Kissed in Paris (12 page)

Julien’s stern glance snapped me back to reality.

“Hurry, we are almost there,” he said, all the while never breaking his brisk stride.

I ignored the throbbing in my feet and powered forward. I hadn’t said a word to Julien after our conversation on the train, and I didn’t see any reason to. I would follow him to retrieve my passport, and then I’d get right back on the train to Paris—
by myself
this time. With no judgment from the mysterious French agent who didn’t know me at all.

After crossing over a small river that flowed through the town, we squeezed past the meandering tourists and sped down a pedestrian-only cobblestone walkway. The delicious aromas of melted cheese and chocolate wafted out onto the street, making me feel faint.

Julien took my hand and led me to a miniature table at a café on the corner. “Have a seat, drink a glass of wine, and I will be back in fifteen minutes.” He pulled out his wallet and handed me ten Euros.

Have a glass of wine? Seriously?

“Where are you going?” I asked, not taking his instructions to sit down.

“Do not go anywhere or talk to anyone,” Julien instructed before turning and leaving me at the café by myself.

“But why can’t—”

Julien swiveled back around and marched up to me, leaning in so close that his lips just barely grazed my ear. “The place I am going to may not be safe.” He pulled the chair out and laid his hand on my shoulder. “Please, sit down and do not worry. I will be right back.”

I noticed a weariness in Julien’s eyes that I hadn’t seen all day. He gave me one last serious nod before heading back down the crowded cobblestone street, and leaving me alone at what would’ve been the most charming café I’d ever been to, had it not been for the fact that I was sitting there alone in a tight red dress baring my skin to every sleazy French guy who happened to saunter past. Not to mention the fact that we were hunting down an evil con-man to find my passport.

My eyes remained glued to Julien’s back as he strode down the pathway, and just when he was barely visible, I shot up from the table.

I didn’t care what he’d said. I needed to know what in the hell was going on, and I wanted my passport back.

Much less gracefully than Julien had, I stumbled my way over the rocky cobblestones in my heels. I spotted the back of Julien’s head and his gray T-shirt not too far ahead of me as he took a sharp left underneath a stone archway. I slowed down so he wouldn’t notice me, then peeked around the archway to find him messing with a blood red door across a quiet alley.

After a few seconds of jimmying the handle, he managed to open the door and slip inside. As the door clicked shut, I realized that sneaking in behind Julien was probably my only chance of making it into that apartment building, and I’d just missed it.

 I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. I probably should’ve just listened to him and stayed back at the restaurant. But this part of town didn’t seem unsafe. So why hadn’t he let me come with him? He didn’t have a problem taking me into the country cottage in Giverny earlier and beating up that man right in front of me.

As I was trying to decide if I should wait it out in the alley or head back to the café, a flash of wavy auburn hair—almost the exact color and length of my own—caught my eye. I focused in on the woman who stood a couple of blocks down the street, wondering why I felt so drawn to her. Just as she was about to round a corner, she stopped and pivoted to the side, her profile now clearly visible to me.

I blinked my eyes and took a double take. There was no way that what I was seeing was real. But as I took a few steps toward her, there was no mistaking it.

That woman looked
exactly
like my mother.

She disappeared around the corner, and without thinking, I found myself trekking across the street, rounding the corner, and following this woman with red hair and a face I longed to see again.

She stayed several steps ahead of me, winding through the dark, empty cobblestone streets so quickly I could barely keep up. I had no clue where I was going, but nothing could’ve stopped me. I had to see her face one more time.

I struggled to catch up as her slim figure whipped around another corner, but just as I traced her path around the bend, she was gone.

Poof. Just like that. As if she’d disappeared into thin air.

I frantically combed the street where I was certain,
certain
, this spitting image of my mother had just turned, but she was nowhere to be found.

My hands trembled and a couple of stray beads of sweat slid down the back of my neck as I stopped to catch my breath. Was I losing it? Thinking I’d seen my mother walking through an alley in Annecy? What in the hell was wrong with me?

But when I pictured the woman’s profile again, I couldn’t deny it. She had looked
exactly
like my mom.

I leaned back against one of the buildings and peered around the street, trying to regain my bearings when a tiny woman, not more than five feet tall with a head of long, golden blond hair emerged from a small garage. She turned and lowered the clanking metal door to the ground, being careful not to let it slam. Then she locked it with a massive key, stuffed the key into her pocket and cautiously checked to either side before booking it down the street. She visibly startled when she caught my eye, but quickly flicked her eyes back to the path ahead and kept walking.

I shook my head, wondering if she was an illusion too. What was up with me? I must’ve been severely dehydrated.

And now I had no clue where I was or how to get back to Julien. I should’ve just stayed put, like he’d told me to. Ugh.

I decided to follow the tiny woman, hoping she’d be heading back to the main part of town, which would hopefully bring me past the door Julien had broken into just minutes before. But as I turned the corner, she too was gone.

