DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE Twenty-One Nights in Paris: Chapter 7
‘I’m losing it, aren’t I?’ Ren murmured when, five minutes later, her grandmother’s assistant called to inform her that Mrs Asquith-Lewis required her presence for Afternoon Tea in the Salon Proust at the Ritz at four o’clock that afternoon. She glanced at her watch. ‘Gosh, I’d better go if I’m going to make myself presentable in time!’
‘Perhaps you should remind her how you really look.’
‘She’s going to be disappointed enough as it is.’
‘You horrified her so much with the prospect of a new tattooed boyfriend who’s “fit” that she’ll be relieved he doesn’t exist!’
Ren forced a laugh. ‘He does exist,’ she muttered.
‘What?’
‘I did meet someone – on Friday night. I was lying when I said he was my boyfriend, of course. Not that I… I don’t mean “met someone”, like hooked up. We just… met. That’s all. And then I stayed in Paris.’
‘Because of a guy?’
Ren thought of the horseshoe. ‘No – well, yes. I missed my train. And then I missed the last train. And on Saturday morning… everything looked different.’
‘I think you’d better start from the beginning.’
Ren recounted the chance meeting and Malou’s eyes grew wide as Ren recounted the visit to the hospital and the frozen margarita and, finally, ‘Santa’s’ workshop and… by some miracle she managed not to blurt out how badly she’d wanted to kiss him.
When she’d finished, Ren clutched her hands in her lap, grateful for the proof that that night had truly happened, in the absence of her engagement ring. Malou was speechless.
‘Usually, I’m all for you stepping out of your comfort zone, but… that was a bad idea!’
‘I seem to be full of bad ideas.’
‘Why do you sound happy about that?’
Ren smiled helplessly at her friend. ‘I am… kind of happy about it. That’s why I’m sure there’s something wrong with me. I don’t know. It was fun to not be me for a little while.’
Malou’s smile faded. ‘Ren, it’s okay to be you. Charlie is the one with the problem, not you.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
Malou insisted they stay for another coffee and a sandwich that Ren only picked at. For once, she had no desire to return to the hotel, even though she knew she should select an outfit and at least try to do something about her face. They dawdled back through the grand streets around the Place Vendôme.
When they were finally standing outside the Ritz, Ren felt the full-on effects of two cups of coffee and nothing in her stomach except a few crumbs of bread and about a thousand macarons.
She grasped Malou’s hand. ‘Can you come in with me for a minute? To brainstorm. I have to work out what to tell her to let me stay here for a bit longer.’
‘For you, I’ll even condescend to enter the Hôtel Ritz.’ Malou tucked Ren’s arm under her own. ‘But please don’t expect me to show up to afternoon tea. I love you, but… not that much.’
Ren was glad of her friend’s presence as they entered the marble foyer with its enormous, twinkling Christmas tree. A blue-clad porter tipped his hat in their direction. She was about to take the steps up to the next floor, when a figure, sitting stiffly in a gilded baroque-style chair by the reception desk, struck her as familiar. She peered more closely. Even if she’d doubted the distinctiveness of the messy curls and the dark beard, that woollen pullover and beaten-up jacket were surely one-of-a-kind fashion items.
The receptionist called him to the desk and he stood, brushing off his jeans. She couldn’t do anything but stare as he leaned on the reception desk, listening and nodding earnestly. Her eyes flickered over him. He said something to the receptionist, but she was too busy watching his lips to attempt to understand.
‘What’s the matter?’ Malou prompted.
Ren shushed her without taking her eyes off Sacha. Why else would he be here but for her? Had she made as much of an impression on him as he had on her?
‘What is it?’ Malou hissed.
Ren opened her mouth to explain, but it was several long moments before any words came out. ‘It’s him, the guy from Friday night,’ was all she managed at first.
Malou’s gaze whipped around. ‘That’s the guy? Putain de merde,’ she whispered. She looked him up and down with a thoroughness that Ren felt wasn’t quite warranted. ‘Wow. Just. Wow. What’s he doing here?’
‘How should I know?’
‘He really isn’t your… type.’
‘I know.’
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘Are you going to talk to him?’
Ren completely froze. Part of her wanted to rush forward for the kiss she’d been too afraid to give him on Friday night. How often did a missed opportunity present itself again? But her brain hadn’t completely clocked off. She was in a nervous state and had had one too many shocks this weekend. Her impulses were not to be trusted.
Sacha frowned as the receptionist spoke. He fetched something out of his pocket and held it out, speaking in rapid French.
‘Je dois retourner ça,’ Ren heard him say as he clutched the small object in his fingers. And, with a shudder of awareness that was as cool as it was unfortunate, Ren understood.
‘He found the ring,’ she said flatly. ‘That’s why he’s here.’ She laughed, one small huff that would have to suffice to release all her stupid disappointment. So much for destiny and Disney endings. She started forward.
Malou stilled her after a few steps. ‘Ren, if you’re thinking what I’m afraid you’re thinking, please be careful. You don’t want another broken heart right now and he… God, he’s probably got heartbreak tattooed on his neck!’
‘It’s not what you think,’ Ren insisted.
‘Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to invite him to afternoon tea with your grandmother and then it will all go to hell, you can believe me.’
‘Invite him to afternoon tea?’ she repeated slowly.
