Sleeping With Paris (41 page)

Suddenly I knew exactly what I needed to do what that ring.

After getting the skinny on the best jewelry stores in town from Florence and putting on the classiest outfit in my closet, I was on my way downtown. I had no idea what Jeff had paid for the ring, but I knew that for all of Jeff’s shortcomings, there was one thing he was not. And that was cheap. The man was loaded, and he wasn’t afraid to throw large sums of money around. Luckily for me, I happened to be in possession of one of his larger purchases.

I strolled into the expensive jewelry store Florence had insisted I visit and marveled at the vast collection of diamonds and jewels lighting up the glass cabinets.

A woman in a slim black business suit approached me.
“
Je peux vous aider, Mademoiselle
?”

I reached into my purse and whipped out the diamond engagement ring that I was hoping would give me a little extra boost in my quest to secure my own apartment.

After letting her know of my intent to sell the ring, the woman’s dark brown eyes widened just the slightest bit as she took the blue ring box from my hands and inspected the diamond.

She walked over to a man in a dark gray suit, who I assumed to be the store manager, and within seconds, three more salespeople were called to the scene. As they carried out a series of inspections, all the while talking so low I couldn’t hear a single word, the woman in the black suit appeared with a glass of sparkling water.

“
Merci
,” I said with a smile as I followed her over to a comfortable seat in the corner of the store. She sat with me and buttered me up for about fifteen minutes before the manager nodded in her direction and she left me there to finish my bubbly water.

A few minutes later, they called me over to the counter. The manager informed me in French that they had valued my ring at over $25,000.

As I felt the smile on my face widen, I had to resist the urge to jump up and down like an excited little girl.

I knew the ring had cost Jeff a lot, but I’d believed it was worth maybe half that. Plus, with the less than desirable exchange rate going on right now, I’d hoped to make a couple thousand euros at best. But some higher power must’ve thought I deserved much more than that after everything I’d been through with Jeff because I walked out of that blessed jewelry store with a check for 18,000 euros.

I remained as calm, cool and collected as possible as I left the store with that fat check in my purse, but as soon as I was a few blocks away on a deserted side street, I literally started skipping. And then I burst out laughing. I doubled over and laughed so hard my sides ached. I felt
so good
. It wasn’t just the money that was making me giddy—well, okay, that was a huge part of it—but it was the freedom I felt. I was in Lyon, and I loved it here! I had come here of my own free will, and my move had nothing to do with a man. I wasn’t chasing a man, I wasn’t running from a man—I was just here because I wanted to be. And since my teaching paychecks were small starting out, this extra money would help me secure a nice apartment and move out on my own. Hell, I could even furnish the apartment! And the first significant purchase I would make once I found a nice place was definitely going to be a bed—a huge, comfortable, cushy, expensive bed.

The next week, Aurélie and I were out apartment hunting when we found my new home. It was just south of Bellecour and was within walking distance of the Perrache train station. It was a large studio—well, as large as a studio can get—and with its shiny, hard-wood floors and newly painted sea-blue walls, it was beautiful inside. Not at all like the slew of dingy studios I'd been looking at prior to the monumental ring selling. I knew this place would go fast, so I decided to go for it. Because of the nice sum of cash I’d recently collected—
thank you very much, Jeff
—I was able to write the landlord a check for the deposit and for the first month’s rent right then and there. And just like that, it was mine. Well, mine to rent that is. Ring money or not, I certainly wouldn’t be buying any real state on my meager teacher’s salary.

Mathieu and a few of his friends helped me move all of my boxes and suitcases into my new studio, and I had that place unpacked and fixed up in less than a week. I even went out the day after I moved in and purchased my very own double bed. No more pathetic, plastic cots for me. I would be sleeping in style . . . and not waking up with back pains in the mornings!

One evening, as I curled up in my cozy bed and wrapped my crisp, new sheets around my legs, a flash of Luc’s warm smile invaded my head. I squeezed my eyes closed and buried my face in the pillow, hoping I could erase the picture of his laughing chestnut eyes and his sexy five o’clock shadow from my mind, but I couldn’t.

I realized then, as I lay there alone in my new home, that even though I’d done the best I could to move on with my life, that gut-wrenching feeling that I’d lost the one guy who I could’ve really been with
still
hadn’t escaped the pit of my stomach. I was becoming quite skilled at ignoring it, but here it was again, waiting for me in the quiet night inside my apartment, and sure to be gnawing at me first thing in the morning as I woke.

I thought about a night I’d gone out with Mathieu and Aurélie just the week before, and how I’d politely, but firmly declined when one of their friends had tried to put the moves on me. There hadn’t been anything wrong with him . . . but, he wasn’t Luc.

I flipped over on my back and stared up at the ceiling. I knew I couldn’t wait forever, but I just wasn’t ready yet for any kind of relationship, whether it was a one night stand or a couple of friendly dates. And as much as I missed having sex—sometimes I felt like I was going out of my mind—I couldn’t bring myself to do it with someone new, someone I didn’t care about. Katie and Fiona had been encouraging me to get out there and date other people since they didn’t have much hope that I’d ever hear from Luc again. But something in me was holding out.

After tossing and turning for a solid half hour, my thoughts consuming me and keeping me wide awake, I finally threw in the towel and climbed out of bed. I sat down at my computer and pulled up my blog. I hadn’t posted anything new since I’d found out about Luc’s daughter. I scrolled through all the entries and read through the comments. Then I pulled out my magazine article and read it again. Wow, I really had portrayed myself as a serious man-hater. Amidst all of my bashing, I did have some good points, but I felt like a different person now. And I wanted to make up for what I’d done.

