What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) (10 page)

Mat took the paper and read out loud. “Welcome to Very Nice
,
a
charming family-run hotel only ten minutes’ walk from the city’s historic
center and the
Promenade des Anglais
beach.”

“I booked us three rooms with twin beds. The hotel didn’t have any triple
rooms, so one of the ladies will have to share a room with one of the gents,”
Pepe said.

“And I got the train tickets, so you each owe me one hundred twenty euros
and ninety to Pepe,” Jeanne, who had just arrived with a beer in her hand,
said.

“I could room with y—” Mat began.

“Amanda, will you share with me? I promise I don’t snore.” Pepe said,
blocking Mat.

Amanda handed Pepe the hotel money. “It’s very kind
of you to offer, but I’d rather room with Rob. We hiked for a week in the Jura
Mountains last summer, so I know for sure he doesn’t snore, grind his teeth, or
sleepwalk.”

The famed Riviera town unfolded before the Parisian bunch with its palm
tree-rimmed squares and boulevards, followed by crooked old town streets. Lena
decided she liked it. A lot. The hotel was another matter. Upon closer
acquaintance, Very Nice turned out to be a flea-bitten hole flirting with the
insalubrious whose only
nice
part was the tiny rooftop terrace. The very
same that represented the hotel on its website.

After a few minutes of hesitation, mainly on the part of Amanda and Lena,
the group decided to settle in and make the best of it. It was four in the
afternoon—the perfect time to go to the beach. Lena and Jeanne were ready
within ten minutes. When they came down to the lobby, the boys were already
there. Amanda arrived a few minutes later. Her golden hair was braided and
pinned above her ears and her camisole barely covered her bikini top. She wore
a pair of minishorts that drew attention to her slender tanned legs. Pepe gave
a long whistle of appreciation while Mat and Rob emitted wolf calls. She looked
smoking hot and very pleased with herself.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, madam,” Pepe said
stepping forward and lifting her hand to his lips. “The name’s Bond. James
Bond.”

Amanda flashed her impeccable teeth. “Pleased to meet you, James. I’m
Princess Leia. Shall we?” She pointed at the door, and the six of them headed
out of the hotel.

As they neared the beach, Lena could smell the salty ocean and hear the
soothing sound of the waves. She felt giddy with anticipation of the sea’s
comforting embrace and the subsequent sunbathing. Five minutes later, they were
all in the water, some of them splashing and screaming their joy and others
charging into the open sea, away from the shore, away from the clutter of daily
life.

Later, as they basked in the late afternoon sun, Amanda turned to Lena. “Can
you hear what I hear?”

“You mean the Russian-speaking group behind us?”

“Yes. And another one to the right. God, they are obnoxious. I have no
idea what they’re saying, but they sound like they own this city.”

Lena tried to conceal her discomfort behind a breezy smile. “I apologize
for my fellow countrymen’s rustic manners. You could try reminding yourself
they are supporting the sluggish French economy.”

“One nil to Lena,” Mat said.

Amanda pretended she didn’t hear that. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. I just
wish I could understand what they were saying.”

As it happened, the Russians
were
being obnoxious, and Lena had no
desire to translate their unsavory exchange.

“Ha! I don’t actually need you to translate for me. I can ask Rob. He
speaks Dostoyevsky’s language very well,” Amanda said.

“You do?” Lena turned to Rob, unsettled.

If it was true, how come he never told her about it? How come he never
let her know that he shared such an important part of her culture? Was it a
sign of how little she meant to him?

“Yeah,” Rob said, rubbing his neck. He picked up a small shell and began to
fiddle with it. “Didn’t I mention it before?”

“No, you didn’t. Not even when I showed you my translations from Russian.”
Lena forced herself to smile. She wanted to add that it wasn’t a big deal, but
the lump in her throat was making it difficult to speak.

Thankfully, Amanda jumped in. “Oh yes, you trained in literary
translation, didn’t you? Lucky you! Y
ou could
afford to study anything you fancied, including the most useless stuff, without
worrying if you could make a living out of it.”

