Sleeping With Paris (40 page)

“Definitely. Probably not for a little while though . . . I have to work on getting a job at home first so I can pay for the ticket!”

“Tell Andrew to pay for it . . . shouldn’t he owe you some kind of monetary reward since you were kind enough to take him back after everything?”

“Yeah, in theory, that would be nice. But . . . I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Fiona laughed as she taped up the box she was working on.

“We should have lunch this week after Charlotte leaves if you don’t have anything to do,” Marc said to Fiona, a cute grin spreading across his lips.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Fiona said as her cheeks flushed bright red. “Do you still have my number?”

“Of course I still have your number,” Marc said.

Fiona held his gaze for a few extra seconds, then her eyes darted to the floor.

I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle.

“What?” They both asked in unison.

“Nothing . . .” I trailed off as I smiled at them. 

Marc and Fiona helped me take a hefty load of boxes over to the post office to ship to Lyon, and then they helped me clean up my room and get everything completely packed up so I’d be ready to go first thing the next morning. I couldn’t have asked for better friends.

“Alright guys, I’m taking you both out to dinner,” I announced when we had finally finished.

“You don’t have to do that,” Fiona responded.

“I don’t want to hear it. You’ve both been so wonderful to me this year . . . through everything, and, well, it’s the least I can do. Plus it’s my last night in Paris, so we have to go out.” I looked over at Fiona and saw the tears welling up. “Don’t start, or you’ll make me start,” I said as I leaned over and gave her a hug.

The three of us took the warm, smelly RER train together up to the Luxembourg stop. We wound our way through the cobblestone streets near the Panthéon and found a beautiful French café where we sat outside under the moonlight and enjoyed way too many glasses of wine. Sitting there at that adorable restaurant with my friends made me so happy I’d decided to stay in France. I knew I’d made the right choice.

I watched as Marc continued to flirt with Fiona throughout dinner, and with each sip of wine, Fiona’s eyelashes batted a little harder and the rosiness in her cheeks reached the color of a chili pepper.

Stuffed and giddy, the three of us walked over to Rhubarb after dinner to conclude my last night in Paris with another drink. Marc slipped his arm around Fiona’s waist as we stumbled over the cobblestones to the bar, and by the way she laid her head on his shoulder and gazed up into his eyes, I could tell she’d forgotten all about Andrew.

“What can I get you ladies to drink?” Marc asked as we arrived at the bar.

“I’m actually just going to run to the restroom real quick,” I told them.

On my way back up to the bar, I had to squeeze past three different sets of dying couples, their bodies intertwined on the dance floor, their noses pressed together, their lips brushing against each other’s skin.

And then I remembered that the last time I’d been to this bar had been with Luc. We’d looked just like those couples, unable to take our eyes, or our hands, off each other.

And there it was again. That feeling I
thought
I was getting rid of. That nauseating anxiety that crept up from the pit of my stomach.

I was in love with someone who didn’t love me back. Or if he did, I had ruined it.

I told myself I would be okay. I was moving to Lyon. Starting a new life. Even still, I wasn’t really in the mood to be in that bar anymore. Just as I made my way back toward the bar, I jolted backward as I spotted Marc and Fiona locked in a long, passionate kiss. And from the looks of it, their kiss wasn’t ending anytime soon.

I waited off to the side until they came up for air and then approached the newly-formed dying couple. Fiona’s face flushed when she realized that I had witnessed the whole thing. She was, in fact, still officially with Andrew, and she was not the cheating kind. I knew she’d be reeling about this one once she woke up in the morning, but I was secretly happy she’d done it. Marc was perfect for her. And with Andrew’s bizarre
arse
obsession, something had to give.

“I think I’m going to head out,” I told them. “I’m really tired, and I have to be up early tomorrow to catch my train. But thank you both so much for everything—for all of your help today, and for being such great friends. I’m going to miss you both so much.” I leaned in and gave Fiona a squeeze.

“I’m going to miss you, too. But we’ll visit each other, promise?” Fiona looked me in the eye as she struggled to stay standing. She’d exceeded her normal limit of two drinks by about five.

“Promise,” I answered back. “And I’m going to see you a lot, right?” I asked Marc as I hugged him.

“Yes, of course. You’ve been the best English teacher.”

“Thanks, Marc,” I said as I smiled at the two of them. “Alright, I’ll talk to you both soon.” I turned and left them there to continue their night of passion. Fiona deserved to have some fun; she was always so well-behaved. And maybe this would open her eyes to what a great guy Marc was and at the very least, show her that there were other guys out there besides Andrew.

I hailed a cab back to my dorm so I could have one last look of Paris at night before heading down to Lyon in the morning. Smiling at the sparkly white lights of the
Tour Eiffel
twinkling off in the distance, I realized that while I was sad to be leaving this magical city, Paris would only be a train ride away. I was ready for a new start to my life, and in just a few short hours, it would all begin.

Twenty-five

dimanche, le 8 mai

And just when you thought you’d never enjoy chocolate again . . .

“You are sure you are comfortable watching the baby while we’re out?” Mathieu asked as he held the door for Florence.

I bounced baby Nathalie in my arms and smiled at them. “I’m sure. You two go out and have a good time.”

“Call us if you have any questions at all, okay?” Florence said nervously as she took one last glimpse of her daughter.

“I promise. Now please, have fun and don’t worry about us.”

