Sleeping With Paris (33 page)

But I turned my head. I didn't want his kiss.

“I don’t love you anymore.” The words dropped effortlessly from my mouth.

Jeff stopped in his tracks and shot me a questioning glance.

“I don’t love you anymore,” I said again, firmer this time.

Jeff took a large step back into the hallway and gazed down at me with his pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“I did love you, I really did,” I said softly, “but it’s too late now. Too much has happened, and as great as it would be to forget everything and live happily ever after, I think I’ve actually started to move on.” As the words came out of my mouth, I felt them in my heart. I knew then that I really had begun to move on. I didn’t love Jeff anymore. I really didn’t. As wonderful as it felt to have this realization, it felt just as awful to know that I'd given up my relationship with Luc
and
lost my best friend, all for someone I wasn’t even in love with anymore.

“Do you love him?” Jeff asked.

“Luc, you mean?”

Jeff nodded.

“Well, whether I do or not, that’s all ruined now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jeff said, glancing down at his feet and combing his hand through his wavy blond hair.

“I think you better go,” I told him as I began to close the door.

Then Jeff gave me one of those looks. One of those final, parting looks where you know this will be the last time you look into each others’ eyes. He lingered there for a few seconds and then slowly turned around to saunter back to his room. I closed the door and leaned against it, not even believing the day I had just experienced. Probably the worst day of my life. Maybe even topping the day I first found Jeff’s online dating profile.

I got exactly what I had thought I wanted, but, in the end, it turned out to be exactly what I didn’t want. And now I was here, alone, and Luc was downstairs with Brooke. I felt sick to my stomach. But what was I supposed to do, go down there and tell him he couldn’t talk to her when I had just been in bed with my ex-fiancé that very day? When I had totally refused to make any kind of commitment to him whatsoever? He had no obligation to me, and Brooke had no obligation to Jeff at this point.

I sat on the bed for a few minutes and contemplated going downstairs to try to talk to Luc, or running down to Katie's room to tell her how sorry I was, but as my eyes grew heavy and my logic took over, I decided I needed to sit with the weight of my actions for once. And somehow, I needed to figure out how to put the pieces of my frazzled life back together on my own this time.

***

I wasn’t sure what time Luc came back to our room, but he did come back. I woke up to find him sleeping on the couch on the other side of the room, with no blankets or pillow. My stomach churned just thinking that he had heard me yelling like a maniac at Brooke, and that he had seen Jeff barge out of our room without his shirt on, not to mention that he had read my article. No wonder he had chosen the cold couch over getting into bed next to me. It made me feel even worse to think about what might have happened between him and Brooke last night. At least he had come back to our room though.

We had to catch our flight in a couple of hours, so I gently tapped Luc’s shoulder to wake him up.

“Luc, we have to get ready to go,” I said softly.

Luc grunted and rubbed his eyes. When he finally opened them and saw me, he promptly sat up and headed for the shower. I decided it would be better to wait to try to talk to him until he had woken up a bit. So, we showered and packed up our things in complete silence.

As we were about to head out the door, I stopped and turned around to face Luc.

“I’m so sorry about everything that happened yesterday. I—”

“I do not want to hear what you say. I know what you did, and I know that there can be no future for us. You love him, so that’s good for you. Go be with him.” Luc’s accent and awkward wording worsened with his anger.

“But I don’t love Jeff. What happened yesterday was a huge mistake. I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with you,” I said, searching his eyes for a hint of forgiveness and realizing even as the words exited my mouth that I sounded exactly life Jeff. Ugh.

“You don’t have sex with him as mistake. You made a choice.”

“I didn’t have sex with Jeff. He tried, but I stopped it.”

“How should I believe you? You wrote in your article that you are dating like a man, and that is exactly what a man would do, right? He would have sex with as many people as he could.” Luc pushed past me to get out the door.

I followed him down the hallway and into the elevator without saying a word. He was right—how was he supposed to believe me? I wouldn’t have believed me either.

We rode to the airport in a thick, nauseating silence. Luc didn't so much as glance my way as we waited in the long security lines and boarded our plane. The next seven hours were agonizing—sitting next to him, but knowing he was as far away from me as he could possibly be. He was clearly finished with me. He even devoured an entire chocolate bar that he had bought in the airport without offering so much as a morsel to me. Normally we would’ve split that bar right down the middle. That was our thing. I didn’t know if Luc would ever want to share chocolate with me again.

To drown my sorrows, I guzzled two miniature bottles of wine and watched movie after movie on the plane. None of it made me forget about how terrible I had been or how disgusting I felt as a human being. And that this time, contrary to when Jeff was at fault, I was the one who had screwed up my own life. I was to blame.
 

After an entire day of intolerable silence, Luc and I finally made it back to our building where he let himself into his place without saying goodbye to me. I shuffled into my room, threw my bags in the corner and collapsed on my hard cot. I stared up at the cracked ceiling, wishing I could wipe the slate clean and start all over. Wishing I had done things differently all year so I wouldn’t be lying here alone, in the aftermath of the mess I had created.

After a good half hour of self-loathing, my phone beeped. One new voicemail. I checked the caller ID and saw that Madame Rousseau had called. Probably to let me know the date of my interview. At least I hadn’t screwed that up.

I dialed my voicemail and got a pen and paper ready to jot down the date and time.

“Mademoiselle Summers,” her message began, “please call me immediately.” Click.

