Kissed in Paris (36 page)

Claire

I blinked back more tears as I gazed down at my mother’s words. This was unbelievable. Unfathomable.

My mother had wanted to bring me here, to this exact vineyard.

And here I stood, seventeen years after she’d gone.

I looked to Magali, my eyes glazed over, lost in thought, in memories, and in the gravity

of what this all could mean.

Magali regarded me softly, then reached out and wiped a tear from under my eye before handing me the stack of letters. “Claire would have wanted you to have these.” Then she took my hand in hers and squeezed it. “I have never seen my son happier than when he danced with you tonight. We have your mom to thank for bringing you to us.”

My lips formed a shaky smile as I stood there with Julien’s mother, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for her kindness, for the way she’d brought me this gift from my mother so many years after she’d gone.

But then my stomach turned when I remembered I was lying to Magali, allowing her to believe that her son and I were a couple, that I would be staying in their lives.

And I couldn’t do it anymore.

“Magali, there’s something you need to know.” I gripped the letters and wiped the lingering tears from my cheeks.

“Yes?” she said, her gaze still soft and warm, making my heart sink even further.

“I’m engaged to someone else back in the States. Julien and I . . . we aren’t really a couple. I’m so sorry for not telling you the truth.”

She arched her eyebrow, just like Julien always did, the kindness in her eyes dissipating. Then she reached for my hand and turned it over, revealing the diamond engagement ring I’d been hiding all evening. “I see.” Her face drooped in disappointment. “I suppose Julien knows about this?”

I nodded and stared down at the floor, unable to face her a moment longer. “Yes, he knows.”

“Who knows what?”

I turned around to find Julien staring at the old letters in my hands, the lines in his forehead revealing his confusion.

“I know that you have not been telling me the truth about your relationship with Chloe,” Magali responded, her voice not as soft and warm as it had been just moments before.

“
Maman
—” Julien began, but Magali held a hand up to quiet him.

“I have no idea why you would lie to me about such a thing, but I am too tired and have been through too much this week to worry about it. Julien, if you have feelings for Chloe, like I suspect you do after watching you dance with her tonight, don’t be a coward. And Chloe, my dear, engaged or not, there is a reason your mother brought you here. I do not believe in coincidences.”

And with that, she let out a little huff and left us alone in the office.

I felt like a little girl who had just been caught kissing a boy in the coat room at school. Except that I was an adult, and I’d lied to a woman who’d just lost her husband, who’d been friends with my mother no less, and I felt horrible.

“What are these?” Julien reached for the letters in my hand.

I didn’t want to tell him what they were. I just wanted to let myself believe that my mother coming to the vineyard all those years ago
was
a big coincidence. One of those crazy, freak things that could never be explained, but that also carried no real significance.

“Chloe?” he prodded, taking the letters from me. “What are these?”

“They’re . . . they’re letters from my mom.”

“To you?”

“No, they were written a long time ago, to
your
mother. It turns out our moms were friends.” I handed him the photograph.

“She looks just like you.” Julien was breathless, his eyes fixated on the photo. “Is this why you told my mom the truth about us?”

“I couldn’t lie to her anymore. It felt wrong to let her believe that you and I were together, and that the fact that my mom visited the vineyard so long ago has anything to do with why I’m here now.”

“Do you honestly believe this is just a coincidence?”

I thought of how I’d felt my mother’s presence so strongly since I’d first stepped foot on this vineyard. How her unmistakable scent had come to me several times in the past twenty-four hours, when in all the time I’d lived just a stone’s throw from where she’d raised me in DC, I’d never felt her in this way. But I couldn’t admit that to Julien. Because if my mother really had brought me here, if it really had been her presence I’d felt, then what did that mean for my life back at home?

“I mean, sure, it’s crazy that our mothers knew each other,” I said, trying to sound convincing, trying to believe my own words, “but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Julien laid the letters down on the desk and took a step closer to me. I could smell his warm, musky scent, feel his hot breath on my lips. “Chloe, tonight, when we were dancing, when I kissed you, you cannot tell me you did not feel what I felt.”

I avoided his sultry gaze and fidgeted with my hands, keeping a firm distance between us. “It was just an act, to make your family believe we were together. You didn’t feel anything, and neither did I.”

Julien stepped an inch closer, his chest meeting my nervous hands. “Stop lying, Chloe.”

I lifted my eyes to his for a brief second, and something about the way he looked at me made my legs feel like they were going to collapse beneath me. I had to get out of here.

“I can’t do this,” I said, pushing past him.

I ran down the hallway and out the back door, letting it slam behind me. Sucking the balmy night air into my lungs, I skimmed over the grass toward the table where Julien’s family had sat just hours before. I plopped down in one of the chairs to catch my breath, noticing how quiet and empty it seemed now without the passing of wine bottles, the incessant French chatter, the laughter that had filled up the night air like a song.

