A Feast of You (37 page)

Keep it together, Cat
.
No one needs you crying over chocolate croissants
.

“I hope the sweets meet your very high standards, Beckett,” Hutch said, glancing at Beckett and throwing him one of his signature smiles.

“I’m sure you did fine,” Beckett joked, taking a big piece of
jambon
and a few grapes.

“And for you, Miss Catherine” Hutch asked, noticing that I wasn’t reaching for anything.

“Um, sorry.” I looked back at the plate, knowing I should eat but feeling completely uninspired to do so. I didn’t feel hungry. I didn’t feel anything. “I just need water for now, thanks.” And with that I stood and headed back to my seat. I was being rude, but better that then breaking down in front of Hutch and Emmy.

Before I could get back to staring out the window, however, Hutch was beside me. He sat in the recliner-esque chair next to mine and swiveled to face me. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” I took a beat. Hutch was just trying to be nice and here I was being bitchy. “I’m sorry about sneaking away, but my mind is elsewhere,” I said lamely.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

“Fine. I’m absolutely fine.”

“You suck at lying, sweetheart.”

“And you’re a good friend. But right now I want to focus on work.”

“Okay,” Hutch said. “I’ll leave you alone. I hear there’s a bedroom in the back somewhere if you need to lie down.”

I winced when he mentioned the plane’s bedroom. Images of William sleeping in his black T-shirt and boxer briefs on our way to Napa flooded my mind. He had been my perfect fallen angel then, a man I couldn’t resist and could never get enough of. What the fuck was I going to do without him now?

I dropped my head and shook it, unable to look at Hutch. I didn’t want him to see my tears, which I wasn’t sure I could stop. Hutch might have been more like a friend, but I was still on this trip for work and I needed to pull myself together. He was counting on me and I didn’t want to let him down.

“Catherine, you’re not okay. I can see that,” Hutch said softly. “I don’t know what happened, but I assume Lambourne has everything to do with it. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“Thanks, I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

“Why don’t you get some then? I’ll leave you to it. Can I bring you an aspirin or something?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then.” Hutch stood up and walked back to the main table.

An aspirin. If it were only that simple. I wished there was a pill to silence my broken heart. The painful ache was deep and without any single point of origin. It was like my whole body felt William’s absence, while my every breath, my every thought was about him. I missed him, but I had to remind myself that we were over. He had told me to leave. The last few weeks meant nothing.

But even as I thought this, I knew it wasn’t true. William had awakened a part of me I’d thought I’d lost and for that I would always love him—even if he couldn’t love me back. I took a quick look around the cabin to make sure no one was paying attention to me. Beckett seemed to be dozing in his seat and Hutch and Emmy were each glued to their tablets. So no one saw me slip on my sunglasses and no one noticed my tears.

* * *

E
ven on a private plane, the flight was long, and I was glad to finally land and walk on solid ground again. I’d managed to get a little bit of sleep, but not nearly enough. Plus, I had that overly tired, dehydrated, sick feeling that was only going to be cured by a full meal, about a gallon of water, and maybe fifteen straight hours of sleep. None of those things were likely to happen over the next few days, so I decided I needed to suck it up and make sure I had a steady stream of
café au lait
to keep me going.

I’d traveled extensively with Jace, and I’d been in the Paris airport for layovers a few times, but I’d never actually been in the city of Paris. It didn’t have a beach or surfing, so there was never a reason for Jace and me to spend any time there. I was looking forward to exploring the City of Lights with Beckett now.

The hour was still early in Paris, before nine, but the streets were full of people. Like any tourist, I gaped as the limo holding Beckett, Hutch, Emmy, and I sped through the narrow streets. It was almost surreal to see the Eiffel Tower in the distance and to pass by the Arc de Triomphe. These were iconic monuments I’d only ever seen in pictures.

Fiona Joy had booked us at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée. It was ridiculously grand and across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower. I’ve never seen so much gilt and marble. It was classy and classic and totally Parisian. I immediately wished I could share it with William and then had to push that thought aside.

