What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) (2 page)

And now look at her! How
could she feel so
content
only two weeks after breaking up with her boyfriend
of two years? Must be this city, operating its magic. Even the embryonic state
of her thesis couldn’t bring her down.

Lena looked forward to her
dad’s usual seven o’clock call so that she could share her high spirits with
him.

When he called, she had just
arrived in the downstairs bistro.

“So, how was your eighth day
in Paris?” Anton asked.

“Fantastic. But then again,
how could it be otherwise?”

“I wouldn’t be so smug if I
were you. Haven’t you heard about these poor Japanese tourists?” he asked.

“I thought they were rather
rich.”

“Poor as in unfortunate. They
arrive in Paris with such an idealized image that they can’t handle its dirty
streets, rude waiters, and aggressive pigeons. There’s a special agency now
that repatriates them to Japan before they completely lose it and jump from the
top of Notre Dame.”

Lena laughed. “I may have
arrived here from Switzerland, but let’s not forget I’m a Muscovite. I’m sure I
can handle dirty streets and rude waiters. As for the pigeons, I already have
an arrangement with the ones on my street.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I share my croissant with
them, and in exchange they protect me from other pigeons. You have nothing to
worry about.”

“Yeah, I wish the pigeons
were my only worry, Lena.” Anton’s tone had grown too serious for Lena’s
liking. “You’re all alone in Paris, with no one to go to if you need help.”

Oh please, not again.
Next, he’d bring up her heart condition
and how she couldn’t be too careful. He made a huge deal out of her arrhythmia.
Even when her cardiologist didn’t. All the good doctor had asked her to do was
avoid strenuous effort and saunas.

Anton took an audible breath.
“In Geneva, you had Marta and Ivan. They’re like family. They know what to do,
should you . . . feel unwell.”

“Dad, I too know what to do, should
I feel unwell.”

“Of course, you do. But it’s
not just that. Marta and Ivan had you over for dinner every week, you enjoyed
playing with their kids, they took care of you when you had the flu.”

All of it was true, and she
didn’t know how to argue with that.

“I don’t have anyone in Paris
whom I could ask to watch over you like that,” he said.

“I don’t need—” she
started.

“I’m going to hire someone,
Lena. Besides everything else, I’m worried about your safety. There are people
who may want to harm me and . . .”

Anton didn’t finish the
sentence, but Lena knew it was about his haunting fear that someone might
kidnap her for ransom. Or worse—hurt her as a way of hurting him. She
didn’t want to make light of his fears. But she also knew that if she didn’t nip
this idea in the bud, she would find herself encumbered with a chaperon for the
rest of her stay in Paris.

“Dad, I wasn’t yet seventeen
when you sent me off to Switzerland,” she said patiently. “I’m twenty-three now
and I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Hmm.”

Lena chose to ignore that.
“Besides, nobody knows I’m in Paris. To anyone outside our closest circle I’m
still in Geneva.”

Anton didn’t argue with that,
which was a good sign. Lena continued with as much conviction as she could
muster. “I’m perfectly safe here, don’t you see? I’m a Miss Nobody. And if I
ever get lonely, I can just jump on the train and go to Marta and Ivan’s.”

Thankfully, her mention of
the family friends reminded Anton to give Lena their regards, after which he
told her about her grandparents’ Black Sea vacation. The conversation ended on
an upbeat note, and Lena hung up relieved.

“Ready to order,
mademoiselle?”

She looked up. The waiter
standing by her table was in his midtwenties and very good-looking. Scratch
that, he was jaw-droppingly handsome in that dark, intense and yet wholesome
way the ancient gods could be. And it wasn’t just his face. He was
tall—well, French-tall, not Dutch-tall—lean, and broad shouldered.
He was wearing the same café uniform all other waiters wore: a stark white
shirt, black pants, and a long black apron tied around his hips. Lena mentally
whistled at how it emphasized the exquisite narrowness of said hips.

She ordered her dish and a
bottle of mineral water.

“No wine? Are you expecting
someone later or will you be dining by yourself?” the black-aproned Adonis
asked.

“It’s none of your business,
monsieur,” she said curtly.

His question made her regret
she didn’t have company tonight. It made her want to tell him she was waiting
for her boyfriend—no, her two boyfriends. She itched to wipe that grin
off his face and tell him to find another victim for his snobbery.

She composed herself,
straightened her back, and said, looking past him, “Would you kindly relay my
order to the chef and then tend to your other customers?”

“So much impertinence in one
so young.” He shook his head admonishingly. “I’ll be back with the water as
soon as I possibly can. We’re very busy today, you see.” He smiled.

Was he provoking her? She
decided she didn’t care, gave him a cursory nod, and pulled out her iPad. She
had a more important matter to consider than the shoulder-to-hip ratio of male
servers.

She had to figure out what to
write to her mom.

* * *

As students began to file out
of the lecture hall, Rob turned to Amanda. “Did you have a chance to look at my
paper?”

“Yep.” She rummaged through
her tote bag and handed Rob his draft essay.

He wrinkled his nose. “Your
verdict?”

“Much better now, monsieur
Dumont,” she said in a posh voice, imitating one of their professors. “And
those charts you added—they really did the trick.”

Rob smiled. “You have my
undying gratitude, mademoiselle Roussel.”

“It’ll fetch you another A,
Robby Boy, or maybe even an A plus.” She touched his arm. “Mark my words.”

Rob’s smile grew to a
full-fledged grin. “Well, let’s hope your crystal ball tells the truth.”

“It always does, as you well
know by now.”

“Would you like me to take a
stab at yours?” he offered.

“Nah, Mat already did. Mr.
Thorough gave me twenty-five very specific suggestions to work through before
tomorrow’s deadline
.
” Amanda rolled her eyes. “So, thanks, but no
thanks.”

