Kissed in Paris (21 page)

“It is totally inappropriate to take their food,” I told him as I eyed the melted cheese, wishing it didn’t smell so damn good.

Julien answered by taking a seat at an empty table, sticking a fork in a block of bread and plunging it into the fondue. “This business you have of always following the rules,” he said through a mouthful of bread, “it is no fun.” He gestured to the waiter who brought us two glasses of red wine.

 Julien lifted one of the glasses to his nose, swirled it around and took a whiff. “The wine in Annecy is exquisite. I am going to take a glass. You?”

I raised my eyebrows at him without responding.

“I take that as a no. You will regret it though. You may never come back to Annecy again, and it would be a shame to miss out on the wine.”

“I’m sure Claude probably said something like that to me the other night to get me to drink.”

“He did more than that,” Julien mumbled before stuffing another massive bite of fondue-covered bread into his mouth.

While Julien munched on his feast, I thought about what he’d just said. I still couldn’t remember much at all about the night I met Claude in the hotel bar. I could only conjure up those same images I’d had the next morning when I woke up hung-over. Claude’s voice, convincing me to have a glass of wine. Claude tipping the glass past my lips and feeding me an olive. Then a couple of fleeting images—me leading him up to my room, bumping my shoulder into the wall, and Claude putting me to bed. That was it. I didn’t remember the conversation we’d had. How many glasses I’d drunk. If he’d kissed me. If I’d talked about Paul. Or how I’d ended up
mostly
unclothed.

After Julien finished chewing, I locked eyes with him. “What did you mean when you said that Claude probably did more than that?  I thought you said he doesn’t sleep with the women.”

“I am not talking about sex.”

“What else do you think happened then?”

“Do you remember how many glasses of wine he gave you?” Julien said.

“Not really. I mean, I guess I only remember one.”

“You are probably accurate then. You probably only had one, maybe two at the most.”

“I know I don’t drink much anymore, but there’s no way one or two glasses of wine could’ve gotten me drunk enough to invite him to my room, let alone erase my entire memory of that night. It had to have been more.”

Julien shook his head. “You think a skilled con-man is only going to use a few glasses of wine to get what he wants?”

“Are you saying . . .?”

Julien nodded, tapping his fingers along the smooth white table cloth. “It is likely that Claude put something in your drink.”

“I was drugged?”

“I’m not saying for sure. But it is very possible, yes.”

I shook my head as I stared straight ahead at Julien, speechless. How could I have been so naïve? It’s not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind—I wasn’t an idiot. It was just that everything had happened so fast, I hadn’t had enough time to really consider what might’ve happened to me that night. Instead I was in survival mode, running damage control on the mess I’d created for myself back home.

“Why didn’t you mention the fact that Claude drugged me? Why is this just coming up now?”

Julien set his wine glass down on the table. “First of all, it is
probable
that he drugged you, but it is not a fact. Second of all, would it have made a difference if you had known earlier?”

“Of course it would’ve made a difference! If I had known there was a strong possibility I’d been drugged, and that was the reason I’d invited Claude up to my room, I could’ve told Paul what really happened. I could’ve gone to the police immediately, and they could’ve run a drug test to see that I was telling the truth. That I have nothing to do with whatever crazy scams Claude is pulling!”

“I hate to ruin your nice idea of how this all would’ve worked out if you had known, but it would not have gone so smoothly. I promise you, ” Julien said, his usual blasé tone disappearing.

“Whatever. I think the best thing for
me
to do at this point, whenever we get off this damn wedding boat, is to go back to the police, tell them I was drugged, and then tell Paul the truth. Because if I was drugged, how can anyone possibly think any of this is my fault?”

“You are forgetting that the police are not only after Claude, but after you as well. They think you could be working with him.”

“This is infuriating! I am as straight-laced as they come! Once they run an investigation on me, they’ll see that there’s no way I could have anything to do with a despicable human being like Claude.”

“You may be right, but by the time they finish the investigation, you will miss your wedding. This is why I am helping you, Chloe.”

“Well I’m sorry, but your help doesn’t seem to be getting me home any faster. And what about that woman? The one who died? Was
she
working with him?”

Julien’s eyes glazed over again, like he was remembering something he didn’t want to think about. “No, she was like you. She had no idea.”

“What about your super high-up government agent friend, the one who texted you my picture. What if he tells the police that I’m innocent? Wouldn’t they have to let me go home?” 

“Chloe, even my friend does not know for sure if you are innocent. Do you see? He is just keeping his promise to me because of what happened to Valérie.”