While Hutch checked us in, I stared at the sparkling chandelier above us and the exquisitely dressed women and men passing beside us. I’d worn a black long-sleeve cashmere sweater, dark jeans, black ankle boots and a grey coat, but I felt so frumpy next to the true Parisians. Beckett was staring too, and at one point our eyes met and he mouthed, “Oh my God!” and I smiled. I was so glad he was here with me.

“Voila.” Hutch handed me a room key. “Are you and Beckett okay sharing a room? They’re booked, but I can try arguing.”

“Not a problem, we’ve done it before.” Beckett and I had slept in the same bed a million times, and we were happy to do it again in Paris.

Hutch led the way to a bank of elevators.

“How long do I have?” I asked Hutch.

“Rest, freshen up, then let’s meet me in the lobby at noon. The line cooks Fiona booked are prepping at the venue already, so I need to get there and get started on a few dishes.”

“Sounds good.” It actually sounded exhausting, but I wasn’t about to complain. I was here to work.

Hutch’s room was across from ours, and he disappeared into his door just as Beckett opened ours. The suite was amazing. Marble floors gave way to walls adorned with gold accents, floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, and outside there was a cute little balcony. The main room held a plush white couch, two deep red
chaise longues
, and a carved wooden table. Beckett went immediately to the windows and squealed with excitement. The view of the city was unbelievable. We could see the Eiffel Tower, the Seine, and roofs with classic Parisian chimneys. It was breathtaking.

Another door opened into the bedroom, which housed a large four-poster bed awash with pillows. The headboard was stately and covered with a beautiful gold material. A final door led into a bathroom that contained the most glorious tub I had ever seen. It was an oval soaking tub with intricate tile designs climbing up its sides. The whole thing was regal and over the top. I loved everything about it.

“That’s it. I’m moving to Paris,” Beckett called from the bedroom.

I was content to take in the view from the living area, and Beckett peered around the door. “I’m going to change and head out to some of the bakeries. Morning really is the best time.”

“Have fun,” I said, finally prying my attention from our amazing view.

“I will. Would you like me to...ahem, pick anything up for you while I’m out?” He raised his brows.

I knew what he was alluding to: a test. I closed my eyes. “No. Let me get through tonight, and I’ll worry about that after.”

“Fine. But you’re going to have to face it at some point.”

“Trust me, there’s nothing to face. But yes. I’ll take the test and prove to you that we’re both worried for nothing.”

“Who’s worried? I can’t wait to be Uncle Beckett.”

I would have thrown something at him if I’d had anything in my hand. Instead, he retreated into the bedroom, then out the door. I enjoyed the view, then decided to try the bathtub.

A few hours later, Hutch stood in the lobby managing to fit right in without trying at all. He’d dressed in distressed jeans, his trademark Chuck Taylors, a fitted T-shirt, and the motorcycle jacket he’d worn at The Webster. He gave me an appreciative wink. “Very chic.”

“
Merci
.” I’d chosen a pair of skinny jeans, a silky, long-sleeve, dark grey T-shirt, and my own black leather motorcycle jacket. I was going to be working, after all, and needed to be able to bend down and move around comfortably. But I was in Paris and this was Fashion Week, so instead of boots, I wore the black Louboutins William had given me for our first date. I’d put my hair up in an artfully messy bun, and applied red matte lipstick. I had my overstuffed camera bag slung over my shoulder.

I was as ready as I’d ever be for my first Parisian photo shoot.

* * *

T
he venue was absolutely stunning. Fiona Joy had booked the atrium rooftop garden of an old bank building. Fiona didn’t meet us—I’m sure she had way too much to do getting ready for her show—so one of her assistants showed Hutch and me around. I couldn’t help but snap picture after picture of everything from the lush green plants and the colorful flowers to the old iron struts of the atrium’s curved glass roof. Behind us, the Eiffel Tower made the perfect backdrop. Tomorrow the room would be filled with white tablecloth–covered tables and lit by twinkling lights when dusk fell. Paris at night—it was going be magical.

I spent the next several hours shooting Hutch at work. The kitchen had been installed on a lower floor, and it was an interesting contrast, old world rustic with top-of-the-line appliances. I knew the way he worked now and could anticipate his movements. It made my job easier, but it also allowed me to be on auto-pilot and stop thinking.

