Kissed in Paris (30 page)

But the weight wasn’t gone. It was still there, in all its heavy glory. Guillaume’s words swirled through my dizzied head, making me wonder why I cared so much about Julien and his motives.

I never had to see Julien or another member of the freaking Dubois family ever again. I should’ve been elated.

Out on the bustling sidewalk, I lifted my eyes to the clear blue sky and told myself to get a grip. It was time to figure out how to get home. It was time to go home to Paul. To get married.

To forget about Julien.

But when I brought my eyes back down to the busy street and glanced past all the tiny cars zooming by, I spotted a man with messy chestnut hair, a dark five o’clock shadow, and jutting cheek bones leaning against a familiar navy blue car. He had on a pair of worn jeans, a dark red T-shirt and black boots, and as he turned to the side and smashed his cigarette on the ground, his eyes locked with mine.

It was Julien.

Eighteen

“So, you are a free woman.” Julien’s brown eyes were unreadable, his usual smirk gone.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“I see that you have not learned a thing,” he sighed as he thrust an envelope into my hands and turned around to open up the car door.

Inside the envelope, I found two folded sheets of paper. The first one had a train itinerary on it—a one-way ticket from Lyon to Paris. “What—?” I began, but when I flipped to the second sheet, my voice caught in my throat.

Air France. One-way flight departing from Paris Charles de Gaulle. Arriving in Washington Dulles International.
Tomorrow
.

Julien was already seated at the wheel. “You leave tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you will stay at the vineyard. Come, get in the car.” Julien’s expression remained blank, his voice dry.

As I climbed into the passenger’s seat, I noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed with large gray circles underneath. The color had drained from his face, the scruff on his chin and cheeks was messy, and his dimple was nowhere to be found.

“You did all of this?” I asked. “The train ticket, the plane ticket, getting your brother to clear my name?”

Julien started the car, his tan forearms effortlessly shifting gears, his eyes focused straight ahead on the road. “There will be a man waiting for you at the train station in Paris tomorrow morning. He will hand you an envelope containing your passport.”

“A real-deal passport?”

“It is not stolen, if that is what you mean.”

“How did you get this so quickly? I just saw you a few hours ago, and somehow in that time, you’ve managed to have your brother clear my name from the investigation, you got me a new passport, a plane ticket and a train ticket? I mean really,
who
are you?”

Finally the tiniest of grins popped up on his face. “For spending over two days with an ex-con, you are not picking up very quickly.” Julien pressed harder on the gas as we turned onto a country road, the city of Lyon disappearing in the distance.

I shook my head, trying to fit all of the pieces together. “So they’ve fully, one hundred percent, dropped the investigation on me?”

“Yes. They are not concerned with you any longer. After all, with the exception of running from the police and stealing a bra, you are innocent. It is Claude they want.”

“Well, good. That’s who they should’ve been after all along.”

Julien’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, his expression deadpanning.

Of course.
The painting
. If the police found Claude first, the painting could be long gone, and along with it, the vineyard.

“Can Guillaume help you find Claude before the police do?”

“That is what he has been trying to do. But now, it is out of his hands.”

“How is it out of his hands? He seems to be pretty high up if he can just walk into a police station and tell them to let me leave.”

“Guillaume can only do so much for me before he puts his job in danger. He has a wife and a new baby, and I cannot ask any more of him. This was my last favor.”

I paused, not sure if I’d heard him correctly. “You mean
me
?
I
was your last favor?”

Julien’s silence confirmed my fear.

I couldn’t believe he’d done all of this for me when he’d only known me for a couple of days.
Why
? Why would Julien have even cared enough to help me after I’d wrecked his car, spoken to the police and reported his brother, all against his will?

I thought of the gorgeous vineyard, the beautiful family home that Julien had grown up in, and how he’d just lost his father. I thought of his mother, the cute little woman lying there sick on the couch. Guilt washed over me. I didn’t want them to lose their last chance at keeping their home because of me.

“There has to be something we can do. Do you have any clue where Claude might’ve taken the painting?”

“I cannot think of the painting for today,” Julien clipped. “There are other problems I must attend to at home. You can stay at my house for the day, and I will drive you back to the train station in Lyon tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Julien,” I said softly. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

Julien nodded, but didn’t once turn to meet my gaze.

Resting my head, I allowed my mind to scan over the events of the past three days. Everything Julien had told me about what would happen when I went to the police had turned out to be true. They hadn’t believed a word I’d said. They thought I was just another sleazy woman working the system with Claude, trying to pull one over on them.

