful marriages. Clearly I am not the expert on this topic.”

“Clearly,” I said. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. How do you know Luc and his family?” I wanted to know if there really
was
a story behind Luc’s connection to the Bouchers, or if Luc was simply mad, and
jealous,
because this older, handsome man who his family had been friends with in the past was now dating his ex-wife.

“Luc’s father Pierre and I were close friends in college, then after graduation, we worked together for a long time. In our late twenties, we started our own publishing company—the company
I
still own today. My sons, the actors, Marcel and Nicolas, grew up with Luc and his sister, Sandrine. Our families were quite close, but unfortunately, as good things always do, our business relationship
and
our friendship came to an end several years ago.”

“Why is that?”

Vincent leaned a little closer to me, his leg brushing ever so subtly against mine. This man was smooth. I didn’t move, though. I wanted to know the rest of the story.

“Pierre was the creative mind of the two of us. He directed the art and design teams of the magazines we created, worked with the photographers, the models, the writers. He had an eye for design, an incredible vision for story ideas that made our brand stand apart. In fact, even to this day, I credit much of my success to Pierre’s extreme talent.”

Vincent took a quick sip of wine before continuing. “Unfortunately, Pierre did not have the business or financial strengths that I possess, and by the time Luc and Sandrine were teenagers, he’d managed the family finances so poorly that they were nearly bankrupt. His beautiful wife Michèle had no idea, until…” He paused, an inquisitive look passing over his strong features. “Luc hasn’t told you any of this?”

“I know that Luc hasn’t talked to his father in years, but I haven’t wanted to push him to tell me the details. I figured he’d tell me when he’s ready.”

“Then I’m not sure it’s my place to continue on with the story.” Vincent leaned closer to me, his broad shoulders and musky scent making me understand why Brigitte was so taken with him. There was something so powerful about his voice, his eyes, the way he held himself. But there was also something hiding behind that strong, intense gaze—something edgy and troubled.

Vincent moved in even closer, resting his hand on my knee. “What I
will
tell you is that Luc comes from a broken family, a family his
father
shattered. I don’t know if Luc has ever recovered from what Pierre did to their family. I know from experience that Luc’s mother never did.”

“What do you mean you know from
experience
?”

“Luc’s mother, Michèle, was my second wife.”

Did I just hear him right?

Vincent had been Luc’s
step-father
? And now he was dating Luc’s twenty-five-year-old ex-wife?

Lexi was so right. France was playing by a
totally
different set of rules.

Not more than a few seconds after Vincent had dropped that colossal bomb, his cell phone rang.

“
Excuse-moi, Charlotte
,” he said, removing his hand from my knee. “I have to take this call.”

As I watched Vincent walk over to a secluded corner of the bar, for the first time I really noticed the resemblance between him and his younger son Marcel, who was starring in
Le Problème avec l’Amour
with the lovely Brigitte. It wasn’t so much that they shared
the same facial features—it was more in the way they held themselves, and the way they dressed. They both exuded that bad-boy feel: a sexy darkness which
certain
women couldn’t resist.