26 Hours in Paris (20 page)

“That's okay,” she said, glancing at the boats on the river. She wished he didn't need to work so they could enjoy a romantic ride down the Seine. But that was selfish of her. She'd do it on her own and add the perspective the article lacked. “I was thinking about heading to the Latin Quarter for a gyro sandwich. According to my research, the Quarter is known for them.”

“You are so adorable. You're in Paris and in the mood for a Greek sandwich?” He chuckled, and she could practically see him shaking his handsome head and finger-combing his hair. “I must be easy to forget. Don't you miss me?”

“A lot,” she admitted, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. “I do miss you. I've been working on the article, and I think I need to layer it a bit. Put some non-Marko things in it.”

“Why would you want non-Marko things? What's wrong with Marko things?”

She laughed at his disgruntled yet teasing questions. “Nothing at all. I just don't want all the single girls that read my article to flock to Paris looking for him. He's mine.”

“He's definitely yours.” There was a long pause and a serious vibe thrummed through the phone.

Kat worried her lower lip, and smiled. “I thought subs belonged to the master?”

“Yes, they do, but I belong to mine. I want a real partner,
bella
. I want you.”

“You've got me,” she said, breathing a cloudy circle on the window and writing their initials on it. She drew a heart around them, then added a whimsical
4 ever
across the bottom.

“I miss you, too, and I'm sorry I won't be able to share your first Parisian gyro,” he said. “I'll try to be quick. At the latest, I'll be done by three. Jean-Luc will be by in twenty minutes to drive you.”

“No. Please don't send him.” She wanted to see Paris on her own, like any girl coming to find true love for the first time. She had to place herself in the reader's shoes.

“Kat, don't tell me you're embarrassed because you've seen his impressive package. Your words, not mine. You can't go off into a strange city on your own.”

Giggling, she snapped a quick picture of her window art, and assured him Jean-Luc's package wasn't the issue. She elaborated on what the article needed to be a success. “I'll simply alter the order of events, lose my heart, rather than my panties, to a handsome stranger at Les Deux Magots, and the story will be totally relatable.”

“
Merde.
Wear panties, Kat,” he said. “And don't go meeting any handsome strangers. There's only room for you and me in this reality.” In good spirits and confident he'd join her for an afternoon snack, he went on to suggest the Batobus instead of a tourist river cruise, outlined the stops he thought she'd enjoy, and told her to be ready for Provence by packing a suitcase and leaving it for Jean-Luc to collect before he picked them up for their flight. “Look around the closet in our room. You'll find lots of outfits for a few days with the family. Suitcases are in the closet in the second bedroom.”

Tingles of happiness danced through her, from the tips of her fingers to her sock-clad toes. Hey, January in Paris wasn't warm. She smiled and perched on the edge of the couch, looking out at the cityscape and listening to the man she loved.

“Okay. I'll see you at Café de Flore at three-thirty,” Marko said, after he'd explained every detail thoroughly. “Be careful, Kat. Call me if you need anything at all.”

“Do you know how much these roaming charges are going to suck?” Of course he didn't. Marko wasn't the kind to count pennies. She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts that had plagued her insecurities in the past.

“Kat, I'm serious. Call me with
anything
. I'll answer.”

“Knock them dead, Marko. I'll be waiting at the corner of Saint-Germain and Rue St. Benoit.” She repeated the address for his benefit. She didn't need him thinking about her when he went back to his discussions. Kat really wanted him to have the best professional choices.

* * *

She rinsed out the coffee maker, showered, and dressed, leaving her packed tote and the designer case at the foot of the bed. Thankfully, Marko had thought ahead, and had left a pair of Le Chameau rain boots for her in the foyer. Made of kid leather, and with no heel to speak of, they were comfortable as fuck. She left the apartment with her phone, wallet, and passport in a small cross-body bag. Kat was finally free to explore and accomplish anything and everything.