And still, even after I’d gone to the police, Julien had figured out a way for me to get home, just like he said he would.

I stole another glance at Julien and realized I could not imagine him doing what Claude had done to me. I couldn’t picture him looking all slick, walking into a hotel bar and stealing from an innocent woman. Not now. Not after he’d used his last favor from Guillaume on
me.

The man sitting next to me, the man I’d spent every minute with for the past three days, didn’t seem to have the heart to pull it off.  

But the fact was, even though he’d supposedly done it to help his family, he still
had
stolen from other women just like me. And he’d taught Claude how to do it too. So even though he’d worked out a way for me to get home, in a way he was still part of the reason I was here to begin with.

For that reason, I knew I should’ve been happy to leave Julien, to never talk to him again. Happy to return home to my normal life in DC, with my responsible, stable fiancé who wouldn’t know how to steal something if it was handed to him on a silver platter.

But as the car bumbled along the winding country road, I wondered why I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and why, when I tried to picture Paul’s smiling face waiting for me at the airport when I flew home the next day, I couldn’t.

It just wouldn’t come into focus.

***

“There is just one last thing I must ask of you before you leave tomorrow,” Julien said as he put the car into park in his driveway.

“Okay . . . what is it?”

“When my mother comes home, we must still act, for the day, as if you are my girlfriend. And we must not tell her or Camille about you talking to the police or meeting with Guillaume. They will know what that could mean for our family. I will figure out a back-up plan, but while I am thinking, I cannot deal with emotional women.”

“Okay,” I said, gazing down at my engagement ring. “I’ll do it. Where
are
your mom and Camille by the way? And where were all of you this morning?”

“My mother is in the hospital. We had to take her in the middle of the night last night.”

“Oh.” An immense pang of guilt washed over me. I’d been so focused on my own problems, I hadn’t even thought of that possibility. “I’m so sorry.”

“I have to go now to see how she is doing.”

“Of course.”

“The door to the house is open. I don’t know how long I’ll be, so you are free to eat or use the phone. I am sure you need to make a few calls.”

“Thanks.” I opened up the car door, but stopped as I was about to climb out. “I really hope your mom is going to be okay.”

“Thank you.” Julien’s eyes met mine for a quick second before they darted away.

“I’ll see you later then?” I asked.

“Yes, see you later.”

Julien backed down the driveway and zoomed away, past the rows of vines, and out of sight.

I turned to face the massive house, its periwinkle shutters framing the windows, pink and white geraniums spilling over the flower boxes, vines wrapping around the dark red brick. And as I padded up the walkway toward the front door, racking my brain to think of a way I could help Julien save his family’s home, a warm breeze lifted under my nose, and brought with it a scent I hadn’t smelled in years. A mixture of lavender and rosemary.

My mother.

I closed my eyes, breathing in that comforting smell. It was so strong and so real—as if she was standing right next to me. I could almost feel her soft hands brush over my cheek, hear her soothing voice telling me she loved me.

The scent engulfed me, made me remember her in a way I hadn’t been able to in the seventeen years since her death. And in that moment, I knew that she was right here with me. And that maybe, in some strange way, she’d played a part in helping this work out for me.

I blinked my eyes open, then gazed up at the house and at the soft rolling hills that surrounded me. I felt as if I was seeing this place for the first time. Through my mother’s eyes.

It was absolutely gorgeous. She would’ve loved it here.

But then as the wind picked up, it carried with it the comforting scent of my mother and left me alone, wishing I could see her again. Wishing I could ask her to help me find a way for Julien to save the vineyard.

And even more, wishing I could ask her to help me with what I was about to do.

***

“Paul, it’s me. Chloe.”

“Chloe, what the hell is going on? Where are you?”

“I’m still in Paris, but Paul, I have good—”

“I know you’re not in Paris, Chloe. Two detectives came to the house last night and grilled me for hours. They had photos of you in some skimpy red dress, and they told me you’ve been running from the police? With some pair of famous French con-artist brothers. And they think we’re wrapped up in some kind of scam with them? What the hell is this? I can’t get caught up in all this shit. I could lose my career!” Paul’s voice screeched at a pitch I’d never heard before.

“Paul, just calm down. I can ex—”

“Do not tell me to calm down. Just tell me what the hell is going on. And no more lies.”

I flinched as I imagined Paul storming around our DC townhouse, yelling into the phone, no doubt waking Sophie up. Then I realized Sophie would’ve been at the house the night before when the detectives showed up. Which meant she knew about all of this. Which also meant that now my whole family knew.