Kissed in Paris (42 page)

An hour later, after I’d spilled it all—from Julien kissing me in the lobby of the Plaza Athénée, to the Newlywed Romance Tour Bus, to the lingerie store debacle, to the police interrogation, to me drinking my face off in Julien’s cottage after finding his paintings of couples kissing all over Paris, to our dance and our kiss under the stars, to the late night vineyard passion, and finally to our mother’s connection to this whole crazy event—the girls sat wide-eyed and silent. Silent only because I’d made them promise to keep their mouths shut until I was finished, but still, by the stunned looks on their faces, I knew they couldn’t believe what I’d just told them.

After laying out this unbelievable course of events, and for once, not holding back my feelings, I realized I now wholly believed it
hadn’t
been a coincidence I’d ended up at Julien’s vineyard—the very vineyard my mother had visited and loved so many years ago.

I also knew now, without a doubt, that if I didn’t do something about it, if I didn’t follow this overwhelming urge coming both from my mother and from my own intuition to be bold and step out onto this path of the unknown, I would always regret it.

“Are we allowed to open our mouths now?” Lily asked, her clear blue eyes still widened in shock.

I leaned back against my pillow and braced myself for their questions. Except that this time, I was ready to answer them. “Shoot,” I said.

“Oh my God. You
kissed
a French con man,
three
times, while you were engaged to Paul?” Lily shrieked as she flipped a strand of her long blond hair off her face. “No wonder you called the wedding off! Where is my big sister? I think someone stole her and sent this slut in her place!”

“Lily!” Sophie snapped.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! I like this new version of Chloe. I just can’t believe it, that’s all.”

“Was he a good kisser?” Magali asked.

“Is he still, you know, a con-man?” Sophie asked.

“I bet he’s hot in bed,” Lily said.

“Did his breath smell?” Magali asked.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Lily said to Magali, slapping her on the knee.

“Okay, okay,” I said, quieting them down. “Yes, he was a good kisser, no his breath didn’t smell, and no, he’s not a con-man anymore. And I wouldn’t know if he’s
hot
in bed because I’m not as big of a slut as you, Lily.”

“Hey!” she yelled, although I could see from the gleam in her eye that she’d taken it as a compliment.

Sophie snickered. “You know it’s true,” she said to Lily.

“Fine. But I’ve never slept with a French guy. I bet they’re so fucking sexy in bed.”

“Ew, Lily. You’re so disgusting,” Magali said.

“Can it, you two,” Sophie said, giving them each the evil eye. Then she turned her attention back to me. “I can’t believe everything that happened with Julien, first of all, but mom’s connection to the vineyard is just . . . unbelievable. Those are really her letters?”

“Mmhmm.” I held them out for Sophie to see.

“Can we read them?” Magali asked.

“Of course. She wrote about all of us, even about when she was pregnant with you, Magali. And she talks about how much she loved Dad. And how much fun they had together.”

Lily turned her face toward the wall, not meeting eyes with any of us, the way she always did when she was trying not to cry.

Sophie’s eyes glazed over with tears as she took the letters. “And the picture?”

I reached over to the nightstand, picked up the photograph and placed it in the center of our little circle for my sisters to see.

We peered over in unison, gazing at our mother, in all her youth, her beauty, and her love.

Then, one by one, the girls lifted their eyes to mine, their questions gone, their bickering over.

But one question remained.

“So what are you going to do?” Sophie asked.

I grasped the photo of my mom and smiled at them—the first genuine smile I’d had since I’d arrived back in DC. “I’m going back to France.”

Twenty-six

Last minute plane tickets to France were
not
cheap. But at this point, with all the money we were losing from the wedding and with half of the money in my checking account still not replaced, who even cared?

It was five a.m., the morning after The Day I Called Off My Wedding, and here I was, scouring the Internet for a ticket to France with no clue what I would actually do when I arrived. I didn’t have Julien’s cell phone number, and even if I did, would he want to talk to me? And what would I say to him?

“Hey, Julien. I just called off my wedding
yesterday
and I know I rejected you and made you feel small and insignificant, but now I can’t stop thinking about you. Sorry I screwed your family’s chances at getting the painting
and
the vineyard back, and sorry about crashing the Smart car. Can I come stay for a while? Assuming you even have a house?”

No, that wouldn’t do.

What if Julien didn’t even want to see me? Between trying to save the property, taking care of his mother, and grieving over the loss of his father, he had enough of his own problems to deal with. He didn’t need an emotional American woman hunting him down.

