Kissed in Paris (14 page)

I’d stopped trying to make them like each other long ago. 

I picked up the receiver and dialed Sophie’s cell, deciding I would tell her the exact same story I’d told Paul. I had no other choice. If I gave her even an inkling of the truth, the whole family would know something was wrong within two minutes of me hanging up.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Soph, it’s me, Chloe.”

“Dude, you need to tell your future husband to take a chill pill.”

“What are you talking about? When did you talk to Paul?”

“I called the house about an hour ago to see if you were home yet, and he was freaking out.”

“So, I guess he told you I have to stay in Paris for another day or two.”

“Yeah, he didn’t sound too happy about that, and he was flipping because he just tried to call you at the hotel and they said you’re not a guest there anymore?”

I rested my forehead in my hands, preparing myself to lie for the third time that day.

“Oh, yeah, um . . . I forgot to mention to him that Angela had me switch to a more reasonably priced hotel so we don’t rack up the company credit card since the extra days here weren’t planned.”

“Well, you better call him and let him know. He said he really needs to talk to you, like
now
. Something about your checking account being on hold. I guess he tried to use your debit card and it wouldn’t work. He was rattling on about it forever on the phone. He sounds really stressed, Chloe . . . not that it’s any different from how he usually acts, but still. I think with the wedding coming up this weekend and everything, you should really get home.”

I had nothing to say, except my life was turning to complete shit.

“Chloe, are you there?”

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled as I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe.

“So is this the hotel number where you’re staying? Do you want me to give it to Paul so he can call you there?”

“No! I . . . um, I mean, no. I’ll call him in a little bit. Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. I mean, I
am
your maid of honor, and you’ve barely let me take care of anything for the wedding. Which, by the way, can you believe you’re getting
married
in less than a week?”

“No, Soph. I can’t. I really can’t.”

“So tell me about Paris. What are the French men like? Are they sexy? Or are they super skinny?”

“
Sophie
.”

“What? I mean, I know you’re about to get married, but that doesn’t mean you’re dead. It’s not like you can’t look at another man besides Paul for the rest of your life.”

“Fine. I guess you could say they’re . . .
interesting
. Not that I’ve really had much contact with them. I mean, you know I’m here for work.” I cringed as I glanced around the hotel room. If she only knew.

“Work, work, work. You could at least have a little fun if you’re going to be there for another day or two. You know how stressful it’s going to be when you come back with all of us in town for the wedding. I talked to Lily and Magali and Dad this morning. They were stressing me out just listening to them. You’ve got to get home.”

“I know, Soph. I know.”

“Well, keep us posted on when you’ll be back. Until then, it’ll be me and Paul holding down the fort.”

Oh, God.

“I will, Soph. Can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

I hung up with Sophie and briefly contemplated calling Paul, but decided to take a shower first. I was sweaty, exhausted, and my feet hurt. Plus I needed time to figure out what I was even going to say to him. The only two options were to keep lying to him, or to tell him the truth. And if I kept lying, the lies were going to spiral out of control. I would have to tell him that I’m staying in a new hotel. Which, by the way, I wouldn’t even be in tomorrow. And Paul wasn’t an idiot. He would notice that none of this was adding up.

And now the checking account disaster. I had no clue how I would even begin to explain that.

The other option—telling Paul the truth—still didn’t feel like a viable option to me if I still wanted to get married this weekend.

So, lying it was.

I stared at the phone, and as the queasiness piled up in my stomach, I turned away and headed to the shower.

***

After twenty minutes of standing underneath a blazing hot stream of water in a comatose stance, not willing to think about my mess of a life for another second, I wrapped myself up in a towel, only to realize that I was going to have to put that dreaded red dress back on to go to bed. Ugh.

Just as I was about to slip the miniscule sliver of a dress over my head, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“I bought some pajamas for you,” Julien called.

“Oh, thanks,” I replied, surprised at his thoughtfulness, and grateful to toss the red dress into a heap on the bathroom floor.

“Do you want them?”

“Oh, yes, thanks.” Cracking the door open a slit, I reached for the pajamas.

Julien had bought me a small purple T-shirt with
Annecy
written on the front in bubbly white letters and a pair of light blue linen pants. To my surprise, he’d also chosen the perfect sizes.

Clean and tired, I emerged from the bathroom. Julien sat at the desk, eating a sandwich.

“Thank you for the clothes,” I said as I plopped down on the bed and attempted to comb out my long, wet hair with my fingers.

