You're the One: a Contemporary Romance Novella Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème) (6 page)

The
blue-haired waitress came over to take her order. Finally, some luck, Natalie
thought.

“I’d like a
café crème
,
please,” she said.

“Anything
else?”

Before Natalie
could open her mouth to say she wanted to have a word, the waitress asked with
a smile, “Are you a friend of Adrien’s?”

“Um . . .not
really. Why?”

“Just curious.
He’s a longtime patron, and I noticed him chatting a lot with you lately.” She
smiled playfully.

Natalie took a
deep breath. “I’ve made an observation, too—you chatting a lot with Fred,
my longtime boyfriend.”

The waitress
stared at her for a few seconds and knitted her brow. “What are you talking
about? Fred doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Yes he does.
He even lives with her. Haven’t you wondered why he hasn’t invited you to his
place?” Natalie smirked.

“He had to
move out from his old place and is crashing at a friend’s until he finds
something suitable.”

That hurt.
“Well, he lied to you. Fred hasn’t moved out. And I’m not sure he intends to.”

The waitress
fingered her choker. “I don’t know what to say . . .I hate
cheating and cheaters. I broke up with my ex because of that. And now you’re
telling me
I’m
the other woman.”

“Isn’t it
ironic?” Natalie smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The waitress
frowned. “Fucking liar.”

“Jeanne, Pepe
needs a hand!” One of her colleagues called to her from behind the bar.

So her name
was Jeanne. What a sweet old-fashioned name, so at odds with her looks.

“Coming!” She
turned back to Natalie and gave her a determined look. “I want you to know I’m
through with Fred. He’s all yours if you still want him . . .And
I am sorry.”

Natalie held
her gaze. “Not as much as I am.”

She left the
bistro feeling emptyhearted, as if the joy of life had been sucked out of her
by a Death Eater from the
Harry Potter
books. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, jostled by passersby, and tried
to compose herself.

At least it
wasn’t raining. Natalie caught a glimpse of the sun and knew where to go: the
Beaubourg Center. It was her favorite place in Paris. An inside-out monstrosity
of a building where—between its piazza, exhibits, library, and
cinema—she always found something to do.

This time, she
stayed outside in the piazza, watching jugglers, musicians, and mimes. They
were so good at what they did. And funny, too. They were entertaining enough to
keep her from thinking about her next showdown and the impeding breakup. And
about how her dream of family and children was crumbling in front of her eyes
like a sand castle licked by angry waves.

It was nine
when she arrived at her doorstep, having spent several hours and all the cash
in her purse at the Beaubourg Center. She opened the door. Fred’s raincoat was
on the hook and his briefcase on the floor.

She drew in a
fortifying breath and stepped over the threshold.

“Nat?” He said
from the living room.

She didn’t
answer.

He came into
the foyer as she was removing her shoes. He looked tired.

She strode
past him into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. He followed her.

“I guess you
know that I know,” she said.

He nodded.

Now he’ll tell me he’s dumping me
.

“I’m sorry.
I’m so very sorry.” His face was red.

She waited.

“I didn’t mean
for it to happen, Nat. I never meant to hurt you.”

She turned to
refill her glass and stayed with her back to him.

You won’t see me come undone
.

“You’re the
most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”

Get on with it already
.

“You’re pure,
you’re kind, you’re classy—”

She spun
around. “For Christ’s sake, will you please cut to the chase, or shall I say it
for you?”

He didn’t
answer, just stared at her.

“You’re
leaving me because you’re not ready for what I want, right? Or because you fell
in love with another woman.”

She was
grateful now for the Death Eater’s attack earlier. The last thing she wanted
was for Fred to watch her fall apart.

“See, I can
handle it,” she said.

“Is that what
you expected?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Why, you have
another
reason for breaking up with
me?”

“I don’t want
us to break up. I want you to forgive me. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

Natalie tried
to wrap her mind around it. So, he wasn’t dumping her. Was it because the
waitress had dumped him first and he had no one else? Or had it never been part
of the plan?

“I made a
mistake—the kind of stupid thing men do sometimes. You started this talk
about having a baby . . .and I guess I just freaked out. Jeanne
doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said.

“And what
about me, Fred? What do
I
mean to
you?”

“My home. My
future.” He took a step toward her. “You are the woman I want by my side. The
woman I want to grow old with.”

She touched
the hollow of her neck, her hand shaking.

He took
another step and grabbed her hand. “You’re the woman I’d want to be the mother
of my child, if I ever have one.”

She searched
his eyes. In three years, he’d never told her anything remotely close to this.
Did he need to have an affair with another woman
to realize what she meant to him? Did he need to risk losing her to admit he
cared for her?

He brushed a
kiss on the back of her hand. “Will you marry me, Natalie?”

She stopped
breathing. Everything felt unreal, heightened and distant at the same time,
like an old Technicolor movie. Fred was gazing into her eyes beseechingly, all
his usual self-confidence gone. He was begging her to accept her most cherished
dream. How crazy was that? And how could she say no? How could she reject his
offer, now that her dream was so close she could almost touch it?

“Yes,” she
said, her voice trembling. “I’ll marry you.”

***

Michel’s
fortieth birthday was a resounding success. Clara, his wife, reigned over the
party, making sure glasses were refilled, plates heaped, and the music enjoyed.
Most of the guests danced in the middle of the living room. Others mingled. A
few stood by the wall in pairs and exchanged remarks too skimpy and far between
to be called conversation. They took turns at pronouncing mysterious utterances
that consisted of a medieval word, a letter and a number. Sometimes they
accompanied those with facial expressions or interjections such as
Aha!