Dropping by Antoine's for a quick hello, she nibbled on an almond cookie as he gave her directions to the best gyro place in the Quarter. He added his surprise that Marko was willing to let her venture out alone, but he guaranteed her it would be fun and told her to call if she was lost or feeling alone. As long as she was near the river, he could always get to her within minutes.

“You're exactly what he needs. You give him true purpose,
ma chère
. I'm glad you stayed,” he said, pulling her into a huge bear hug and forgetting the air kisses. “Marko is a good man. He'll do right by you.”

For once in her life, she had no doubts about the future. Kat kissed the big man and started for the bridge. She was off to stroll the streets of Paris as a tourist.

Opting to wait for the gyro sandwich, she hesitantly passed on a Berthillon ice cream cone, but made a note on her phone and added the name to the list of things she would do in the near future. She lingered near the Pont Saint-Louis, enjoying the slue of street performers. Her favorite, a mime, followed her onto the bridge, offering his heart in his hand if only she'd sit with him by the river. She held her hands over her own heart and blew him a parting kiss. The mime was a keeper for her research.

Carrying the secrets of the city and its people, the Notre Dame lured visitors into her Gothic folds, while standing protectively in the center of it all. It was impossible to hurry past the cathedral. Tourists gathered everywhere, taking pictures and waiting for tours, but Kat strolled past, noting the time for Sunday mass in her phone.

The little green bookstalls on the Left Bank slowed her progress even more. Amongst the latest novels and coffee table books, there were old editions of classics that belonged in elegant libraries. Flipping through one of the picture books, she was mesmerized by an image of a large castle in Carcassonne, France, a city near the Spanish border. Her to-do note kept getting longer.

She made a left and a quick right, finding herself walking along the center of the Latin Quarter and all its tempting food windows. The place Antoine had suggested proved delicious, and she added its takeout number to her notes.

Sailing down the Seine in the water service most locals used, she catalogued the new information she'd gathered and realized she had more than enough to write the piece the way she wanted. Maybe she was short on time for the Louvre, but she figured she could lose herself for an hour inside the Musée d'Orsay and still be early for her rendezvous with Marko.

She typed out a quick text, telling him of her plans, then turned off her cell and escaped into a world of enchanted artistic expression.

* * *

The time was ten minutes to four. Afternoon clouds loomed dark and heavy over the corner of Saint-Germain and Rue St. Benoit. Kat was about to head into the café when a black sedan pulled to the curb and Jean-Luc stepped out.

“
Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait
,” he said, extending his arm for her to take.

“Seriously, Jean-Luc? I think we can drop the formalities at this point.” She stretched up on her toes and did the
bise
thingie, then looked toward the car for Marko.

“Kathryn.” His voice low and stern, Jean-Luc took hold of her elbow and steered her toward the sedan. “Please. We need to go. Get in the car. It's about to rain.”

“Where's Marko? He was supposed to meet me here almost half an hour ago.”

Jean-Luc looked down at her, his eyes shuttered from any emotion, and squeezed her elbow in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. “Monsieur Renard is fine. He has been called to attend an immediate family situation. I will see you to your flight.”

“My stuff is still at the house,” she said, growing very uncomfortable. “Are you sure he's okay?”

“I promise, your Marko is fine,” he repeated, holding open the door for her. “And I have already collected your bags.”

She believed Jean-Luc, so her worry dissipated. “I don't want to sit by myself. May I ride up front with you?”

His features softened. He nodded. “
C'est bon
.” He shut the door and, curving a protective arm around her, he led her around the car and to the front passenger side.

Kat untied the red cashmere from around her neck and pulled off her hat and gloves. Folding them neatly in her lap, she waited for Jean-Luc to explain. He drove them into the busy afternoon traffic, but offered no more information.

“I'm sort of lost, Jean-Luc. What happened?”

“There is an emergency with the family and he will not be joining you. Monsieur Renard tried to call you numerous times, but he said it went directly to voicemail.”

Shit. She'd turned off her phone before entering the museum and hadn't bothered to check voicemail when she'd turned it back on. Retrieving the cell from her bag, she found a new and unread text from Marko.