Lena tried to keep cool. “I don’t think
literary translation is useless, except to those who never read.”

“Yes, of course, you are absolutely right,”
Amanda said before making a dreamy face. “Oh, I wish I could study astrology.”

Rob cleared his throat, and Jeanne shifted
noisily, but Amanda plowed on undeterred. “Or better still, ufology! I could go
around interviewing all those wackos who believe they’d been abducted by little
green men. Wouldn’t that be a blast?”

“Lena one, Amanda one,” Pepe said, but nobody
laughed.

Lena turned away and studied the horizon.

After a few moments, Jeanne broke the awkward silence. “I’m getting
hungry and a little cold. So, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to
find an eatery away from the beach. The ones around here are just tourist
traps.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lena said, her voice barely audible. She stood up,
pulled her jeans and T-shirt on, and collected her stuff.

The men did the same.

“Who eats dinner at six?” Amanda muttered, but followed the others
nonetheless.

The rest of the evening was a haze. Lena took part in the dinner and the
long ramble in the city afterward. She engaged in most conversations.

But she really wasn’t there.

 * * *

The gang called it a day around eleven in the
evening, most of them declaring they were dead tired. Rob had been hoping to
have a word with Lena in private, but she dashed to her room as soon as they
entered the hotel.

Once he and Amanda were in their room, Amanda
proposed they watch a movie on her laptop.

That was when his old pal Thomas called him
back to suggest they meet for a quick drink in the old town. As it happened,
his timing was perfect. Rob needed a reason to get out of the hotel, breathe
the night air, and distract himself.

He hung up and turned to Amanda. “My buddy
wants to meet, so I’ll be heading out—”

“Now?” Amanda glanced at her watch. “It’s
soon midnight.”

“I’m a big boy, Mommy. I can take care of
myself.”

Amanda pursed her lips
and turned to look out the window. “Have fun.”

Rob turned right and took rue Alberti that
led straight to the brasserie Thomas had suggested. They hadn’t seen each other
after finishing the engineering school two years ago. They hadn’t been
particularly close. But right now, Rob was happy he’d remembered Thomas lived
in Nice and texted him from the train. Maybe he could drink himself out of his
anger and remorse.

He was cross with Amanda for the way she kept
taunting Lena all day. He resented being unable to tell Lena why he’d hidden
his knowledge of Russian from her.

But above everything, he hated himself for
having hurt her. He winced as he remembered the look of distress and
incomprehension in her big brown eyes
 . . .
like a wounded Bambi. Had she been wronged by another
guy, he’d have taken the a-hole aside and sorted him out in a wink. Rob stopped
in his tracks, rapped out a curse, and drove his fist into the wall.

It hurt.
Good.

A few minutes later, he pushed open the door
to the brasserie and walked in.

“Over here!” Thomas waved from the bar.

They hugged and spent the next hour talking
about common acquaintances, Thomas’s new job, and Rob’s prospects.

At one in the morning, Thomas climbed down
from his barstool. “Sorry, pal, but I have an early start tomorrow morning, so
 . . .
”

“Sure, it was great seeing you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Rob was back in Very
Nice. He stopped in the middle of the lobby. Amanda would still be awake, the
night owl that she was. He didn’t want to talk to her right now. He dropped
onto the worn armchair and picked up one of the leaflets stacked on the table
next to it. The cheap-looking pamphlet featured the hotel’s rooftop terrace on
the cover page.
Bingo
. He jumped up and headed toward the stairs. An
hour in the fresh night air under the stars, and then he’d sneak into his room
and get some sleep.

But someone else had remembered about the terrace, too. Rob walked over
to the dark figure wrapped in a blanket that occupied one of the wicker
armchairs. It was Lena. She sat hugging her knees, her head thrown back toward
the night sky.

She startled as he got closer, squinted at him, then acknowledged him
with a small smile.

He smiled back. “I see I’m not the only insomniac tonight.”

She adjusted the blanket around her shoulders.

