Sleeping With Paris (22 page)

But his gesture was so kind, so touching, I couldn't listen to that damn little voice. Instead I smiled at him. “Of course I’ll go with you. And you’re actually going to sit through the ballet with me?”

“
Bien sûr
, I love the ballet. And at the Opéra Garnier, there is nothing better.”

Whoa, French men were seriously cultured. I couldn’t have gotten Jeff to sit through a ballet with me if I’d paid him a million dollars and promised to give him a blow job a night for the rest of his life.

***

I had my next meeting with Madame Rousseau at eight o’clock on Friday morning. I had set my alarm for five a.m. and had already verified that there was no
grève
planned for that day. I had worked so hard on these papers, I wasn’t about to let the disgruntled transportation workers ruin it for me.

At seven-thirty on the dot, I was waiting on a bench outside of Madame Rousseau’s office, trying not to fall asleep. I must’ve dozed off at some point though, because I was startled awake at the sound of her little black heels clanking down the hallway toward me. I straightened my posture and did my best imitation at a genuine smile.

“I see you are getting quite comfortable there, Mademoiselle Summers,” she scowled.

My smile faded. Can’t a girl close her eyes for a minute? Jeez.

She opened her door and actually let me in this time instead of shutting it in my face. Progress.

I handed her my stack of final papers.

“Well, I certainly hope
this
won’t be a waste of my time,” she said cooly as she thumbed through my work.

This woman was getting on my last nerve. I forced myself to remain calm as she continued.

“Your professors have informed me that you have returned to their classes. I suspect your
deadly flu
is gone now?” she asked sarcastically.

“Yes, I’m feeling much better, thank you.”

“And about my son.”

Oh, God. I really didn’t want to talk about this.

 “Yes, Madame Rousseau?”

“As you know, he has informed me that you are now his
English tutor
.” The corners of her mouth turned down into a frown after she’d said the words, as if there was nothing worse in the world she could think of than having
me
, the untimely American,
tutor
her
son. “Do you possess formal English tutoring qualifications, Mademoiselle Summers?”

“Well, I
am
a native speaker, and I’ve been a French teacher for the past three years, so I’m certainly familiar with—”

“So you do not have any formal qualification?”

“Well, um . . . not a formal qual—”

“Do refrain from stuttering in my presence, Mademoiselle Summers. Tell me then, would the
professional
description of a tutor include taking your student to a bar and introducing him to your drunken friends?”

God, did Marc tell her
everything
?

“No, I—”

“Stuttering, Mademoiselle Summers!” she shouted suddenly.

I jumped in my seat. I really wanted to leave. Now.

“My son has informed me that you introduced him to a friend of yours, Fiona?”

 “Yes, I introduced them during our last lesson.”

“Your last lesson at a
bar
.” Her eyes burned a hole in me, daring me to respond.

I kept my mouth shut.

“This Fiona girl, where did she get her degree?”

“She went to college in London, and she’s a wonderful person.”

“I did not ask what kind of person she is, Mademoiselle Summers. I want to know if she is intelligent.”

 “Yes, she’s very sma—”

Madame Rousseau’s face boiled red as she cut me off. “Because if you think that you can introduce
my
son who is going to be a
doctor
to just any girl, you are very wrong, Mademoiselle Summers. By the way he spoke of this
Fiona
though, I can tell that he is interested in a . . . well, a
relationship
if you will, and I will not have my son marrying an unintelligent British girl!”

Who said anything about marriage? I didn’t even know that Marc was interested in Fiona to begin with. Come to think of it though, they were dancing pretty close that night at the bar. And they didn’t leave each other’s sides the whole night.

“I assure you, Madame Rousseau, Fiona is very intelligent.”

“Coming from you, that doesn’t say much.”

I willed myself to stay planted in my seat. I so wanted to smack her across the face and slam the door on my way out.

 “Very well,” she said as she tossed my final papers into a large bin on her desk, as if they were nothing more than a piece of trash. “Since my son is of a mature age, I unfortunately cannot force him to find a new tutor, but I assure you I will not hold back my opinion when it comes to his choice in a future mate.”

A future mate? God, he’d just danced with Fiona for one night at a bar. I couldn’t imagine that Madame Rousseau had ever set foot in a bar though.
Fun
was probably a punishable word in her household.

“I will contact you after the holiday to discuss whether or not I will be proceeding with a recommendation. In the meantime, please refrain from falling asleep outside of professors’ offices. It does not matter if you are early when you are out there sleeping like a cat, Mademoiselle Summers.” She stood up and ushered me out the door without letting me say a single word.

I hated that woman.

***

After sharing my less than desirable encounter with Madame Rousseau over the phone with Fiona and confirming that Fiona was, in fact, interested in Marc, I began getting ready for my night on the town with Luc. I had been looking forward to it all day.

He showed up at my door that night wearing a crisp, sangria-colored, collared shirt, black pants, and a classy overcoat to match. He looked incredible. I had on a beautiful, short red dress that plunged down the back . . . and down the front. I had splurged on it the day after Luc had invited me to the ballet. I spotted it in a store window on rue de Passy, and despite my budget restrictions and the fact that it may have been a little too risqué for a night out in the frosty, winter air, I just couldn’t resist.

When Luc saw me, his eyes widened. “Charlotte, you look beautiful.”

My cheeks flushed and my stomach fluttered as I leaned to give him bisous. Luc dodged my cheeks and went straight for my lips. I plummeted into the depths of his warm, sweet kiss, knowing this was dangerous. But as his lips brushed over mine, I told myself that I was following one of my rules—allowing a guy to pay for a nice night out on the town. That’s all this was. A nice, innocent night out in Paris. After we came up for air, Luc helped me on with my coat, and we were off to the ballet.