Jean-Luc handed her a new smartphone. “This is for you. He said there are no roaming costs, so keep it on at all times.”

“I turned it off while I was in the museum,” Kat explained.

“
Ça va, mademoi—Kathryn
.” He cleared his throat. “It would not have made a difference. I will see that you make the flight.”

“Is he meeting us at the airport?” Kat's voice cracked a bit. She wasn't feeling very optimistic about the family visit in the midst of an emergency.

Stopping at a red light, Jean-Luc turned a compassionate green gaze on her. “
Non.”

“I can't go to his family's home without him,” she pointed out, swallowing the panic that formed in her throat.

“You are going home to New York.”

K
at hadn't known there was an evening flight from CDG to JFK. “It's a direct flight,” Jean-Luc explained, as he helped her from the car. “With the time difference, you'll be in New York a little after nine o'clock.”

“I have to call my mom. This is such a mess. I have to ask her to meet me at the airport.” Kat reached into her bag, but he stilled her hand.

“Don't worry
, ma petite
,” he said in a soft and soothing voice. “Marko has made arrangements. He's seen to everything.”

That was one dom speaking for another. But it worked, for his words calmed her nerves and her optimism returned. If the circumstances were different, she'd wonder if the words were scripted. They weren't and she knew it. Jean-Luc's assurance was what she needed, and exactly in the tone he'd delivered it.

She sighed softly. Marko had seen to it, he'd seen to everything. He just didn't want her feeling uncomfortable with the family situation. He'd call.

Jean-Luc said something to an officer and left the vehicle in a no-parking zone. He took her hand and led her through the security doors. Skipping the long line for coach passengers at the Air France counter, he walked her directly to the front of first-class check-in. Relieved of the burden, she handed him her passport and waited for him to finish with the agent.

She had no energy to argue when he suggested they check her carry-on, so she tucked her gloves and hat into an outside pocket and nodded.

“What of the shawl?” Jean-Luc asked.

No. She shook her head. It made her feel like Marko was with her.

“That's okay,” he assured. “Let me pack your coat. The shawl will keep you warm enough, and you won't need to carry that much stuff.”

She shrugged out of her coat and he took care of fitting it in the case. The attendant marked the luggage and handed him the boarding pass. “
Merci, monsieur
,” she said, lowering her gaze and smiling demurely. “Have a pleasant trip
, mademoiselle
.”

“
Merci
,” Jean-Luc replied, smiling at the young woman. He placed the boarding pass inside the passport, then handed them to Kat and waited for her to secure them in her laptop bag. “Very nice,” he said approvingly, and once again took her hand. “You only have your computer, the phones, the documents, and your identification. That should be comfortable.”

“First class is pretty comfortable,” she noted, smiling for the first time since Jean-Luc had arrived to pick her up.

“That it is,” he replied, and for the first time ever, she heard him laugh.

Relaxed and comfortable, she walked beside him and didn't bother to read the signs or check for gate information. The man at her side would take care of details.

“Don't think too much,
ma petite
. Just trust in what you feel and all will be good. Marko will finish as quickly as he can, and he'll explain this turn of events. The only thing you need to do is trust him,” Jean-Luc said, closing his hand around hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Are you reading my mind or something?” Kat looked up and found him grinning.

“
Non, mademoiselle
. I know your nature.”

Were all French men so arrogant? He was as sure of himself as Marko was. The weird thing was that she didn't mind the cavalier attitude. She actually appreciated the reprieve it gave her from worrying. “You're almost as bad as Marko.”

“Thank you,” he said, swinging her hand in a cheerful way. In just one day, Jean-Luc had become a trusted friend. “We have some time before you need to pass through security. Are you hungry?”

“No. But what about the car?”

“My problem, not yours.” He guided them into a café and held up two fingers. They were seated, and he ordered in rapid-fire French. She missed the whole conversation, but smiled when the server returned with two tall glasses of orange juice.