He pulled a chair and sat facing her. This was the perfect opportunity to
apologize and clear the tension between them.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you about my Russian,” he said.

“You don’t need to apologize.” She searched his face. “I just can’t
imagine why—”

He looked down. “I wish I could explain.”

“Never mind,” she said.

He pulled his chair a little closer and leaned in. “I do need to
apologize, even if I can’t explain why.” A deep sigh escaped him. “I’m so
messed up, Lena.”

Her brows shot up, but she said nothing.

Please, let her forgive me. Please, let us be like before,
he
surprised himself praying. Why did it feel so vital that they be like before?
Was it to make it easier to get intel on her dad? Or was it for a reason that
had nothing to do with Anton Malakhov at all?

Jesus, he
was
messed up.

“Can we be friends again?” he asked.

“So you think we were friends?”

He nodded.

She arched her brows. “And you think you can be friends with me and
Amanda at the same time?”

“Why not?”

“Can be a health hazard, what with all the sparks that fly.”

He grinned. “Never mind Amanda’s taunts. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Nefarious?”

“Spiky. But she’s a sweetheart, once you’ve grown on her.”

“I wonder how I could ever accomplish
that
.” Lena smiled, a speck
of sadness still lingering in her eyes.

He stared, mesmerized. He could never get enough of that smile.

A cloud hiding the moon must have shifted, because suddenly silver light
poured over the terrace turning it into an enchanted place.

Lena gasped. “What happened to your hand?”

He followed her gaze and saw that the knuckles of his right hand were
smeared with blood. Shit. He could bet there’d been none after he punched the
wall.

He covered the abrasions with his other hand. “It’s nothing.”

She grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand closer to her face. “Have you
disinfected them?”

Rob didn’t register her question. He looked at her delicate fingers
holding up his hand. Then at her face. She was squinting at his hand, trying to
assess the seriousness of his cuts. Her gesture was devoid of any erotic
subtext. And yet the contact of her skin scorched him, just like when he held
her hand at L’Espace. It stirred an impulse inside him that was both feverishly
raw and infinitely gentle. It made his heart bump against his ribcage as if
demanding to get out.

He gazed at her hands holding his. The urge to run his fingertips over
her skin, from her nails down to her wrist and then inside her palm was too
overwhelming to resist. . .

“So have you?” she asked.

Rob blinked and looked up. “Have I what?”

“Disinfected.”

“It’s just a graze.”

“I have a disinfectant in my suitcase,” she said. “I can fetch it—”

And release my hand?

“Stay,” he blurted out.
Shit
. “I mean, I also brought some, so you
don’t need to bother. I’ll disinfect as soon as I get back to my room. I
promise.”

“OK,” she said softly and let go of him.

It took him superhuman effort not to grab her hand and bring it to his
lips.
Get a grip, man.
“So, how does it feel to be a study-free person?”

“Great. But also weird. Suddenly, I’ve got all this time on my hands.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “There may be a sight or two worth
seeing in Paris.”

“Oh, I’ve made a huge list. Three lists, actually. One for Paris, another
one for France, and a third one for cool places around the world I want to
visit or revisit.”

“What’s the first trip on the list?”

“I wanted to go to New York with my dad, but I’m not sure how that’s
going to play out in light of the recent scoop.”

He raised an eyebrow in question.

“My dad just got engaged,” she said.

Ah,
that
scoop. He’d heard.

And so had Boris.

 * * *

“Wow,” Mat said, whipping his camera out.

Amanda nodded in agreement. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Reminds me a little of Spain,” Pepe said.

Rob grabbed the railing and glanced down. The view was worth the steep
climb. From this vantage point at the top of the Castle Hill, Nice was uniquely
alluring, its red roofs sandwiched between the blue of the sea and the sky.

“Isn’t your hometown somewhere around here?” Pepe asked Jeanne.

“If you mean on the Mediterranean coast of France, then yes,” Jeanne
said. “But Nîmes is much further west.”

Mat stopped taking pictures and turned to Jeanne. “I’ve been there once,
it’s a pretty town.”