Okay, I really needed some water.

I walked alone for several minutes, weaving in and out of the winding streets, when suddenly a crisp breeze cut through the dark alley.

To my relief, the deep red door loomed at the end of the tiny
rue
, and a massive man—well over six feet tall—was unlocking it with his muscled, tattoo-bearing arms.

I don’t what came over me then—maybe it was a gut instinct, or curiosity at what was lurking behind this red door that I wasn’t allowed to see, or fear of standing alone in that alley for another second and seeing another phantom woman—but I suddenly found myself running to catch the red door from clicking shut.

And I made it, just by a hair.

I held the door in place for about thirty seconds as I listened to Tattoo Guy’s black boots scuffing down what sounded like a long hallway. When I didn’t hear his footsteps anymore, I cracked the door open just the tiniest bit and peeked inside to find complete darkness. My heart pounded through my chest as I listened once more to be certain he was gone, then slid through the doorway, trying not to make a sound.

After closing the door as quietly as I could, I reached for the wall and tip-toed down the clammy, pitch-dark hallway until my eyes began to adjust. A flicker of light emanating from a doorway down the hall caught my eye.

I peeled my heels off my aching feet, then crept up to the door and pressed my ear against the rough wooden panel. I immediately recognized Julien’s deep voice, but there was another voice too—a woman’s.

I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but I knew one thing for sure. She wasn’t speaking French. She was speaking English. With a posh-sounding Australian accent.

As I leaned closer in an attempt to understand their conversation, the door inched open. I leapt to the side, plastered my back against the wall and held my breath, praying they hadn’t seen me.

My pulse raced, telling me to run, but I clenched my fists and stayed put. After about thirty seconds, with no changes from the other side of the door, I inched closer once again.

My heart caught in my chest at the sight that was now clearly visible inside the apartment.

A striking woman with legs for miles and jet black hair that spilled over her shoulders and ran the length of her torso lay across a plush, white couch, her curvy figure barely covered in a black, slinky dress that accentuated her snow-white skin.

Her oval-shaped green eyes gazed upward as she unraveled the red, silky scarf that hung loosely from her neck.

And there, standing over her, was Julien. Firm and unmoving, his head cocked down toward her. I could only imagine the expression that passed across his face as Seductress stood up, wrapped her scarf around his shoulders and pulled his chest into hers.

The place I am going to may not be safe
, he’d told me.

Humph.
She
was dangerous, all right.

“I don’t know anything about a painting,” she hummed in his ear. “And as for Claude, well I hadn’t seen him in almost two years before he showed up earlier today. And now you, Julien.
My
Julien.”

I tore my eyes away from them as a wave of nausea passed through my stomach. What painting? What was Julien not telling me? And was
this
the woman he’d spoken about on the train? The one chance at love he’d messed up?

Just as I was about to bolt and never look back, a glimmer from the other side of the door caught my eye.

And that’s when I saw it. My engagement ring, lying carelessly on a dirty coffee table, next to a slew of passports.

Suddenly I couldn’t have cared less about Julien or that woman or whatever he was about to do with her. I lifted my hand up to the door, but just as I was about to barge in, a bulge of muscles wrapped around my neck, cutting off my air supply.

I gasped for breath, but when none came, I panicked. I tried my best to squirm, but before I could move a muscle, the grip on my neck released and the bulging arms shoved my body through the door.

“What the hell is going on in here?” the man behind me boomed in an accent identical to the woman’s. “And who the hell is this bitch spying through your door?”

Julien whipped around, his brown eyes the biggest I’d seen them all day as I stumbled to the ground, heaving to catch my breath.

The Seductress tossed her scarf to the floor and charged toward me, her eyes now narrow little slits. But Julien reached me before she did. In one swift movement, he pulled me up from the floor and blocked me with his body.

“She is not a threat. She is just a friend I am traveling with and neither of you will lay a hand on her.” Julien’s voice echoed through the small, cluttered apartment as he shielded me from their menacing glares.

I sucked in a deep breath as I wondered why I hadn’t just listened to Julien. Did I really think I could handle everything on my own?

The man who’d pushed me into the apartment approached Julien, and I noticed then that he was the same man, covered in tattoos, who I’d just seen enter the building. He must’ve been hiding in the shadows, waiting for me. A chill ran down my spine just thinking about it.

 A look of disgust fixed onto his face as he eyed Julien. “You and Claude make me fucking sick. You sleep with my sister, you use her to run your stupid cons, and then you leave her. Every time.”

“You are right about Claude. But I am a different man. I have no interest in harming your sister,” Julien responded without so much as a hint of fear in his voice.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to ask her a few questions, that’s all. And she was more than happy to answer them.” Julien’s snarky tone challenged the angry Australian.

The corners of Seductress’ lips curved into a devilish grin as she slithered toward Julien and shoved her looming brother out of the way. She stood inches away from Julien’s face, so close I could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on her breath.