What was it with these men and their juice?

* * *

Once the plane had reached cruising altitude, Kat powered on her laptop and connected to the Internet. There was nothing new from Marko, so she typed out at quick message.

His reply flashed on the screen within seconds.

She sighed and thought about the question. Home? What was a home? But before she could complete the thought and reply, a second message flashed.

And he was gone. No explanation, nothing to tell her why he'd sent her back to New York in such a hurry.
It must be a huge wine crisis to need me out of the way
, she thought. Nothing else made sense.

She leaned her head back and took a deep breath. She was going to stay in the little Pollyanna world Jean-Luc had suggested and just wait for Marko to take care of things. It was so much easier on her psyche and her heart. It hurt too much to think that he'd changed his mind and didn't want her any longer. Maybe his family emergency had to do with the outrage they'd expressed when he'd announced he was bringing her home?

No. She shook her head and closed her eyes. Marko loved her, and he'd make everything all right. She knew it. She trusted him. She loved him.

Pollyanna land worked just fine. By the time the crew started with dinner service, she'd finished the rough draft of the article and was proud of her work. Napping with the laptop on and open on the snack tray, just in case Marko texted again, she woke to a dead battery. Disappointed, she stowed the computer and snuggled up with the soft cashmere. She slept until the flight attendant tapped her shoulder and asked her to prepare for landing.

The plane touched down, and as they taxied to the gate, she called her mom and left a message for them to get together in the morning. She couldn't wait to tell her all about the trip, and most importantly, she wanted to tell her about reconnecting with Marko. Her mom had always loved Marko.

Paul had given up his Saturday night out to pick her up at the airport. That was the only thing that worried her. Why would Marko send Paul? Had something bad happened?

She hurried off the plane, zoomed past immigration, and was one of the first at baggage claim. Having nothing to declare, she was done with customs in no time. Gate to arrivals accomplished in under half an hour. She pulled the carry-on, loaded with designer clothes, from baggage claim and pasted on a winning smile. Life was good.

She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do and had returned with a story and love in her heart. She'd done it all in just over a day.

“Kittykat,” Paul called, as she rounded the security barriers and walked into his open arms. He placed a big kiss on the side of her head and squeezed her tight. “You look beautifully fucked.”

“Cut it out,” Justin said, pulling her out of Paul's embrace and into his. “You look wonderfully in love.”

“Yes,” she said, looking at her friends with real joy. “On both counts.”

“
Excellenté,”
Paul cried, pumping his right fist into the air and bending his knee up to meet it.

“Is that even a word?” Justin asked.

“Who the fuck cares,” Paul replied, still grinning. “I'm just glad she's finally come to her senses.”

Paul took her luggage and Justin carried her tote, the two of them sandwiching her in a welcome-home hug. They wanted all the details before they walked to the car, but Kat couldn't get past the way she'd left Paris.

“I was going to stay and add a few days to the trip. We were supposed to fly to Provence and meet his family tonight,” Kat explained, still feeling confused. “I don't know what happened or why he didn't want me there, but Jean-Luc said to just trust Marko to take care of things. Did he tell you what happened?”

“Hold on, Kathryn. Let's take this one question at a time,” Justin said. “No need to get all worked up over something that could be nothing. I'm sure there is a good explanation for it.”

“What did he tell you?” Kat asked.

“He didn't,” Paul said. “He texted. Said something came up, and then asked if we could meet the plane. When I texted back yes, he said to check email for your flight information. That's it. I had no clue you were planning on extending the trip.”

“Maybe he didn't want me to meet his family,” she said, her earlier sassiness gone. “I'm not exactly the kind of woman they would have picked for their son.”

“Are you for fucking real?” Paul hissed. “That man has been so in love with you for years. He'd do anything for you.”

“Sorry, sweetie. Paul's right. Stop jumping to stupid conclusions,” Justin agreed. “Now, put that smile back on your face and give us all the romantic and sordid details.”