I closed the door behind them and carried baby Nathalie into the living room where I sat down on the couch with her. It was my second week at Mathieu and Florence’s apartment, and I’d volunteered to watch Nathalie for the night so the two of them could go out to eat. I was a bit nervous as I hadn’t spent much time taking care of babies, but it was the least I could do considering they’d offered to put me up until I had enough money to rent my own place.

I bounced Nathalie on my knee and watched as her cute brown curls bobbed up and down and she let out an adorable giggle.

This wasn’t so bad.

Just as I smiled back at her though, her little pink lips formed into an oval and out came the loudest, most piercing cry I’d ever heard.

What happened?

I continued bouncing her on my knee, but her cries only intensified. I stood up and swayed from side to side as I patted her lightly on the back, but nothing seemed to be working.

I paced up and down the hallway with the little bundle screaming in my arms, her cries drowning out the sound of the creaky wooden floors, and wondered what I should do next. Florence had just fed her and changed her diaper, so maybe she was tired?

But, after an hour of bouncing, rocking, singing, swaying, trying to give her another bottle and even performing a dancing puppet show, I was losing my calm. I laid her down in her crib, hoping she would fall asleep, but no such luck.

I didn’t want to worry Mathieu and Florence, but I decided I needed to do something, so I called Fiona in London, where she was now living with Andrew.

“Hey, Charlotte!” she answered.

“I need help,” I told her.

“What is that noise?” she asked. “Are you in a fire station or something?”

“No, it’s Mathieu’s baby, Nathalie. She’s been crying for almost an hour. I’ve tried everything and she won’t stop. Do you have any ideas?”

“Is she hungry?”

“No, she’s not hungry, she doesn’t need a diaper change, and she won’t sleep. Don’t babies just eat, poop and sleep? What other problem could I be missing here?”

“Have you tried a movie?”

“Mathieu and Florence aren’t big on letting her watch television.”

“Well, they’re not the ones that have been listening to her cry for the past hour now, are they?”

“True.” I flipped on the TV and scrolled through the channels until I landed on
Finding Nemo
in French. I popped Nathalie into her bouncy seat in front of the television and held my breath, hoping this would work.

Lo and behold, as her eyes fixed on the colorful fish swimming around the screen, her cries died down, and a tiny smile crossed her lips.

I breathed out a long sigh. “That was really intense.”

Fiona laughed. “How much longer are you going to be staying with them?”

I sank down on the couch and felt myself relax as baby Nathalie became more engrossed in the movie.

“I won’t get my first paycheck from the language school until next week, and even then, I don’t know if I’ll have enough money for a deposit on an apartment just yet. I hope it’s not long though because I feel like I’m imposing on their time as a family. Plus, Nathalie wakes up wailing every single night. I bought some earplugs, and even those don’t keep the sound out. But, it’s a free place to stay, and you saw their apartment—it’s gorgeous. So I really shouldn’t complain. Enough about me though. How’s life in London? How are things with Andrew?”

Fiona had never mentioned her make-out session with Marc, so I’d never brought it up either. I wondered if she even remembered that it had happened—she
had
exceeded her two drink limit that night.

“Um . . . well, you know.
Interesting
.”

“Interesting? In a good way or a bad way?”

“It’s just that I got used to living on my own in Paris, so it’s been quite a transition to have him around
all
the time.”

“At least he doesn’t wake up crying in the middle of the night,” I said with a laugh.

“Very true. It’s fine though. Things are going . . . fine.”

I could hear the undertones of something else brewing, but I didn’t want to push.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you something,” Fiona continued. “I spoke with Lexi, and she told me the reason she’s in New York. About her suicide attempt? You’ve known about this the whole time?”

“Yeah, she asked me to keep it private. I hope you’re not mad.”

“No, of course I understand. That’s not information she probably wants spreading around. But, God, that’s awful. I can’t believe she’s been so depressed all year . . . to the point of wanting to take her own life. I wish I had known. I would’ve been there for her more. I just got so angry with her after that night with Marc. She seemed so careless and slutty to me. But now it all makes a little more sense.”

“Did she tell you that she didn’t sleep with Marc after all?”

“She didn’t?” Fiona asked.

“No, I spoke with Marc about it too. He only took her back to his place because he was worried about letting her go home alone. He’s not interested in her, Fiona. He never was.”

Fiona didn’t say anything, but I swore I could hear her mind spinning over the line.

“He asked about you on the phone the other day,” I continued.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. I think he misses you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Fiona hesitated for a moment. “He has been emailing me recently. We’re just friends though, of course. I’m happy here with Andrew.”

“Of course. Nothing wrong with staying in touch though.”

“No, not at all,” she agreed.

I hoped that if Andrew wasn’t the right person for Fiona, she would realize it before it was too late. But, seeing as how Fiona wasn’t exactly a risk-taker, I doubted her relationship with Marc would go beyond an email flirtation.

***

The next morning, while Nathalie was in the middle of one of her hour-long cry sessions, I was searching for a pair of earrings I thought I had lost when I came across something else I hadn’t thought about in months.

My engagement ring.

I hadn’t taken it back out of my jewelry box since the night my mom had told me about the divorce. I couldn’t believe I had totally forgotten about it all this time. I guess I
had
done a nice job of keeping myself busy in Paris.

I ran my finger around the platinum band and stared at the two-carat diamond, expecting to be hit with pangs of sorrow, expecting the tears to begin welling up at any moment. But, to my surprise, I felt nothing. It wasn’t a symbol of lost love or love gone bad, or whatever you’d want to call it. It was just a piece of jewelry. A really expensive, beautiful piece of jewelry. That’s right, an
expensive, beautiful
piece of jewelry.