26 Hours in Paris (21 page)

Only too happy to share, she accepted a glass from Justin and started with how good time had been to Marko. They had finished the expensive bottle of wine and had started on the seven-dollar reserve she'd splurged on last week, as she moved from the Eiffel Tower to the ideal microcosm of Île Saint-Louis, her favorite spot being the private rooftop. Negative thoughts fled from her mind, and her body relaxed.

She gave in to the urge to rest her eyes for a few minutes, then opened them and found herself being carried to bed by Justin. He tucked her in and kissed her good night. Paul leaned over her, swept her hair back from her forehead, and brushed a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Marko's a lucky man. Sweet dreams, Kittykat.” Those were the words that sent her to dreamland, until a ringing from the living room jostled her from sleep.

Getting to the phone on time wasn't in the cards. It stopped ringing before she'd even found her bag. Her regular cell showed no missed calls, but then she remembered the phone from Marko and checked the display. Sure enough, she'd missed his call.

She tapped the screen and returned the call. It went to voicemail, but a chirp sounded that she'd received a voicemail. The recording was pure static. An incoming call came through.

“Hello? Marko?”

“Kathryn, I needed to know you're home.” He sounded anxious, as if there was a reason she wouldn't make it home.

“Of course. I was sleeping. Paul and Justin left about two hours ago. You okay?”

“
Oui, mai non
, be—” Static buzzed over the line. “Hotel.” More static. “American.” Static. “Paris.”

“Marko, I can't understand. There's too much interference. Let me call you back.”

“
Non, c'est ma connexion,
” he said, sounding clearer. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” she breathed, holding the phone tight. “I miss you terribly.”

“I miss you,
bella
. I feel there is nothing I can do. Nothing.” She could hear the frustration, perhaps anguish, in his voice, and she, too, felt helpless. Static . . . horrible static grated on her nerves. “. . . soon. I've got to go. I love you.”

“I love you,” she repeated into the static, and then her knees folded beneath her and she dropped to the couch. He'd ended the distressed call with
I love you
.

K
at had no energy for clothes and makeup on Sunday. So rather than meeting her mother and Ralph for lunch, she took a long bath and babbled on the phone until the water had gone cold and she needed to get out. Her mom got an earful about the perfect man who had made Paris more romantic than she'd ever thought possible.

Wrapped in her bathrobe, she sat on the couch, slurping delivery miso soup and watching a full season of
Grace and Frankie
on Netflix. She wished Charlie would come home already, but her roomie wasn't due into Penn Station until late Tuesday afternoon. The stubborn woman refused to fly. She had to get over that fear of airplanes if they were going to visit Paris soon.

Kat had plenty of time to work on her story, which was totally awesome and definitely getting her that byline, so she spent the night with a pint of ice cream and waited for Marko to call.

He didn't. He also didn't call on Monday or Tuesday. She'd tried calling him, but each time it went directly to voicemail. He'd sent three texts asking how she was and explaining he'd call soon. But the texts weren't enough. She needed to hear his voice. Her bubble of bliss deflated as the time went on. When she couldn't take it any longer, she called his office line.

“I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Taylor. Monsieur Renard is not available at this time,” a female voice announced. “He is not accepting any calls.”

Not that Kat was jealous, but she was bothered. The other woman had more information than she had on Marko's schedule, and she also seemed to know why he wasn't accepting calls. Unfortunately, the sultry female voice wasn't willing to share.

“Thank you,” Kat said, aiming for professional courtesy. “I'll try his cellular.”

“
Non, je suis désolé, mais. . . .
I do not believe that will work. Would you like me to relay a message?”

She declined and disconnected. She'd wait it out. Marko would call. He had to.

* * *

Excited to see Charlie, Kat made a point of meeting her friend's train. She wanted to be the first to get the cruise news and hear how she'd done in the romance department. Arriving at Penn Station, Kat texted Charlie. Head down, she paced before the agreed-upon newsstand when her new French phone vibrated in her pocket.

“Marko?”

“
Bella . . .
Kathryn . . . I . . .” Damn, there was that static again. “American.” Same damn word. “Paris.”