“I got you a sandwich too,” he said, sliding a plastic bag across the bed toward me. “Just cheese and vegetables. No meat. And there’s a bottle of water in there too. No wine.”

“Very funny.”

Inside the bag, in addition to the sandwich and the water, there were also two toothbrushes—a pink one and a blue one—and a small tube of
dentifrice
.

I peeked up at Julien munching on a gargantuan bite of his sandwich, and despite the things he’d said to me on the train and the questionable events that had just taken place with the freaky Australian duo, I felt immensely grateful that he was taking care of me. And somehow I knew in my gut that I’d been right to trust him. He’d been right about the fact that I should’ve stayed put when he went to find my passport, and he’d even managed to steal my ring back.

I could explain a stolen passport to Paul. But how would I ever have explained my missing engagement ring?

I realized then that I still hadn’t put my ring back on. The lonely diamond shimmered underneath the light of the desk lamp, next to Julien, who was looking straight at me as he chomped on his sandwich.

“You are thinking very hard over there,” he said in between bites. “What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, I . . . I don’t know. I’m just really confused, I guess, about everything. I spoke with my sister while you were out. She talked to my fiancé, and he was upset because the bank has placed a hold on our checking account.”

Julien threw back a gulp of water, then cleared his throat. “Claude works quickly. He knows what he’s doing.”

“So what should I do? I mean, at this point, it seems inevitable that Paul is going to find out the truth.”

“If we can find Claude tomorrow, there is a strong chance of getting your passport back, and you can be on the first plane back home.”

“But if the police are looking for me, and if the transfers Claude made out of my account are now apparently tied to illegal activity, how will I even get through customs at the airport?”

Julien swallowed his last bite and crumbled up the wrapping into a ball before tossing it in the wastebasket. “You do not need to worry about that. I work for the government, remember? I will see to it that you get through customs with no problems.”

“But you told me that even the people you work with won’t believe that I’m innocent. That many of the women before me were actually working
with
Claude. So how will you ensure that I’ll be able to leave?”

“You have to trust me, Chloe. I know what I’m doing.”

“Who do you work for? Is it like the French equivalent of the CIA?”

“That is confidential. You already know too much as it is.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Fine. If you can’t tell me who you work for, then I want to know who that Australian woman was back at the apartment, and what the deal is with the painting.”

Julien sighed. “I guess I am not going to be able to avoid your questions any longer, am I?”

“Not unless you want me to keep asking them.”

“I for sure do not want that.”

“Okay, then start talking,” I demanded.

“Marie is a woman Claude uses to run cons with . . . and he sleeps with her too.”

“And judging by what her brother said, you do as well . . .
sleep
with her that is.”

“No, that is not—”

I held my hand up to quiet him. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. That’s none of my business anyway. If you’re undercover, I suppose you have to do certain
things
to be ‘one of them,’ as you said.”

Julien raised an eyebrow at me, his dimple popping into his right cheek as he smirked. “Why do you care if I sleep with Marie or not? You are engaged, no?”

My cheeks boiled as I tore my gaze from Julien’s. “I don’t care. I’m just trying to get the whole picture of what in the hell is going on here.”

“Trust me, this is a complicated mess and the less you know, the better.”

“You never answered about the painting.”

“There is no painting,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“So why was that woman saying she knew nothing about a painting and then you told me after we left that it was
confidential
?”

“I used that to distract her so I could get other information without her realizing it. Marie, as you could see, is not exactly the smartest woman.”

“So there is no painting?”

“No painting. But I found out where Claude is headed next, and Marie said he still had a batch of passports with him to sell, so it is very possible that he still has yours.”

“Where is he going next?” I asked.

“Lyon. It is a city two hours from here by train. We can leave in the morning.”

 “I still don’t fully understand why you would go to all this trouble to help me. Especially if your orders were to leave me with the police and find Claude. I mean, you’re putting your job at risk for me and we haven’t even found Claude yet. Why would you do that?”

“You really don’t stop with the questions, do you?”

When I didn’t gratify him with a snarky response, Julien sighed. “Fine. There was this . . . this woman I used to know . . .” He trailed off, fixing his gaze on a coffee stain on the carpet.

“Your one chance at love?”

He lifted his eyes to mine, but didn’t answer, so I took that as a yes.

“She was a victim of one of Claude’s cons. Like you are now. And I do not want to see one more woman go through what she went through.”