“OK. Maybe next time, then.”
Rob collected his papers and stood. It was the time to bottle up his French
pride and go to Starbucks across the street. “Will you at least let me buy you
a latte?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out.”

As they walked to the
Starbucks, Rob whistled a silly tune. When Amanda raised an eyebrow, he just
spread his arms as if to say, I can’t help it. His life was exactly what he’d
wanted it to be. He had a solid chance to graduate top of his class and find a
good job. His best friends Amanda and Mat were not far behind. He’d make
Grand-papa proud and prove to his parents he’d made the right choice. He’d show
them it had been worth it, especially the last two years of all work and no
play. But didn’t all ambitious young people have to go through a few tough
years if they wanted to make it in this world? At least, most of his friends
did.

Rob pulled out his cell
phone. “Let me call Mat. He may want to join us at Starbucks.”

A hint of disappointment
flickered in Amanda’s eyes, but she schooled her features into a pleasant
smile. “I think he has a class right now.”

“Does he? I thought he
finished before us on Thursdays . . . I’m probably confusing it
with Fridays. Anyway, let me try.”

Mat answered his phone and
said he’d meet them for a mocha.

“See? I knew he’d be free by
now,” Rob said.

“Great.” Amanda turned away
from him and pushed open the door to the coffee temple.

Ten minutes later, the three
of them sprawled on soft leather armchairs and sipped their brews.

“I wish there were more cafés
in this city where you could slouch like this,” Rob said.

“As opposed to having to keep
your elbows close, so you won’t knock over your neighbors’ drinks,” Amanda
said.

Mat looked up from his mug.
“Are you describing
La Bohème
?”

Amanda only smiled.

Rob gave a sigh. “Yeah,
sounds like it . . . apart from those two larger tables we have
in the back with padded banquettes.”

Amanda turned to Mat. “So,
Mathieu, have you made up your mind about what you want to do with your MBA?
Will you stay in Paris and get a normal job or enter small-town politics in
Normandy?”

“I’m still not sure. I keep
changing my mind. The thing is, I’m as attached to home as I am to Paris.”

“How convenient for me that
my home
is
Paris,” Amanda said.

Mat brushed his unruly curls
from his face and sighed. “It’s like asking me to choose between Calvados
brandy and Bordeaux wine and stick to that choice for the rest of my life.”

“You do realize that you
don’t
have to
stick with your choice for the rest of your life, right?”
Amanda looked at Mat like he was a confused child.

“Yes, yes, of course I do.
Anyway, I may end up in neither Paris nor Baleville if I get a job offer I
can’t refuse in Singapore,” Mat said.

“Singapore is the place to be
these days. Who knows, you may love it there.” Amanda put her drink down and
gave Mat a sly look. “But what about Jeanne, your blue-haired muse? You’d be so
very far from her!”

“Over the past two years of
our unilateral courtship, I’ve gotten no further with Jeanne than I was on the
day I first laid eyes on her lip piercing.” Mat’s gaze became unfocused behind
his thick eyeglasses. “I don’t think Jeanne would notice if I left for
Singapore this minute and didn’t show up at
La Bohème
for a whole week.”

“Oh, but she would,” Rob
said. “You always tip, and there isn’t a waiter on this planet who wouldn’t
notice the disappearance of a loyal tipping customer.”

Mat shrugged. “That’s all I
am to her—a loyal tipping customer.”

“Well, at least, you should
be happy you can afford to tip, what with our ginormous tuition fees and the
payment deadline looming,” Amanda said.

And with that little remark,
Rob’s sense of a benevolent universe vanished, along with his precious moment
of self-indulgence. The specter of the tuition fee oozed into his head, chased
all his lightness away, and reclaimed its royal share of his attention. His
bright future would crumble like a card house if he didn’t pay the fees before
the end of August. No degree, no good job, no prospects.

Amanda looked at him with
concern. “Rob? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, no,
actually . . . I’m just a little worried about tuition.”

“Now, if I know you well,
a
little
would be a euphemism for
a lot
, right?” Mat said.

“Well, no, not
a lot.
But
maybe just a little more than
a little
. Let’s say, if I applied German
discipline and precision to my language, I’d say I’m
moderately
worried.”

Mat and Amanda both smiled,
but Amanda wouldn’t let go. “I thought your tuition was taken care of. Didn’t you
get a waiver?”

“I was sure I would but it
didn’t work out. And I didn’t get the loan, either.”

“Are you serious?” Mat asked.

“Banks in this country don’t
like lending to students whose parents don’t act as guarantors.”

“Your parents didn’t agree to
be your guarantors?” Mat sounded surprised.

“I didn’t ask them. The
banker wanted proof I had a job lined up.” Rob smirked. “I gave her proof I had
a part-time job waiting tables. Turned out it wasn’t the kind of job she had in
mind.”

“Why don’t you just borrow
from your parents? They should be able to help you out, yes?” Amanda asked.

“I can’t. When I left home
six years ago, my parents were mad. They had other plans for me… So they told
me not to expect any help from them.”

“I’m sure they didn’t mean
it,” Mat said.

“Unfortunately for me, they
did. When I ran out of money during the first year—I could only get odd
jobs as a busboy back then—I asked if I could borrow a little from them.
They refused. During my third year, I was trying to rent an apartment and asked
them to act as my guarantors. They said sorry but no.”

“I find this hard to believe.
They are such nice people,” Amanda said.

Rob cracked a bitter smile.
“Nice, but pigheaded. They’re still hoping I’ll give up and return to the
farm.”

“Why don’t you approach your
grandfather? He’s the one who understands your ambition, isn’t he?” Amanda
asked, a confused frown on her pretty face.