‘Ohhh, no, no, no!’
Sacha’s head turned at Malou’s sudden exclamation, but he was still listening to the receptionist and didn’t take much note of them. ‘That is a terrible idea,’ Ren agreed, a smile forming on her lips. ‘And that’s what makes it so perfect.’ The more she thought about it, the happier she was.
‘No. Seriously. She will never believe you’re in love with him.’
‘He’s not my type,’ Ren repeated thoughtfully. ‘Which is the perfect excuse to stay out of the limelight. And then, when the “love affair” ends after a few short weeks, they’ll all be relieved. Because he’s the last man in Paris I could ever be with,’ she marvelled.
That was the moment Sacha turned and looked up. Ren froze. Something in his eyes made her wonder if he’d heard every word she’d just said.
The last man in Paris I could ever be with.
It was clear enough, and better to hear that now than to agonise about whether to ask if she’d like to go for a drink. As if she’d be interested. He’d surprised himself that he’d considered it. He had enough on his plate without adding a complicated stranger who should have left Paris already.
Sacha met her gaze as she tentatively approached. She was wearing a different pair of boots, this time with buckles everywhere and dainty toes. The conspicuous diamond earrings were missing, but even in simple gold studs she looked elegant and expensive.
She’d put herself back together since Friday night, much to Sacha’s unexpected disappointment. But she lost a little composure the closer she came, until she was standing in front of him, biting her lip in uncertainty.
The last man in Paris, he reminded himself, trying to match her reserve. He would give her the ring and go. No matter what Joseph had said, finding the ring was not a sign of anything except the tensile properties of wool.
But as she peered up at him, obviously bursting with something to say that she didn’t know how to begin, his resolve slowly crumbled.
‘You found the ring! Where was it? Did you go back to the bar?’
‘It was trapped in my pullover.’ He tugged on the hem for emphasis and her smile grew.
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Neither did I. It must have got caught when I was searching for it under the sofa. I found it soon after you left. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to give it to you yesterday. I thought you had already left Paris.’
‘No, I… I keep missing the train,’ she said. ‘Listen, I…’ She glanced at her watch.
He held up a hand to stop her. ‘I should go.’ He made a helpless gesture at the grand surroundings, then took a step back and tripped on a rug. He caught himself on the reception desk and winced when his shoulder twinged. She lunged for his other forearm to steady him.
‘I need to carry that horseshoe with me everywhere I go,’ she murmured. He noticed she didn’t let go of his arm. ‘How is your shoulder? Where’s the sling?’
‘It’s fine. I wore the sling yesterday, but it was much better this morning. Not much damage. Don’t worry. I rested it.’
‘Hm, I hope so. But I’m glad you’re here.’
‘You are?’
‘You have to let me pay for your bike.’
‘No,’ he said immediately. ‘I don’t want your money – thank you.’
‘I’m not a crime lord or anything.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘You’re Irena Asquith-Lewis.’ Heiress, socialite, and very easy to find on the Internet. The pause between them was eloquent. ‘I was going to bring the ring to your Paris offices tomorrow, but I saw an article that said you were hiding in Paris, so I thought I’d try here first.’ He didn’t miss her slight flinch at the comment that she was hiding.
‘Who are you in real life, then? Not a Christmas elf, I’m assuming.’
He considered his answer. He could easily put her mind at ease by admitting his day job, but a glance at those boots that probably cost as much as he earned in a month made his pride flare up. ‘I’m the last man in Paris.’
She blushed. ‘I didn’t quite mean it like that.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said gently. ‘Given your recent luck and the way I seem to hurt myself whenever you’re around, you’re probably the last woman in Paris I should spend time with.’
To his surprise, she smiled. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now we’ve established that, I have to ask you a favour.’
‘Of course,’ he said automatically.
‘God, you are so perfect,’ she murmured. ‘So sweet and so serious.’
‘Ren, no,’ her friend interjected. ‘I mean it. Bad idea. Let the poor man go.’
‘I’m not poor!’
‘It’s a figure of speech,’ Ren said.
‘It’s the same in French,’ her friend pointed out, eyeing Sacha. His only response was an inarticulate cough. He wasn’t going to admit he was oversensitive after finding out exactly who he’d wanted to kiss on Friday night, especially as she still had no idea of his history and humble origins.
Sacha leaned against the reception desk and crossed his arms. ‘I think you should tell me what favour you need and the poor man can decide for himself.’
‘Great. Malou has to go, don’t you?’
Her friend narrowed her eyes. ‘Just remember I reserve the right to say “I told you so” when this gets you into trouble.’
‘Trouble? Moi?’ With kisses on the cheek and one last wary look, her friend Malou left them alone. Sacha shoved his hands into his back pockets and rocked on his heels, waiting for Ren to say something, but she was inspecting him with a thoroughness that made him uneasy.
He returned the favour, but it wasn’t particularly satisfying. ‘What is it today, Pradior?’ He waved his hand at her outfit.
‘You know very well what the real brands are.’
He gave a non-committal shrug. ‘What help do you need?’
She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. Her voice didn’t waver as she said, ‘I need you to have a wild affair with me.’
He choked on his own breath. His vision of her went hazy at the edges, but he’d misunderstood, surely. She hadn’t just asked him to have an affair with her. Had she?