About William.

The time passed quickly and soon enough a line cook swept in and told me the test run had been a success and Hutch was ready to call it a night. I would have paid to listen to him say this in his gorgeous accent over and over again.

As the chaos of the make-shift kitchen started to wind down, I packed up all my gear. I decided to leave my light kit since I’d need it tomorrow and there was no reason to lug it back to the hotel. Hutch walked in just as I was zipping the top of my camera bag. “I have everything I need here.” I tapped my camera. “I’m going to head back.” I was ready to resume my wallowing.

“You can’t run off just yet, darlin’. Someone’s gotta help me polish off the test dinner and you look like you could use a good meal about now.”

“I look that bad, huh?” I responded.

“You never look bad. I just like it better when you smile.”

I quickly changed the subject. “So, are you ready for tomorrow? It’s a great space. It’s going to photograph beautifully.”

“Ah, deflection,” Hutch retorted. “I see what you’re trying to do. Come on.” He waved me to follow him as he started toward the old-fashioned elevator with the manual gate that went up to the rooftop atrium.

I hadn’t eaten much all day and, though I wasn’t usually one for late-night dining, I was operating on fumes and my body was still on Chicago time. Plus, maybe talking to Hutch wouldn’t be so bad. I made a promise to myself not to cry, then said, “Alright, I’ll eat.”

Hutch and I made our way up to the top floor and sat at a round table in the center of the atrium. It was surreal that we were in a tropical garden on a Paris rooftop on a Wednesday night, sipping wine while the Eiffel Tower’s lights sparkled in the distance.

“I’m glad you decided to come, Catherine,” Hutch said before he took a bite from a plate holding his signature Flattened Pork Chop with collard greens and caramelized miso butter. I was working on a healthy serving of Hutch’s Jambalaya with smoked Tasso, which was hearty and filling and exactly what I needed at the moment.

“I am too. Thanks for asking me. This is really an incredible opportunity and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“You won’t. You might not realize it, but you’re the best, Kitty Cat. No one else can make food look sexy the way you can. It’s a gift. One of your many that I appreciate.”

I laughed, and my cheeks heated at Hutch’s flirtiness. It was the first time I’d laughed in days and it felt good.

“There’s that smile I’ve been missin’. I hope you enjoy your time here and that whatever happened between you and Lambourne doesn’t overshadow how fucking awesome Paris is. It is awesome, isn’t it?” Hutch tipped his head back and looked up at the glass ceiling of the atrium, taking in the stars that twinkled in the clear skies above the City of Lights. I had to agree: Paris was fucking awesome.

“About that. I really don’t want to talk about William. Please don’t ask me to.”

“Fair enough,” Hutch responded. “But that does mean the Smiths are off limits too?”

I almost gagged on my fork. I saw where this was going. I hadn’t forgotten how Hutch and Zoe had ogled each other at The Webster. I don’t know what he saw in her, but anything was better than talking about William right now. “What do you want to know?” I replied.

Hutch looked at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and laughed. “I want to know everything.”

* * *

I
felt like walking. Our cab ride from the hotel to the bank building this afternoon had been quick, so I knew I was close. I asked one of the line cooks, who spoke perfect English, for directions and then started on my way. I texted Beckett. Luckily our plans had international coverage.

Stuffed and exhausted and on my way back. You?

Same. See you soon for night cap?

;)

The night was cool, and I had no idea where I was, but I wasn’t afraid. It felt good to wander and to be alone with my thoughts. Though it was dark, I was obviously in a chic part of Paris, so I wasn’t worried. As I walked along the narrow, winding streets and looked into the shop windows I passed, it hit me that I was alone.
Alone
alone. I’d had a bodyguard for weeks, and I missed Asa’s quiet, reassuring presence.

I paused in front of
pharmacie
with a green cross illuminated near its front entrance. I looked down at my watch and it was after ten pm, so I kept walking. But then I made myself go back. Part of me hoped it was closed, but I wasn’t that lucky. It was open.
Fine, Universe.