The Paris Game (12 page)

As Marc came up the last flight of stairs, she saw that he had a bag in each hand. She met him at the top and slid her hand into the handles of one bag, over his fingers. It gave her an excuse to touch him. He ceded the bag to her and she nearly dropped it when she felt its weight.

“Did you empty your wine cellar?” she asked. He used his free hand to draw her closer.

“Not even close.” He bent his head to kiss her cheeks and she closed her eyes, finding herself savoring his closeness. “You’re looking lovely this evening.” His hand slid lower on her back, over the belt loops of her jeans and into one pocket. It would be so easy to go back, just like old times. Her eyes snapped open and she stepped away.

“Enough of that,” she chided him. He withdrew his hand.

“Après vous, ma chère.”

When they stepped inside, Jerome let out a whistle. “About time, Perron! My glass has gone dry!” He held up his tumbler. Sera heard Marc chuckle.

“I’ll give you a bottle all to yourself,” he told Jerome. “If your lovely wife allows.” He gave Anna a kiss on the cheek as she emerged from the kitchen.

“He’ll take a bottle anyway, so best just to give him one,” Anna told Marc, looking fondly at her husband, who took two bottles from Marc’s bag and brought them to the table. “Sera, the artichokes and butter will be ready shortly. Should we bring them out?”

“Yes, let’s.” Sera and Anna each grabbed a pair of plates and set them on the table. Anna went back for the dishes of melted butter. Marc had finished opening the wine and as promised, he set a full bottle in front of Jerome, who grinned and started filling his glass. Sophie was laughing.

“I didn’t think you’d actually give him one!”

“It’s easier for everyone,” Edouard said. “He gets fussy without it.”

“More wine, Colette?” Marc inquired. She held out her glass.

“Merci, monsieur.”

“We’ve known each other for years Colette—won’t you ever just call me Marc?”

Sera sat down next to Colette, who had given Marc a hard look. Maybe it was better if she kept the two of them apart, and Marc couldn’t do anything with Sophie if he were sandwiched between her and Anna.

“Not a chance,” Colette replied. Marc shrugged and took the seat next to Sera. She picked a leaf off the artichoke and dipped it in butter.

“How do you eat these?” Sophie was holding a leaf, looking puzzled. Marc pulled a leaf of his own and held it up for Sophie.

“Dip it into the butter,” he instructed, “then scrape your teeth over the soft part at the bottom.” He slid the leaf into his mouth, his lips closing gently over the fleshy end, and Sera tried not to roll her eyes. His teeth drew over the flesh and he removed the leaf, slowly licking the excess butter from the tips of his fingers. Colette shook her head. Sera wanted to take back her invitation. Of course he’d find a way to flirt even over something as simple as artichokes.

“Or, if you don’t want to be quite so dainty, just copy Jerome’s technique,” Colette quipped. Jerome had made his way through half a dozen leaves, but he’d just bitten the ends off.

“That works too,” Sera said. She nibbled on the leaf she’d picked and set aside the remainder. She wasn’t hungry. Marc’s little flirtation had soured her appetite.

“I wish the kitchen at the club would make these,” Edouard said. His fingers were shiny with butter and he sucked them into his mouth one by one. Colette handed him a napkin from the holder in the centre of the table and then tossed one across the table at Jerome. It hit him in the forehead.

“Merci, Colette. What would I do without you?”

Anna picked up the napkin from where it had fallen and put it on her husband’s lap. Sera wished she had a relationship like theirs, one of love and caring. With Anna and Jerome, love was simple, almost easy.

“What would you do without Anna, you mean,” Colette replied. “She’s much more patient than I ever would be.”

Jerome smiled at Anna. He leaned closer for a kiss, but she pushed him away, laughing.

“Wipe your mouth first,” she told him. He grabbed his napkin and did as she asked, then presented his lips for a kiss. She gave him the kiss he’d requested, but dabbed her own lips afterwards. “You missed some.”

