Kissed in Paris (25 page)

“I know. I am sorry, Chloe. Nothing is going as I had planned.”

I tore my eyes away from the serene night that unfolded around us and shook my head. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I wanted to be alone. “Could you just show me to my room?”

Julien took a deep breath. “Does this mean we are in agreement?”

“No, it means I’m exhausted and I want to go to sleep. In a bed by myself this time.”

“Well . . . that will be a bit of a problem.”

“What?”

“If we are sleeping in different bedrooms when my mother wakes up, she will know I am lying.”

“You’re saying your mom actually
wants
you to sleep in the same bed as your girlfriend?”

“I am thirty-four,” Julien explained. “I am a grown man. She will know I am lying if you do not sleep in the same room as me. Then she will ask a million questions. And trust me. You do not want to be on the other end of my mother’s questions.”

“This is unbelievable,” I muttered as I envisioned sleeping in the same bed as Julien yet again, and realizing that a teeny, tiny, part of me was okay with that.

But I was engaged. And despite the kindness I’d seen in Julien tonight, that didn’t change the fact that he’d been lying to me all along about Claude being his brother.

I shouldn’t be okay with sleeping next to him again. What was wrong with me?

“It is not such a big deal,” Julien said with a shrug. “It is not as if we have not shared a bed before.”

“That was because we were sharing a
hotel
room. It was necessary. But this house is huge. You must have seven bedrooms in there!”

“Eight,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” I threw up my hands. “I can’t sleep in the same bed with you again.”

“Why not?” His lips curved into an obnoxious smirk. “You had no problem falling asleep next to me last night and then
on
me in the car today.”

My cheeks burned as I turned my face away from him. “That was different.”

“If it is anything like last night, you will curl up on your side of the bed and fall asleep immediately anyway. There is no reason to feel guilty, if that is what you are worried about.”

“You’re right. I’m going to be sleeping in the same bed as you
again
, taking off my engagement ring, and telling your mother I’m your girlfriend, all the while lying to the man I’m supposed to be marrying in a few days. No reason to feel guilty here at all.”

“The man you are
supposed
to be marrying?”

“You know what I meant. The man I
am
marrying in a few days.”

Julien snickered. “What is done is done. Come, I am tired. Let’s get some sleep.”

As I followed Julien back into the house, I peered down at my engagement ring, the large diamond shimmering under the moonlight. And I realized that in the rush to get out of Annecy, I’d completely forgotten about my earlier intention to call Paul and tell him the truth.

But as Julien let me into his bedroom and I stared at the small double bed we were about to share, I wondered if telling Paul any part of the truth would actually help at this point.

Julien pulled a pair of black shorts and a white T-shirt out of a tall brown dresser and threw them onto the bed.

“Do you have Internet here?” I asked.

“Of course.” Julien walked over to his desk, opened up a drawer, and pulled out a laptop. He plugged it in and booted it up, then gestured for me to have a seat. “
Voilà
.”

I stared at the icon for the Internet, but decided I wasn’t quite ready to deal with the minefield of unread emails I would certainly have waiting for me, not until I organized my thoughts a little more anyway. Instead I angled the computer so that Julien couldn’t see what I was doing, then pulled up a Word document and began typing a list of all the issues I needed to deal with.

1. Construct story to tell Paul so that he will still want to marry me this weekend, even though I have lied extensively and have spent large amounts of time with two random French men over the past few days.

2. Contact Angela and tell her that under no circumstances is she to respond to

any of Paul’s calls or emails, should he try to contact her.

3. Contact Sophie and tell her to keep Paul, Dad and sisters under control as they

arrive, and not to kill Paul or let Paul kill them in the process.

4. Get my freaking passport back and fly home.

I stared at my list and pushed all of the dread out of my stomach. I could handle this. I would figure it all out. I could do it. I’d start by emailing Angela and Sophie.

I pulled up the Internet and signed into my email. Seventy-three new messages. And at the top of my inbox, there was one from Angela. Oh, God.

From: Angela Kelly

To: Chloe Turner

Sent: Monday, August 29 at 12:04 p.m.

Subject: Where are you?