“Wait. Please wait. Don't hang up,” she pleaded. “I'm at the train station. I'm running up the stairs as we speak. I can't hear you again.” Her heart pounded against her rib cage as she weaved between the nightly commuters and up the stairs. She was out of breath, doubled over on Seventh Avenue, and holding her side. “I'm here.” She gulped frigid air into her lungs and spoke into the phone. “I'm outside. Try now.”

“I . . .” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Static. “. . . back. They're . . .”

“Marko?”

Nothing.

“Marko?”

Frustration barreled over her like a rogue eighteen-wheeler on a Tennessee mountain road, throwing her into an isolating pain like none she'd ever experienced. She stomped her foot and wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

An incoming text chimed.

Kat looked over her shoulder, turned on her heels, and searched the wide sidewalk. He wasn't there. But he knew she was crying. There was a plea in his words.

I'm fine. Waiting to hear back from you
. She added a
<3
, then hit send.

Realizing he wasn't going to call, she went back underground and got out of the chilly evening weather. He said to be strong. Actually, he said he
needed
her strong. She'd be strong. She squared her shoulders, and with her head held high, she returned to the newsstand.

She tried calling Marko again; then she called the
boulangerie
. It was nearly midnight there, so the fact that Antoine didn't answer at the bakery was no surprise. She contemplated calling his direct line, but didn't want to overreact and jump to conclusions. She would have called Jean-Luc, regardless of the time, but she didn't have his number. Instead, she dialed Paul's number and left him a voicemail to call her as soon as possible.

She needed help.

It was nearing the end of rush hour, but the train was half an hour behind schedule, and Penn Station was Penn Station. It never stopped bustling with activity. She bought a gossip magazine and leaned against a wide cement column, making herself as small as possible. Her shoulder ached from knocking against the concrete as she'd tried to avoid running over a little old lady during her dash upstairs earlier, so the less physical contact, the better.

Charlie didn't seem to think so. She raced up the stairs and wrapped her arms around Kat. “Oh. My. God. What an amazing trip.”

Forgetting about the shoulder pain, Kat returned her friend's excited hug and then looked her over in earnest. Lightweight jeans, a really low-cut shirt, and a pair of Converse shoes. “You'd better get some clothes on before you freeze that gorgeous tan off. Are you even wearing socks?”

“Yes, I'm wearing socks. They're no-shows.” Charlie dropped the suitcase on its side and unzipped the main compartment. The woman positively glowed. No regretful eyes or telling hair bun. No pink electronic cigarette in sight, either. Just a glowing Charlie, who had clearly been
beautifully fucked
—as Paul would have put it.

“Please tell me you're wonderfully in love,” Kat said, squatting and helping Charlie search through her open suitcase for her coat.

“Got them,” Charlie said, pulling out a long white jacket and a scarf. “I had amazing, earth-shattering, bone-rattling sex. The best sex of my life.”

“Obviously,” Kat replied, rolling her eyes. She closed the suitcase as Charlie got into her jacket. “What's his name?”

“I'm not saying,” Charlie snapped, zipping up the jacket.

“What?” Kat couldn't believe her roommate's refusal to talk. The other woman was bursting with sexual energy, but she wasn't talking. “Why won't you tell me?”

“Because my personal activities don't relate with the article. I'm not writing about what I did, but the opportunity to find love on a cruise.” Taking hold of the suitcase handle, Charlie hooked her arm through Kat's and started walking.

“Seriously? You're going to leave me hanging like this?” Kat should have enlisted Paul and Justin for the inquisition. Screw their Tuesday-night handball games. They would have gotten Charlie to talk.

“For now,” Charlie replied. “We're still figuring things out. I'll tell you all about him when things are settled.”

“I don't get it. Why are you so cryptic with all of this?” Why was everyone in her life so cryptic? Was the universe trying to tell her something? Was it trying to let her down easy so her heart didn't shatter into thousands of little pieces at her feet? “Is it possible to find love on a cruise ship or not?”

“It definitely is,” Charlie confirmed, blushing under her tan. “Did you find love in Paris, my friend?”

“I did,” she breathed, fearing that love would remain there. Once again, uncertainty welled in her throat. She looked down the street for a cab and stepped off the sidewalk. She was way too vulnerable to explain. “It's obvious why Paris is always listed as one of the most romantic cities in the world. The history, the flavor, and the zest for romance are everywhere.”