“Not unless you bribe me with a drink first,” she said, letting go of the doubt. She'd had a wonderful time with Marko—the best day of her life—and she wasn't going to run this time. She was determined to give them a shot.

“The bottle is in the car,” Justin said. “In honor of this momentous occasion, we picked up an eighty-dollar bottle of French wine to drink at your place. You can thank me later.
After
you dish out the whole scoop.” He opened the car door and offered her shotgun position. “Only because you've had a long trip.”

She gave him a quick peck and hopped in, snapping her seat belt in place before he could change his mind. “I'm not saying a word about Marko until I've had that wine.”

Paul laughed and slipped into the driver's seat. He turned on the ignition and pulled out of the parking spot. “So, spill. Who is this Jean-Luc character you mentioned?”

“Jean-Luc is Marko's hot driver. The man is wicked,” she cooed, making a show of loosening her wrap and fluffing her hair.

“How hot?” Paul and Justin asked at the same time.

“Very, very, very, very hot,” Kat replied, fanning the heat creeping over her skin. Her friends would die if they knew all she knew about the man, but there was no way she was sharing detailed information.

“Holy cow,” Justin exclaimed, jamming his shoulders between the seats and touching the blush spreading up her neck. “She has a crush on Marko's driver.”

“I do not. I don't. Just because a man is hot doesn't mean I drool over him. However, he is drool worthy.” She placed a hand in the center of Justin's chest and pushed him back against the seat. “Anyway, he's a great guy. He's the one that met me when Marko couldn't make it. He took me to the airport and got me on the flight.”

“Go on,” Paul said, rolling his hand for more. Her friend knew her too well, had known her too long, to believe that was all there was to Jean-Luc.

“That's it,” she said. “He's a good guy that gets things done.” She stared out the front windshield and scraped her teeth over her lower lip. It seemed like Marko chose friends that got things done. From Jean-Luc to Antoine, to Cyril, each one of them got things done. She liked that. But she liked everything about Marko more. She
loved
everything about Marko. “Did you know French guys are seriously into juice?”

“What?” Paul shook his head and threw her a searing glance. Justin scooted forward and turned questioning eyes on her, a perturbed look on his face.

“Seriously. They drink a lot of fresh squeezed juice in Paris.”

“Fermented grape juice.” Justin snorted.

“That too.” She raised her shoulder and winked.

“Fuck. Drive faster, damn it,” Justin swore, pushing on Paul's arm. “We have to hear what really happened in Paris. You need to tell us about everything and everyone, but mostly, we want the Marko details.”

She threw back her head and laughed. It was great having friends who shared her joy. Maybe they were just a little over the top with exuberance about a possible hookup, but there was no doubt they were genuinely happy for her. After all, they'd given up their Saturday night out to get the information fresh off the plane. They were excited for her, not concerned that something had gone terribly wrong and had ended her fairy tale.

“Don't you want to know what happened with the feature?” Kat settled in her seat, determined to follow her friends' lead and enjoy the moment. “Don't you want details on what a spectacular researcher and writer I am?”

“Sure,” Paul drawled. “We'll get to that. Keep going on the other tidbits for now.”

She started with how meeting Cyril on the flight had set the mood for romantic possibilities, and then described how Marko had surprised her at the airport, but neither one of her friends tried to pretend shock. “Those smug grins are because you knew all about it.”

“Sue us for being good fairy godbrothers,” Justin said, chuckling at her observation. “Of course we knew. Did you really think Paul would splurge on upgrading you to first class?”

“Looking back on it, I guess not,” she agreed, continuing with the story. She reserved the Marko details for wine time, but did get a huge reaction from her friends when she mentioned the other café patrons and their exhibitionist qualities.

“Holy shit. I think we need to plan an excursion to Paris,” Justin exclaimed. “This keeps getting better with every hour of the trip.”

They parked and made it up the stairs, excited about plans for an upcoming trip. But the moment they were inside and their coats were on the hooks, Paul turned to Kat and pushed her onto the couch. “Spill.”