Adrien and the
birthday boy were among the third group. They were playing mental chess.

“Knight to
b6,” Adrien said looking at his shoes.

Michel raised
his eyebrows, then closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Bishop e2.”

Adrien’s
phone buzzed in his pocket and he whipped it out, whispering an apology to
Michel.

Can we meet by the Palmier Fountain at
Châtelet tomorrow at 5 pm?

N.

He should have been happy.
Not only had Natalie texted him, she proposed to meet. But something about her
note was off—no “hi” at the beginning or “xo” at the end. It wasn’t
playful or even friendly. Adrien gave out a sigh and wrote a short reply to
match.

I’ll be there.

Adrien

She
hadn’t been to
La Bohème
yesterday.
She hadn’t showed up this afternoon, either. In fact, he hadn’t seen her since
they kissed two days ago. Or, to be more precise, since he kissed her and she
let him. Enthusiastically, at first. Ooh, the bliss when she leaned into him,
melded her body to his, and parted her lips. A glorious kiss in every way,
except for the way it ended. When he pressed his lips to hers, the contact felt
so right, so necessary. She tasted of chocolate and Natalie—a heady mix.
No other woman he’d kissed before made him feel that way. Like savoring a small
piece of heaven.

And
then she ran away. She was clearly conflicted, and he wanted to know why. He
had almost called her yesterday and again earlier today, but he wasn’t sure
what to say.
Why did you take off so
suddenly?
Didn’t you enjoy the kiss?
Dumb questions. He was so good at chess strategy—and so helpless at
letting a woman know how much he liked her.

Well,
now he didn’t have to sweat over this anymore. She’d contacted him first and
proposed a date to boot.

Then
why was he so nervous?

Adrien’s
heart began to race when he spotted Natalie approaching the Palmier Fountain.
They smiled at each other and said hello. No cheek kisses.

“I
owe you an apology and an explanation,” she said.

“Oh,
good. Because I was expecting a slap on the face.”

She
smiled. “Well, that too. But given that I didn’t behave very well, I’d say the
slap is evened out.”

“OK.
I’m all ears.”

“Remember
how you asked me if I’d started coming to
La
Bohème
because I had moved into the neighborhood?”

“Yes.
And you changed the subject.”

“I
couldn’t give you the real reason.” She paused, looking away. “I was tailing my
boyfriend whom I suspected of two-timing me with a waitress at the bistro.”

His
jaw tensed. “And was he? Was he two-timing you?”

“Yes.”

“So
you broke up?”

She
shook her head. “He stopped seeing the waitress. It wasn’t serious.”

“I
see.”

Her
gaze remained trained on the fountain. “It was a slipup he bitterly regrets.”

“You
took him back then, your strayed boyfriend?” He wondered why he’d asked her
that—he already knew the answer.

“He’s
my fiancé now.”

His
mouth compressed to a hard line. “Congratulations.”

She
whispered thank you, still avoiding his eyes.

He
would have left at that point, but there was something he wanted to know. “What
was my part in this romcom of yours, Natalie?”

She
didn’t answer, studying her shoes as her cheeks and ears grew crimson.

He
spoke again. “Was I handy entertainment? Surveillance work can be tedious, I’m
told. Or did you think of me as your plan B?”

She
lifted her head and finally met his gaze. “Adrien, I’m really sorry. I didn’t
mean to use you. It was just so . . .easy, talking to you. You’re
funny and smart, and I—” She paused and pressed her hand over her
forehead. “I sound like Fred.”

“That
would be your fiancé, I suppose,” he hissed, anger washing over him in
bitter-tasting waves.

She
nodded. “Yes . . .And you deserve better than the crap I just
served you.”

He
gave her a surprised look.

“I’ll
try to be honest. At least as honest as I can possibly be. Because you
are
a great guy, and I owe you that,”
she said.

She
took a deep breath. “I didn’t
intend
to flirt with you, but on some level I knew it was exactly what I was doing. I
was aware I was leading you on. But I continued anyway. Just because it was,”
she visibly hesitated about her next word, “lovely.”

His
muscles relaxed. It was weird. She admitted to having used him, and he
mellowed. His anger was gone, leaving in its wake an acute sense of loss.

“Don’t
be too hard on yourself. I was the one taking the initiative. And you were
being friendly. I wouldn’t call it leading on.” He smirked. “Except when you
kissed me back.”

She
gave him a sad smile. “I’m really sorry about everything.”

“Do
you love him?”

“I . . .I’ve
been with him for three years.”

“I’m
not asking how long you’ve been with him. I’m asking if you love him.”

“I
think love is overrated,” she said, a note of irritation in her voice.

“Maybe,
but what’s underrated is that we don’t live forever to waste a lifetime on
someone we don’t love. Especially if our main reason to stay is that we’ve
already wasted a few years on that person.”

Her
nostrils flared. “I will waste my life however and with whomever I chose.”

He
threw his hands up in defeat. What a shame, he thought. What a big fat stinking
shame.

“Suit
yourself,” he said. “I’ll be off, since my services are no longer required.
Have a good life, Natalie.”

***

“Coffee or
tea?”

Natalie
blinked as her consciousness slid from her ruminations into the airplane cabin.