They hailed a taxi and settled into the back seat. Kat told Charlie about the architecture of the buildings, the beautiful streets, the unique life of the river, the delicious food, and especially the allure of the café life.

“And where did you find love?” Charlie asked.

“At the airport.” Actually, love had found her and sucked her down like an undertow beneath a serene sea. She would have kept running, blind to what it meant to be in love and to feel someone's love, if Marko hadn't shown up and negated her friendship rules. “Marko was waiting for me when I landed.”

“Marko? School Marko?” Charlie tugged on her seat belt and turned in her seat. “Did Paul have anything to do with that?”

“Of course,” Kat said, snorting and shaking her head. “But it's okay. I still love him. They had the whole thing planned before you or I knew about the assignment. Everything. When Marko learned about what had happened with the jackass and the company's expense account, he and Paul brainstormed the premise of the feature. Marko paid for everything. Both of our trips. You were right, such expensive research wasn't in
City Wings
' budget.”

“I knew it.” Charlie clapped her hands and laughed hard. “There was no way Paul would have paid for my cabin. No fucking way.” She placed a hand on her hip and gave Kat a searing stare. “Why didn't you tell me Marko was loaded?”

“It's not about the money.” Kathryn sank against her seat and closed her eyes. It really had nothing to do with money. She was over that, but money was presently her biggest obstacle in returning to Marko. “Marko is more that a damn bank account.”

“You're preaching to the choir, Kathryn. I get it,” Charlie said, pointing a finger to her chest. “I really do.”

“You of all people should,” Kat agreed.

Charlie was a trust fund girl. It made no difference that she never touched the money. The woman was loaded.

“I'm sorry. I'm a bit on edge,” Kat admitted, as the taxi pulled up to their building. “I may have found love in Paris, but I think I may have lost it there, too.”

K
athryn sat on the floor, her back against the couch and a water bottle dangling between her knees. She didn't know if she was feeling sorry for herself or if she was just losing her mind.

The logical side of her brain told her that his family had rejected her and he was alienating himself from her. Her heart said it wasn't possible. He loved her and he wouldn't run—that was her MO, exclusively a Kat.

Opening the only bottle of wine left in the house, Charlie grabbed two glasses and came to sit beside her. “Tell me everything. Start from the beginning. The good and the bad. Don't leave anything out.”

Kat told her about being upgraded to first class, receiving the iMessage while she was on the plane, and almost everything that had happened until the call had dropped outside of Penn Station.

“It doesn't add up, though,” Kat said. “A few months ago—shit, a few days ago—I would have believed that the Renard family didn't think I was good enough for him.”

“Today?” Charlie asked.

Kat considered every detail, everything they'd experienced over the years, and everything that made Marko the man she loved. “Today, I know that Marko loves his family dearly, and no matter if I come from the right gene pool or not, he loves me. Marko wouldn't run from us. He never has.”

Charlie was nodding, but the questions still remained and hung between the friends like a huge wrecking ball. “Why are you here?”

Kat considered the question, really thought about it and wondered why she was acting like a bystander in her own life. Why wasn't she with him when he'd said he needed her? Needed her to be strong. He needed her.

“I think he ‘sent' me away on purpose. He's a bit of a lovable tyrant, but he's also arrogant enough to think he always knows best. I'm afraid that something bad has happened. He thinks he can protect me if I'm away from it.”

“Like all that talk about going to Provence and eating his mom's Sunday dinner meant nothing,” Charlie added. “Not.”

“Exactly.” Kat placed her glass on the coffee table and stood. “I have to get back to Paris. He needs me.”

“What time is the flight?” Charlie hopped up and carried their glasses to the sink.

Kat checked her phone. It was only twenty after seven. Paul was on the courts till eight. “I'm waiting on Paul to call. I need to ask if he'll purchase the ticket with his charge card for me. I maxed out my card and I have twenty bucks until payday.”

“You're shitting me,” Charlie said, reaching for her bag and pulling out her computer. “Why didn't you ask the minute I came off the track?”