Chloe,

Just spoke with Paul. He wanted the hotel number where you’re staying in Paris. Mentioned something about you still being there to work out the “kinks” in the conference and seemed slightly irate with me for making you do this. Obviously did not make you do this as had no idea there were “kinks.” Have been emailing you since yesterday morning to find out how trip went, but no response. Cell phone seems to be disconnected. What’s going on? Are you still in Paris? Did the conference plans flop and you’re afraid to tell me? I know I can be a bit of a bitch, but you can be honest with me. And as you are the most efficient, reliable person who has ever worked for this company, I doubt there are kinks. Plus company budget is not approved for extra days in Paris. And your fiancé is flipping out. And you’re getting married THIS WEEKEND. Where are you? Please tell your fiancé I am not a heinous, slave-driver boss as he obviously thinks otherwise. Hope I’m still invited to the wedding and you haven’t run off with some sexy French man.

Angela Kelly

Kelly and Rain Premier Event Planning

Washington, DC

I deleted number two on my to-do list and changed it to:

2. Consider moving to small town with Paul, staying home, wearing apron and reproducing since career as event planner is obviously over.

From: Chloe Turner

To: Angela Kelly

Sent: Monday, August 29 at 10:18 p.m.

Subject: Re: Where are you?

Angela,

Everything is fine with the conference—there are no “kinks.” I am still in France though, which was obviously unplanned, and there has been some miscommunication between me and Paul. I’m sorry to have pulled you into this. Please, if at all possible, do not respond to any further calls or emails from him. Trust me, it’s in your best interest. Not to worry. I will be home within the next few days and will be marrying Paul on Saturday. Just got sidetracked a bit over here. Also, I’m not using the company credit card and will be paying for my own flight home. Actually, on that note, if you’ve seen any suspicious activity on the card and have time to cancel mine, that would be great.

I will be sure to tell Paul you are not a heinous, slave-driver boss, and yes, of course you are still invited to the wedding. If I still have a job with you after all of this, I will be forever indebted.

Chloe

I took a few calming breaths before clicking on the next email bomb.

From: Paul Smythe

To: Chloe Turner

Sent: Monday, August 29 at 12:03 p.m.

Subject: Angela, Checking Account, Pennsylvania

Chloe,

I just spoke with Angela, and when I asked for your new hotel number, she didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. What is going on? Why isn’t she aware that you’re still in Paris?

Also spoke with the bank this morning. Two large transfers were made out of our account, and we can’t touch the rest of our money until the investigation is cleared. Do you have any idea what is going on here? Are you absolutely sure your card is in your possession? They want to speak with you as soon as possible, which is why I contacted Angela in the first place.

None of this is adding up, Chloe, and I know there’s something you’re not telling me. With the wedding this weekend and your entire family descending on our house, you need to get home, and we need to talk.

Also, the Pennsylvania job is waiting on my response, and I think this could be the best thing for us. Think about it, and please, tell me what the hell is going on. This isn’t like you, Chloe.

-Paul

I went back to my list and deleted number one. In its place, I wrote:

1. No freaking clue what to tell Paul.

“I know it is none of my business,” Julien cut in, “but what are you telling your fiancé?”

A shirtless Julien stared at me with his huge brown eyes. I quickly averted my gaze from his chest and focused back on the computer screen. Couldn’t he put a damn shirt on?

“I have no idea,” I admitted, trying to forget about the way Julien’s abs cut tightly into his tan torso, forming a perfect six-pack.

“This is all such a mess,” I went on. “What could I possibly say to calm him down at this point? He’s starting to get suspicious that there’s more to the story than what I’m telling him. The bank has told him they’re investigating the fraud on our account, and I’ve told him that my card is still in my possession. So none of it is adding up, and it shouldn’t, because it’s all a lie.” Exasperated, I slammed the computer shut and swiveled around to face the still shirtless Julien.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his knee just a few inches from mine. “It is my family who has caused this mess for you, and I feel responsible. I will help you figure out what to tell him. If you’ll let me.”

“Because you’re such an amazing liar?”

Julian smiled, but I caught the briefest flicker of hurt—or was it regret?—in his eyes. 

I sighed.  “Fine.  What do you think I should tell him?”

Julien stood and reached across me, his bare chest rubbing against my shoulder as he flipped the laptop open again. “Scoot,” he said as he sat on the edge of my chair, his forearms brushing against mine as he began typing, making me feel all dizzy and light-headed again.