I still planned on giving the blog a major transformation, like I’d told Katie and Fiona, but first I picked up the phone and dialed Beth, the editor at
Bella Magazine
.

“Beth Harding,” she answered.

“Beth, hi. It’s Charlotte Summers.”

“Charlotte! How are you? We’ve had such an incredible reaction to your article. Everyone loved it. Are you still blogging?”

“I’m actually reworking the theme of my blog a bit, so hopefully you’ll like the new look. But, that’s not why I called. I have an idea for another article that I want to run by you if you have a minute.”

“Of course. Shoot.”

After I explained my idea, Beth responded, “I love it. How soon can you get me the first draft? I’d love to squeeze it into our August issue.”

“Is tomorrow soon enough?”

“Perfect.”

And with that, I spent the entire evening at my computer, composing a new article that reflected the new me.

***

The first week in August marked the beginning of my four week vacation from work. God, I loved France. I considered going home to visit my family, but my parents were still separated, and I didn’t want to upset the inner calm that I had found in Lyon. The thought of going home to visit my mom, who was still living with my crazy Aunt Liza in Florida, or to see my dad and his girlfriend in Ohio, wasn’t at all appealing. So, instead I chose to stay and have a relaxing month all to myself in Lyon.

Most of the friends I had made through Mathieu and Aurélie were off traveling for the month, so I had a lot of time to sleep in, read French novels, and my new favorite—go out to eat. Lyon is known as the gastronomical capital of France, and deservingly so. The food is phenomenal. Since I had decided not to travel, I chose instead to treat myself to a new restaurant every week and to spend my afternoons sitting outside at cafés reading books and drinking wine. I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the month.

By the first week of August,
Bella Magazine
’s latest issue had already hit newsstands in the U.S. I had been waiting for Katie to mail me a copy, so one lazy morning, as I checked my mailbox and saw a giant envelope stuffed inside, I knew it had arrived. I tore it open and flipped through the pages until I found my piece.

How Not to Fall in Love in Paris

by Charlotte Summers

For the past year, I’ve been running around Paris and dating like a man—which basically means that I’ve been using men for fun and sex to protect my heart from getting hurt again.

Each week, as I logged dating lessons and tips into my “Sleeping with Paris—A Girl’s Guide to Dating Like a Man in the City of Love” blog, I received countless notes of encouragement from women just like me, who’d been thrown to the curb by their cheating exes. So, I thought I was on the right track. I was helping women everywhere to get over their past and move on to a happier, brighter future. One that didn’t involve heartbreak and sadness.

To demonstrate my points, I exploited the lives of the men I was seeing. Namely, one infamous man, who you’d probably recognize from my blog as Half-Naked French Hottie. To show a little more respect this time, we’ll call him by his first name—Luc.

As I reminded women everywhere just how sketchy guys can be, citing examples of how Luc was answering mysterious phone calls, telling another woman he loved her over the phone, and disappearing for weeks at a time, Luc was actually doing something noble. He was fighting for someone he loves—his three-year old daughter. Getting custody of his little girl was the reason behind all of his late night calls, and as soon as I gave him the chance to tell me about her, I knew I had made a huge mistake.

All year, I had wrongly grouped Luc in with the rest of the bunch—sleazy men, that is. Yes, men can be creepy. Men have broken our hearts. Men have cheated on us. You name it, they’ve done it. But, what I found out is that by dating like a man and guarding my heart like it was a national treasure, I had become my own worst enemy—a person who carelessly stomps on the hearts of others to advance her own agenda.

Even though I’d never verbally committed to be in a relationship with Luc, I had done to him exactly what other men had done to me. I had used him all year to get over my ex. I had abused his feelings for me so that I wouldn’t appear desperate and alone at a wedding in front of my ex and his girlfriend. Then I had carelessly disregarded his feelings and jumped at the first chance to be with my ex, only to realize it wasn’t him that I wanted anymore.

It was Luc.

Somewhere in between all of the nights we had shared together—the laughs, the talks, the sex and the chocolate—I had fallen for Luc. I loved hanging out with him. I loved his accent, his sense of humor, and the way he wanted me anytime, anywhere. I had fallen for him without even realizing it. But of course, since I was unwilling to admit that I was staring love in the face, I went and messed it all up before this monumental realization had occurred.

In my defense, you may say that Luc was taking those weird phone calls, he was disappearing and telling another woman he loved her over the phone. How was I supposed to know he was fighting for custody of his daughter? Well, that’s just it. In my quest to date like a man, I’d made a rule that women should avoid all serious talks with men. We were just having fun, remember? Luc had tried to tell me about his daughter. Several times. But I cut him off. I wasn’t having it.

In the end, I lost Luc. I lost a good man because I was too afraid to put my heart back out there and accept that I’d finally found someone who would love me for me, and who would never hurt me the way I’d been hurt in the past. Dating like a man can be fun, but eventually, you may meet a man who’s different. Who isn’t like the rest. And if you’re smart, you’ll stop the games, you’ll listen to him when he’s pouring his heart out to you, and you’ll tell him you love him.

Luc, if you’re out there, I still love you. And I always will.

As I felt a tear roll down my cheek, I knew I’d come a long way. Whether I ever heard from Luc again or not, I had publicly admitted my wrongs, and I’d put my heart on the line. I could only hope that the next time I met a guy as wonderful as Luc,
if I
did
ever meet a guy as wonderful as Luc, that I would be brave enough to love again. As I stared at my own words in print, I felt confident that I would.

***

On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, one week after my article had come out, I was sitting outside at a sidewalk café in Vieux Lyon enjoying a tall glass of Chardonnay and reading a French novel I had just picked up at the bookstore. I was totally immersed in my book when I heard my phone ringing from inside my purse. It was a long number, so I assumed it was someone from home.