“I know what you make. You're as broke as I am,” she reminded her friend, reaching into the closet for the vacuum cleaner. Kat was about to crawl out of her skin. She had to find something to keep herself busy until Paul called. “Paul will spot me. And don't tell me I know better. You have a rule.”

Charlie fixed her with a disgusted stare and parked her hands on her hips. “Get your ass over here, Kathryn Taylor.” Charlie patted the space beside her on the couch. “Rules are made to be broken. We have a ticket to buy.”

“Okay.” She returned the vacuum to the closet and walked to her friend. “That just means you need to vacuum later.”

“I will,” Charlie replied, typing into the address bar. “Toss me your passport and go pack.”

“Don't need to,” she said, grabbing her purse and verifying that the passport was still in there. “There's a closet full of gorgeous clothes waiting for me in Paris.”

Suddenly, Charlie turned solemn. She twirled her finger in her hair and reached for the missing e-cig. “Do you think he's hurt? I mean physically hurt?”

“I spoke with him.” Kat worried her lower lip, but shook her head. “No. And Jean-Luc assured me he was fine. He wouldn't lie. I can't explain it, but I knew something was very off from the moment he sent his driver. At first, I thought it was related to the vineyard. Then, I slipped into an old way of thinking and took it personally—”

“But you said you never believed that,” Charlie reminded her.

“I didn't. It was dumb of me to go there.” Old habits were hard to break, and a sense of shame filled her for falling back on them. She knew better. She knew him.

“When he called today, I actually had chills racing down my spine.” She rubbed her hands up her arms, trying to chase away the fear. “He sounded so bad. I've never heard him sound like that, and it had nothing to do with the static.”

There were no direct flights until Wednesday, so they picked one with a layover in Dublin. It departed at a little after ten. Kat would be in Paris Wednesday afternoon. Charlie booked directly with the airline while Kat spoke with Paul.

She washed her face, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and collected the red cashmere off her pillow. It was her turn to be strong. Love was a two-way street.

“I'm so blessed to have you guys,” Kat said, fifteen minutes later. “Thank you.” Hugging Charlie, she climbed into Paul's car and headed to JFK.

“I wish you would have told us earlier, Kittykat,” Paul said, changing lanes and laying a heavy hand on the horn. “One of us could have gone with you. We don't need you upset and on your own. Justin is beside himself and super pissed off that I didn't see this coming. So am I. I'm powerless in all of this.”

“This isn't about you being the patriarch of our group. It's about me doing what I need to do and being there for him.” When she'd needed Marko, he was there. A shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, he'd been there. She wasn't going to run or hide from him. “If I could make what he's going through a little more bearable for him, I will. I have a lot to offer.”

“It's about time you realized that.” Her oldest friend took her hand in his and squeezed it tight. “You've always had a lot to offer, and you did. You just didn't see the value of it before.”

Hoping she offered enough to make a difference, she read Marko's last text and pointed out the word need. “It's really my turn.”

“It is,” he agreed. “You can do this.” When they pulled up at the departure area, Paul turned on the hazard lights and turned off the ignition. He placed eight hundred-dollar bills in her hand. “This is all the ATM allowed me to withdraw for the day. Justin has your account information, so we'll transfer funds first thing in the morning. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“This is more than enough. Thank you.” She folded the cash into her wallet, checked for her passport, and stepped from the car feeling truly lucky to have such friends. When Paul came around and adjusted the wrap on her shoulders, she walked into the comfort of their two-decade-long friendship and wrapped her arms around him. “I'll admit that my idea of financial success has stood in the way of me doing what was right, but having generous and rich friends does make it easier to deal with.” She pinched his muscled abs and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I promise to pay every penny back as soon as possible.”

“Stop thanking me for the money. Money doesn't mean anything to me, and you know it. We're on this ride together, Kittykat. You'd hold my hand if I needed you.” He swatted her backside, and turned her toward the doors. “Go find your man.”

Money really didn't mean anything. Some people had more than others, but it didn't make the person. She glanced over her shoulder and waved good-bye. “Check your email for the feature.”

“Forget it,” he called. “I'm not publishing it.”

“It's done. You can use the pictures I'll attach if you like.”