She didn’t sound happy at all. What could I have done this time? I’d been attending all (well, most) of my classes this semester, and I hadn’t had any other opportunities to screw things up. My stomach knotted into a tight ball as I dialed her number, hoping I would still have an interview. Hoping at least this one thing would work out for me.

“
Allô
?” she answered.

“
Bonjour Madame,
c’est Charlotte
.”

“Mademoiselle Summers, you have disgraced me and my profession. You should be ashamed of yourself!” Her shrill tone was reminiscent of the nuns who taught at my Catholic grade school. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“My niece’s friend had a copy of that filthy
Bella Magazine
, and I happened to see
your
picture next to a positively revolting article. No wonder you were always late this year. You have been running around, using men and having sex. I was wrong about you, Mademoiselle Summers. I believed you to be a young woman of integrity, of high morals. But clearly, you are quite the opposite. I have withdrawn my recommendation and have cancelled your interview. If my niece’s school finds out about this piece of
trash
that you have written, my reputation will be tarnished for even recommending that you teach there in the first place. An upstanding, private Catholic institution has no place for such debauchery. You said you were serious about teaching at this school? Were you not?”

“Yes . . . I still am. I’m sorry. I can—”

“I do not want to hear your excuses. I am finished working with you, Mademoiselle Summers. You will turn in your final papers, and you will be on your own. Do not expect to find a job at a private school in Paris without my recommendation. I will not allow such a disgraceful young woman to waste any more of my time, or that of my colleagues! And, I doubt my son will want to have another lesson with you once I speak with him.”

“But, Madame Rousseau,” I began as the dial tone rang loudly in my ear.

She’d hung up on me.

I hurled my phone across the room, and it landed right on one of my copies of
Bella Magazine
. I stood up, grabbed the magazine, tore my article out and ripped it to shreds. Then I sank to the floor, buried my head in my hands and cried.

Twenty-two

dimanche, le 3 avril

Running away from love will land you smack in the middle of nowhere.

The next morning, after a sleepless night full of tears, stomach problems, and several trips to the bathroom, I stared at my phone, trying to decide which friend to get in touch with so that I wouldn't hole up in my room and pick up a drinking habit.

Fiona had accepted my apology after our heated argument at the club back in February, but even so, we hadn't been hanging out as much since I'd started things up with Luc again. Plus, she'd been back and forth to London to visit Andrew almost every other weekend. Lexi had been completely MIA since she'd sent me that text saying that the sex with Marc was just so so. I figured she was ensconced in her usual routine of going out and picking up a new man every night, so I stopped trying to get in touch when she hadn't responded to any of my messages. Marc had been my only consistent friend (and student) for the past two months, but I knew if Madame Rousseau had anything to say about it, Marc would be finished with me too. And right now, the last thing I could handle was to lose one of the nicest friends I'd made here.

Before I could chicken out, I sent him a text message to see if he wanted to meet up at the park for a language exchange. Within seconds, he wrote back and said he'd meet me there in thirty minutes.

As I showered and tried to make myself slightly presentable, that dreadful, sickening feeling took hold of my stomach again. I was absolutely desperate to take back what I had done. What on earth had possessed me to actually go so far as to get in bed with Jeff while Luc was just downstairs? What if he had walked in on us? How could I have been so stupid to fall for Jeff’s antics after everything he had done? And to cause so much pain to Luc only to realize that I didn’t love Jeff anymore.

Everything Katie had said was right. I'd been so obsessed with my rules, my blog, my mission on dating like a man, that I hadn't stopped to think about how my words were affecting those around me. I'd inspired my mom to leave my dad and Hannah to cheat on her fiancé. I'd made Katie feel bad about falling in love when I should've been her biggest cheerleader. I'd lost my teaching recommendation, and worst of all, I'd lost Luc.

I really was low. Lower than low. One of the lowest beings on the planet. And I was sure that was exactly how Luc saw me now. After reading my article, he was probably wondering how many other men I had slept with this year. He was surely ready to rid his life of the slut he now knew I was. But I, on the other hand, was ready to tell him how sorry I was, how I wished I could take it all back, and that I knew in my heart that he was the one for me. I had been staring love in the face all year, but didn’t want to admit it. And now, it was crystal clear.

Luc
had
loved me. And I loved him. I really did . . . I loved him.

I collapsed against the wall of the tiny shower in desperation. I had just ruined any chance of really being with the man I loved. The man who I honestly believed was different from the others. Katie was right—Luc wasn’t Jeff. He wasn’t capable of that kind of deception. I, on the other hand, apparently was.

After the desperation came the rage. I wanted to rip Jeff’s eyes out of his head or cut off his balls, or anything else to severely harm him so he would feel the full effects of how badly he’d screwed with my life. I felt just as much rage toward myself though for ever falling for Jeff in the first place and for falling for him again, even though it was only for a brief fifteen minutes in that damn hotel room. Just thinking about kissing him again made me want to vomit. I scrubbed my body until my skin was raw in hopes of washing away the filth and the guilt that had overcome me.

My hair was still wet and my eyes were bloodshot and raw from fatigue when I left to meet Marc at the entrance to the park. He leaned in to give me two bisous, but a look of concern quickly swept over his face.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” I said. “I'm sure your mom has been in touch with you.”

Marc lowered his gaze to the ground as we strolled down the dusty dirt path into the park. A cool, light breeze rustled through the blossoming tulips and the budding tree branches, making me want to lie down in the grass and listen to that sound all day long if it could make me forget about my life for even a few minutes.

“Yes, she told me about the article. And about how she revoked her recommendation. I'm sorry she—”