Sera got up to check her stew, leaving the lovebirds. She gave it a stir and turned the heat down. As she sliced up the baguettes, she listened to Edouard and Marc’s conversation.

“I can’t believe she called you dainty,” Edouard said. She heard Marc laugh.

“Better a dainty eater than being compared to Jerome.”

Sera shook her head in amusement as she heard Jerome protest. She brought in a plateful of bread and Anna’s salad before the conversation could get out of hand.

“But aren’t musicians supposed to be a bit dainty?” Sophie asked Colette.

“A flautist I knew once had very dainty habits,” Colette replied.

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Jerome quipped. Anna gave him a smack on the shoulder.

“Jerome, that’s rude.”

“And you’ve shocked our guest,” Colette said with a glance at Sophie, who had gone pink when she had realized the meaning.

“Since we’re talking about musicians,” Edouard interrupted, looking at Marc, “When will you play with Sera at the club next?”

“Is Jean asking again?” Marc joked. “I only play upon special request. I won’t up Royale’s profits out of the goodness of my heart.”

“If there is such a thing.”

Sera sighed. She’d wanted a hand in keeping Marc occupied, but sharp remarks wouldn’t help. “Patrice just doesn’t quite have the skill to do solo performances,” she told Marc. “He’s too shy.”

“We can play together whenever you want,” he replied. She felt her cheeks flush and hoped no one had noticed. Marc had, however, and he laid his hand on her leg, his fingers caressing the inside of her thigh. A little further up and he’d brush the soft hollow where his thumb had rested on Friday night.

“Do you think Royale makes a lot of money from the club?” she asked Marc, trying to distract him. She pulled his hand away from her thigh, and he gave her a knowing look.

“He more than breaks even, but I have no idea of the state of his finances. He owns more than just Le Chat Rouge. I’m sure his other investments help keep the club solvent.”

“I’d love a raise,” Edouard remarked.

“Can’t you ask him?” Sophie rested a hand on Edouard’s arm. Sera smiled to herself in satisfaction. That’s what she wanted to see. Every touch lessened Marc’s chances.

“I’ve never actually spoken to him before,” Edouard replied. “He’s a busy man. And I’m pretty sure that Jean doesn’t pass on those requests.”

“It’s best not to get on Royale’s bad side,” Marc noted. Did Royale even have a good side? Sera felt suddenly queasy with nervousness. She glanced around the table. Torn apart artichokes lay on their plates, surrounded by piles of leaves. She gathered the ones closest to her and reached across the table for the others, but Edouard had anticipated her and rose to his feet, plates in hand.

“Let me help you clear,” he said. They gathered the wreckage and he followed her into the small kitchen, watching as she dumped the remnants into the garbage.

“I’m so glad you introduced me to Sophie,” he said. She glanced up. He was grinning again.

“Happy to help. Are you planning to romance her on your trip home in hopes of a late night?”

“Do you think she’d be open to that?” Edouard’s eagerness was charming. He was everything a girl could wish for, and Sera wished she’d met a man like him first instead of Marc.

“I can tell already,” she said. “She’s enchanted by you. Those little touches, the glances, the smiles...she’s all yours.”

“We might not stay much past dinner then,” Edouard said. Sera reached up and took down a stack of blue and white ceramic bowls from the cupboard. She began ladling stew into the bowls, handing the first two to Edouard.

“I wouldn’t be offended in the least if you left early, so don’t worry. In fact, I’d be more disappointed if you stayed.”

Edouard laughed and went to deliver the stew. She heard a triumphant shout from Jerome, who sounded like he had already indulged a little too much in the wine.

“Does Jerome ever stop drinking?” Edouard asked her as he came back for more stew.

“Never.” Sera laughed. “Anna will have to drag him out of here later.”

She filled the final three bowls and took them out, giving one each to Marc and Colette, saving the last one for herself.

“This looks incredible,” Colette said. Sophie nodded her agreement. She had dipped a piece of bread into the stew and was just about to take a bite.

“There’s more in the kitchen if anyone wants seconds,” Sera said to the table at large.