Sitting at the gate, she repeatedly checked both phones for text messages. Each time she called Marko, she reached his voicemail. As they announced the flight to board she typed out a text.

I love you, bello. Everything will be okay
.

During the flight, she read through the feature and attached her pictures. The caption on one of Marko standing at by the window read:
Paris may be the perfect place for romance, but the perfect place for love is anywhere with your person. This is my person, the man who holds my heart and future, my Marko.

Owning what lived in her heart, she hit send and lowered the cover of the laptop.

* * *

“I brought two this time,” Antoine said, handing Marko the new cell phone he'd requested. “Try not to slam these into the wall.”

“I don't use them in here.” Marko raised his head from his hands and acknowledged his friend. He glanced at the unrecognizable woman lying in the bed, checking the monitors to make sure the lines moved and the images pulsed. “The signals interfere with the machinery. I have them powered off and only turn them on when I leave the unit.”

“Turn this one on when you exit the building and are across the street,” Antoine said, releasing a long breath. He stood before the glass, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “She's so small. So fragile. I wish there was some way I could help.”

“You gave her your blood. That helped.” Marko walked up to the other man and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'm forever in your debt.”

“There has to be more we can do.” Antoine wiped a large hand down his worried face. “Can I give more blood?”

“No. Thankfully, she doesn't require more transfusions. The doctors said her levels are stable. She's responded to the therapy and the edema has gone down. They're going to wake her from the coma today.” Marko had to believe she would be okay. She was too good for this, too young, too beautiful. Their world would crumble if she didn't wake up. Martine was a fighter. She would open her eyes and bring sunshine to the world.

“What time?” Antoine asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“The doctors are checking on her in the morning. They'll let us know when around eight.” Time was moving too slowly. Too many things they couldn't determine. For the first time in his life, Marko was at the mercy of someone else's expertise. It grated on his nerves. “Maynard doesn't know which way to turn. He must focus on Martine, but my aunt Laurel is having a very difficult time dealing with the uncertainty. Cecile has been good to her, holding her hand and reassuring her that Martine will make it.”

“But you are the one who has not left the hospital,” Antoine insisted. “You look like shit, my friend. Go home, take a shower, and get some sleep. You have seven hours before the doctors come to speak with you.”

“I can't leave her alone,” he said, pushing his fingers through his hair. He sat on the metal chair and returned his head into his hands. “If she wakes up on her own, she'll be terrified. She can't be alone.”

“I'll stay with her. I won't leave that sweet angel alone.”

“Thank you, but I can't go until I know she's awake. I can't.” Marko was tired. Fighting to remain calm, he managed a few minutes of sleep during each night, but he hadn't left the hospital once. Antoine had insisted on visiting every day, multiple times a day to be exact. He'd been the first one to offer blood. The man was as good as his word. He wouldn't leave Martine alone.

Marko stood and walked back to the window. “On second thought, I'll take you up on your offer to stay, but only for a few minutes. I want to try and reach Kathryn. I need to hear her voice.”

“You could use one of her big smiles and soft hugs right about now—she'd . . . Why did you send her away?” Antoine asked, his brows knitting in confusion.

She'd accepted him, accepted them. She was about to meet his family, and he'd spent time after his meeting buying her a ring. “I've waited a long time to make her mine. I was sure that things had finally come together for us.” But just like the first time he had been about to offer her a ring, a fucking asshole had wreaked havoc on their lives.

“Her father was killed by a drunk driver. It tore her apart to see him hooked up to those machines.” Marko pointed through the glass. Kat had to make the decision to take her dad off life support. All he could do was hold her shattered heart and accept her wish for time to heal. “I won't make her relive that time in her life.”

“I understand,” Antoine agreed. “Go. I'm here. I won't let anything happen to Martine.” He handed him a paper bag. “Brought you a shirt from your place. Take a minute and wash up in the lavatory. You're scaring the family looking like that.”

Marko nodded in agreement. He looked really bad. A fresh shirt was greatly welcomed. “Thank you.”

“There is an all-night café across the street. Order something to eat and drink, and call your woman from there. The connection will be normal.”

“Normal,” Marko repeated, shaking his head and turning to go. “I'll be back in ten minutes.”

He walked past the unit's doors and dialed Kat.