But when I thought back to the things he’d said to me that night at the vineyard, the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d touched me and kissed me, I was certain he’d felt the same way I did. After the way I’d left things though, I didn’t know if he’d be willing to talk to me ever again, let alone give me a second chance.

I shook my head and focused back on the computer screen. I hadn’t been able to plan or control anything that had happened in France, and this was no different. If I was going to go back to see what
could
happen with Julien, then I’d just have to get on a plane and let the rest come naturally. Even if that meant getting hurt in the process.

And after calling off my wedding and ending an eight year relationship, I couldn’t go much lower, so what did I have to lose?

After about a half an hour of searching, I found a one-way flight to Lyon that was as reasonably priced as it was going to get. But before booking it, I pulled up a new tab and did an Internet search for Julien’s family’s vineyard. And once I found it, there, at the bottom of the page, I spotted a phone number.

I reached for my phone and without thinking, without planning, without worrying, I dialed the international number.

“
Allô
?” Magali’s sweet voice came through the line, immediately making my heart beat faster.

“Magali? Hi, it’s Chloe.”

A moment of silence followed. I really hoped she wasn’t going to hang up the phone. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did.

“I thought I might be hearing from you.” Magali’s voice was soft and knowing, not at all full of the rage I was fearing.

“I made a mistake, Magali. I’m coming back. I’m coming back for Julien.”

“You did not get married?”

“No, I called it off. I know now that it wasn’t a coincidence that I met Julien, that I came to the vineyard, and that my mother knew you.”

A soft chuckle traveled through the line. “I’m glad you see now,
chérie
, that there are no such things as coincidences. When will you be arriving?”

The tension I’d been storing in my shoulders relaxed when I realized she wasn’t going to tell me that she didn’t want me within a thousand miles of her son. “I’m not sure of the date yet. Probably sometime this week. Will Julien be at the vineyard?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Where is he?”

“He left this morning for Annecy. He told you about the painting, I suppose?”

“Yes, did he find it?”

“Not yet. But he found out that it is in Annecy. Exactly
where
in Annecy, he is not sure, but if I know my son, he will figure it out.”

“Would you mind giving me his cell phone number?”

“Not at all,” she said, and I swore I heard her smiling through the phone.

“You know,” she said, after relaying Julien’s number, “you are a lot like your mother.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Magali. I hope to see you soon.”

“Me too.”

And with that, I grabbed the replacement credit card that had just come in the mail and booked a flight to Lyon that was set to leave at four p.m. I didn’t care that it cost triple the price I’d originally planned on paying.

And the reason I didn’t care was because I suddenly knew
exactly
where Julien would find his painting. But he would need
me
to show him the way.

Twenty-seven

“Allô?”

My heart threatened to pound right through my chest at the sound of Julien’s voice. “Julien, it’s me, Chloe.”

A long pause traveled through the line. “Chloe?”

“Listen, I don’t have much time to talk. I’m just leaving the airport in Lyon to catch a train to Annecy in a half an hour. You’re still there, right?”

Julien paused again.
Please don’t hang up
, I begged silently.

“You are here? In France?” he asked.

Just hearing Julien’s deep voice again made me smile, but I couldn’t ignore the dread that had coated my butterfly-filled stomach. What if I arrived in Annecy and he didn’t want to see me?

I couldn’t worry about that right now though. I had to help him find the painting.

“Yes, Julien. I’m here, and I know where the painting is.”

“Yes, we already know it is in Annecy, but—”

“No, I know
exactly
where it is. I need you to trust me. I’ll be at the train station in Annecy at ten a.m. Can you meet me there?”

He paused again, his heavy breath traveling through the line. “Yes, I will be there.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at ten.”

I hung up my new international cell phone and exhaled the giant breath I’d been holding in during that phone call. I didn’t know if Julien would be happy to see me again, but at least I could help him find the painting.

I closed my eyes as I settled back in my seat on the shuttle bus, unable to believe that I was actually here. That on the same morning I would’ve been walking down the aisle, instead, I was traveling through France to find a stolen painting . . . and to see an ex con-man who I couldn’t stop thinking about
and
who may never want to look at me again.

Maybe Lily had been right. Maybe someone really had stolen me and replaced me with a new, crazier version.

But I had to admit, even if this was all for nothing, I was liking this version more and more each day.

***

Carrying only a purse and a small duffel bag, I stepped off the train in Annecy and breathed in that crisp mountain air, hoping it would relieve the bundle of nerves that had seized my gut.