“How long are you in Paris?” Colette asked Sophie once everyone had taken their first bites of dinner. “I think Edouard would be sad to see you go.”

“Another month,” Sophie replied, glancing at Edouard with a shy smile. “I’ll just have to make the best of the time I have, I guess. More days like today.”

“Where did you go today?” Marc asked, tearing a piece of bread in half.

“You were right about d’Orsay,” she told him. “It was more crowded than usual because people were curious about the theft. But we enjoyed ourselves anyway.”

“How were you right about d’Orsay?” Sera asked, turning to Marc. The corner of his mouth quirked up and she knew he was thinking of how he’d romanced Sophie.

“When I saw Sophie on Saturday, she was heading to the museum. I suggested that she might want to go midweek when the crowds wouldn’t be so thick and she could get a student discount.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t go Saturday,” Sophie said. “I would have been stuck in the museum while they searched for those thieves.”

“How fortunate that you changed your mind,” Sera said, giving Marc a pointed glance. She remembered the box she’d found. Did Marc have something to do with the theft? It seemed all too coincidental.

“And you were able to see the best English-language bookstore in Paris,” Marc added.

“Everything worked out perfectly,” Sophie agreed. “I only wish that I’d been able to take notes while we were at the museum today.”

“The security was heavy,” Edouard added. “Sophie had to check her bag.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Marc replied. “I hope it was intact when you got it back, Sophie.”

“Everything was still there,” Sophie said. “I didn’t think anyone would want my sketchbook.”

“You’re an artist as well?” Colette asked. Sophie shrugged.

“I dabble.”

Marc chuckled. “Don’t be so modest, Sophie.”

“You’re in good company then,” Colette told her. “Jerome, Anna and I all work in the theatre, and of course Edouard and Sera have their talents. We’re a perfect artists guild right here.”

“I do feel at home.” Sophie smiled as Edouard laid his arm over her shoulder. She leaned against him.

“If you feel enough at home, you should stay.”

Sera felt Marc shift next to her. His expression was unreadable. She glanced over at Colette and they shared a knowing look. Colette was always glad to see Marc come out second best. Sera hoped that by tomorrow she’d be able to tell Marc that Edouard had beaten him to his goal, and that he owed her €15,000. She wiped the last of the stew from her bowl with a scrap of bread.

“I could never afford it,” Sophie lamented.

“I’m sure you could find a job,” Anna piped up. Jerome laid his head on his hands and Sera wondered if he was going to fall asleep, or if he’d already passed out. One bottle of wine was empty before him, and a second stood half-empty.

“Waiting tables?” Sophie asked. “I don’t think that would pay enough.”

“You should look for an internship at one of the auction houses,” Marc suggested. “You’re an art history student and you speak two languages. They’d love you.”

Sophie gave him a grateful smile and Colette raised her brow. She turned the conversation elsewhere and Sera let herself relax. Marc couldn’t compete when Edouard sat right next to Sophie. They were leaning into each other as they chatted. She tuned out Sophie’s description of d’Orsay, glancing instead at Jerome as he shifted in his seat, pushing his bowl precariously close to the edge of the table. She reached out, but Marc caught the ceramic dish before it fell. He rose, gathering up the empty bowls, stacking them deftly. Sera moved to rise but he forestalled her, resting his free hand on her shoulder. She wanted to shrug off his touch, but didn’t move.

“Just relax, Sera. You cooked. Let someone else do the dishes.”

Colette started to get to her feet to assist, but Sera put out a hand. “I don’t want blood and carnage in my kitchen,” she said with a laugh. Colette chuckled.

“I wasn’t going to use a knife,” she told Sera, resuming her seat. “I guess Marc will just have to do all the work himself. Time to get your hands dirty, monsieur?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Sophie rose. “I’ll help,” she said. Marc winked at Sera and Colette.

“Looks like I got lucky,” he quipped. He and Sophie gathered up the bowls and plates and went into the kitchen. Sera could hear the water being turned on and the quiet murmur of conversation.