But before I had a chance to process the confusion swimming around in my head, to gather some sort of clarity from this inconceivable situation, the back door clattered behind me.

I didn’t need to turn around. I knew it was Julien. I’d known he would come out here for me, that he wouldn’t let me get away so easily. And while part of me wanted him to turn back around and leave me alone, I couldn’t ignore the other part of me—the part that wanted him to be near me, to never leave my side.

Julien stood before me, his head blocking the iridescent moon that shone over the dark vineyard. “Walk with me,” he instructed, nodding toward the vines.

And so I stood on wobbly legs and followed him down the path in silence, the night breeze whistling through the vines to either side of us. I wasn’t sure why I stood. Why I followed him. But with my mind an eternal pool of unanswered questions, it was all I could do.

“Tonight was not fake.” Julien’s firm voice cut through the silence. “It was not, as you said, an
act
.”

“Well then what was it?” I asked, not sure I was strong enough to hear the answer.

“It was real, Chloe. I know this is fast, and it is not the way you are used to things happening, but I have feelings for you.”

I swallowed hard and picked up my pace. “You’re crazy, Julien. We’ve only known each other for a couple of days. There’s no possible way you could have real feelings for me. And even if you
think
you do, I’m getting married Saturday, so it doesn’t matter anyway.” I stormed away from him, my hands trembling, my cheeks as hot as a chili pepper.

“Chloe, this thing with your mother, it means something. You can’t deny that. It’s not a coincidence that we met. I know you think it is impossible to fall for someone so quickly, but you’re all I can think about. And I don’t want this to end.”

I kept walking ahead of Julien, not sure what I felt, what I believed, or what I should say. This was all too crazy. My life wasn’t like this. It was orderly, stable, planned. And Julien was the exact opposite of all of those things. He was unpredictable and dangerous. And being with him made me feel volatile and out of control. Made me do things that just three days ago, I never would’ve dreamed of doing. 

“Do you love him?” Julien called out to me, his footsteps following closely behind.

“What do you know about love?” I called over my shoulder. “You’re an ex-con for God’s sake. You’re an expert at fooling people, and apparently, you even know how to fool yourself!”

“I’m not fooling anyone,” Julien said, falling into step next to me. “You are the one who is afraid to admit that you are about to marry a man you are not in love with.”

“You have no idea what you’re—”

But before I could finish my sentence, Julien’s strong hands planted firmly on my shoulders. He flipped me around to face him, and the look in his eyes stopped me cold. It was the same look he’d given me earlier in the night, right after he’d kissed me—a mixture of passion, of lust, of need.

He moved closer, not giving me time to finish my sentence, to catch my breath, to list all the reasons why he needed to leave me alone this instant. He grabbed the sides of my face and pressed his firm, rock-hard body up against mine, making my breath plummet through my chest.

Then his thick, moist lips hovered over mine for a few seconds before he covered my mouth with his, a burst of passion so strong I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried.

And as I found myself kissing him back, my fingers running through his hair, goose bumps forming on my skin as he ran his hands down the front of my chest, over my trembling stomach, and then stopping at my waist, I realized I didn’t want to stop him.

Because nothing, and I mean
nothing
in my life had ever felt so good, and so
bad
all at the same time.

Julien pulled his lips from mine, our heavy, hot breath filling up the space between us. I gazed into his eyes, my head dizzy with desire. My body ached to let him take me, right here in this vineyard, to make me forget about the fact that I had to leave this house in less than twelve hours, that I was about to fly home and . . . oh God,
get married
.

As Julien’s hungry lips plunged down  my neck and made their way to the top of my chest, his hands roaming down to my hips and eventually to that space in between my thighs, I felt my engagement ring on my left hand.

What was I doing
?

I thought of Paul, back home. Of how angry he’d been on the phone with me earlier. Of how I’d been lying to him, deceiving him.

It wasn’t fair, not to Paul or to Julien.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t.

“We have to stop,” I told Julien, a mixture of relief and regret engulfing me as the words escaped from my lips. But Julien kept kissing me, kept touching me, kept making me want to forget I had a life before I met him.

“Julien,” I said more forcefully. “Stop.”

He lifted his face to meet mine but kept his muscular arms wrapped around me, his breath fast, his eyes not hiding their disappointment.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

Julien stepped back, separating our heated bodies, then wiped his brow with his forearm revealing a wrinkle of frustration. “No, I am the one who should be sorry.”

He turned on his heel, but stopped and rushed back up to me. “No, I take it back. I am not sorry. I know I have made mistakes in the past. For many years I lived my life as a dishonest person. But this is the one thing in my life I am not sorry for. I’m not sorry for kissing you in the hotel when I first saw you, for spending all of these days with you, for dancing with you and for kissing you tonight. There is nothing to be sorry for when what I feel is real. When you make me feel things I have never felt for any other woman.”