As we emerged from the Opéra metro stop, the excitement in the air was palpable. Couples dressed in fancy evening attire dashed across the busy street toward the grand, old opera house, its pillars and golden sculptures towering over the square like a castle over its kingdom. To the left was the famous Café de la Paix, its deep green awning and gold lettering all lit up under the lamp posts that lined the crowded sidewalks.

My heartbeat quickened as Luc took my hand and led me up the stairs and into the opera house. It was my first time inside the theater, and I was speechless. An endless sea of burgundy seats stretched out before us while rows of golden balconies climbed up to the ceiling. Once we took our seats, I fixed my gaze up to the immense chandelier overhead and the hues of blue, yellow, green and red that swirled around it, forming a uniquely modern canvas against its majestic surroundings.

As the lights dimmed and the red, velvet curtain lifted off the stage, Luc turned to me, took my hand in his and winked. I smiled back at him, feeling overwhelmed with warmth.

I glanced over at Luc about half-way through the performance and admired his handsome, sweet face. As I felt another butterfly flutter in my stomach, I wondered if he was still seeing the girl I had heard him talking to on the phone that one day. I wondered who kept calling him at all hours of the night and why he just
had
to take those calls? And more importantly, why he had to take them alone.

Inside that cozy, gorgeous theater, with the sound of the ballet dancers’ point shoes tapping away on the stage and the feel of Luc’s warm hand wrapped around mine, I wanted to forget about all of that. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and just be with him for a while.

Later, after the curtain had gone down, and we were walking toward our dorm, Luc wrapped his arm tightly around me and asked, “You are going home for the holiday, no?”

“Actually, I’m staying in Paris,” I told him as the bitter night air ran a shiver down my spine.

“You are not going to see your family?”

“No, I don't feel like dealing with that whole mess. Plus my parents won't even be in the same state. So, I’m just staying here.”

“If you do not already have a plan for the holiday, you can come to stay with my family for Christmas. There is someone . . . euh . . . some people who I would really like you to meet.”

I opened my mouth, the word “yes” dangling so heavily at the tip of my tongue, I could almost taste it. I liked Luc . . . I liked him a lot. And I wanted to place my trust in him. But despite the enchanting evening we’d just spent together, I knew firsthand that life wasn’t a fairy tale like the one we’d seen on the stage. The images of Jeff's online dating profile ingrained in my head were solid proof of that.

Plus Luc was still hiding something . . . or someone.

Even though I was about to violate my rule of not having serious discussions, I had to find out some answers.

“That's really sweet of you to offer, but I have to ask you something first. Do you have a girlfriend . . . or are you still in love with your ex-wife?”

“No, of course not. My ex-wife is . . . well, she is not a nice person. And no, I do not have a girlfriend. Do you have a boyfriend? That guy who I met some months ago?”

“No, I’m not with anyone. That was just a date. It's just all of the phone calls and everything with you. What is going on, Luc? I've told you about my engagement, the break-up, my parents' divorce. What are you not telling me?”

Luc took a deep breath and avoided my gaze for a few seconds. “It's complicated, Charlotte. I know this will be difficult to understand, but I can't tell you right now. Not yet anyway. I'm sorry.”

“If you can't even tell me what's really going on with you, I don't understand why you would ask me to spend Christmas with your family.”

“I am asking you to spend Christmas with my family because I like you Charlotte. I love spending time with you. You make me happy. And I do not have another woman in my life, I promise you.”

If I took one step closer, I was going to fall even harder for Luc than I already had . . . which was exactly the reason why I couldn't say yes.

I couldn't bear to be hurt again.

 “Luc, I like spending time with you too. But I’m not looking for a relationship right now, especially one where we can't be completely honest with each other. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

Luc removed his arm from my shoulders while the corners of his mouth dropped into a full-out frown. And even though I knew I shouldn't have felt bad for turning him down, I kept babbling to soften the blow. “Plus, I already told Lexi I’d have Christmas dinner with her and her brother. Her parents are off traveling, so her brother is flying in for the holidays, and they invited me to spend Christmas with them.” This was only partly true. Lexi had mentioned to me that she wanted to introduce me to her brother, Brad, who would be in Paris over Christmas, but she hadn’t actually invited me to have dinner with them. I assumed that she would though, and even if she didn’t, I couldn’t say yes to Luc’s invitation.

Luc didn’t say a word as we took the elevator back up to our rooms.

When we reached my door, I turned to him. “Thank you so much for tonight. The ballet was beautiful. I . . . I’m sorry if I've hurt your feelings.”

Luc gazed at me, his big chestnut eyes not masking their hurt. “It's okay. I understand. How can I expect you to want to come home with me when I cannot tell you everything about myself? I guess I had hoped that you would trust me anyway. But it was stupid of me to think like that. I am glad you liked the ballet, and I hope you have a good Christmas.” Without kissing me goodbye, he turned around and let himself into his room.

I collapsed on my hard bed, wondering if I had made the right choice. Wondering if I should’ve just said yes? I felt torn, but I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t ready to meet Luc’s family. We weren’t even together, and there was so much he hadn’t explained to me. So he said he didn’t have another woman in his life, but how would I know? I gave him a chance to explain the phone calls, and he refused. How could I trust him? I had to follow my own advice. So, instead of feeling bad about the situation, I pulled up my blog, read through my past posts and all of the encouraging comments I’d received, and then kept working on the draft of my article for
Bella Magazine
. Thousands of women were going to read this article in a few months, so I had to stay strong. I couldn’t cave in to the pressure to be in a relationship just because one guy liked me and wanted to be with me. How did I know he wouldn’t turn out to be just like Jeff in the end?