So
Valérie
was her name. Finally, a tiny detail. “I see.”

I looked past Julien out to the clear, glistening lake and wished I could jump in, swim to some remote little village in the mountains, lock myself up in a cottage, and stay there forever. Because I didn’t see how any of this was ever going to work out.

I didn’t even notice that Julien had walked back over to the food spread and filled up another plate. “You look pale,” he said, setting the plate down in front of me. “You need to eat.”

He stuck his fork into a square of bread, dipped it into the steaming fondue, and lifted it to his lips. “Mmmm,” he mumbled as he chewed. “
Délicieux.
”

I brought my focus back to the boat, to the cheerful wedding guests mingling around the deck, the sound of the French language bubbling through the air. And something about them—their unhindered joy, their contagious excitement—made me think of my mother. She had been like that. Always excited. Always rushing to embark on the next adventure. I had been like that too when I was younger . . . before she died.

I knew then, with absolute certainty, that if she were here, no matter what mess was going on in her life, no matter the fact that she was not a guest at this wedding, she wouldn’t have dreamed of letting this food go to waste.

I picked up my fork, pierced a square of bread, dipped it into the melted cheese and plunged it into my mouth.

Closing my eyes, I felt some of the stress leave my body. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

Then, for once in my life, without obsessing about breaking the rules, I reached for my glass of red wine before Julien had a chance to steal it, and took a sip. And before setting the glass down, I took another.

Julien grinned at me, and as if reading my mind, he said, “Life is short, no?”

As I let the fruity currant wash down my throat, I eyed the messy-haired French man beside me, his darkened five o’clock shadow, his distinct cheekbones. And despite this unimaginable mess I’d entangled myself in, I laughed.
Nothing
was going as I had hoped, but at least Julien had been right about one thing—the wine here
was
exquisite.

A few minutes later, the picturesque town of Annecy came into view, and the wedding cruise glided in toward the dock. Julien checked his phone as we stayed planted at our hidden little table at the back of the boat. “Camille is almost here,” he announced.

I finished my plate of food in lightning speed and felt an inkling of relief. At least we were about to get off the boat, out of Annecy and away from those police officers. And hopefully then we’d be one huge step closer to finding my passport.

I tossed my plate into the trash and stood. “I’m going to go use the restroom. I’ll be right back.” I jetted across the back deck of the boat, hoping I could make it in and out without having to talk to anyone. Inside the bathroom, there were two stalls. One was already taken, so I took the other one and moved as swiftly as I could. I made it out before the other person, and just as I was washing my hands, a soft, sweet voice sounded behind me.

“Excuse me, I think you dropped this.”

To my horror, there stood the bride. Her smile disappeared as she searched my face, no doubt wondering who I was. She held out a piece of paper for me, which I realized was the text message note. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, dread rising from the pit of my stomach.

“Are you . . . have we met?” she asked, the sweetness in her voice still present despite the confused look in her eyes.

I held out my hand. “I’m Chloe. And I . . . I . . . oh God. It’s no use. I’m so sorry. I got on the wrong boat. It was a total accident.”

“You got on the wrong boat?”

“I meant to get on a tour boat, you know, to go see the mountains, and we were rushing from . . . well, it’s a long story, but basically we meant to get on another boat and accidentally got on your wedding cruise instead. I know how awful this must seem to you. I’m an event planner, and I’m getting married this weekend! If anyone did this to me, I would be furious. Outraged. I’m so sorry.”

The bride’s big brown doe eyes focused in on me, and just when I thought she was going to whack me in the face with her beautiful bouquet of white calla lilies, she started laughing. “Don’t worry about it! I hope you had a good time while you were here.”

“Really? You’re not angry?”

“It was an accident, right?”

“Yes, trust me. I would
never
purposefully crash someone else’s wedding. It makes me sick just thinking about it.”

She smiled. “I wish I would’ve known you when I was planning this thing. It sounds like you take your job really seriously.”

“I suppose I do.”

She reached for the door handle. “Good luck next weekend with your wedding. I bet you’re so excited.”

A smile plastered across my face. “So excited,” I echoed, even though, at that moment, I couldn’t conjure up a single ounce of excitement for my own wedding day. And considering the possibility that I might actually get my passport back in a few short hours, I wasn’t sure why.

“It was nice meeting you, Chloe. I hope the rest of your trip goes well. And do me a favor. Relax a little, will ya?”

I stood, dumbfounded as she left me alone in the bathroom. I stared down at the note in my hand, and without thinking, I burst through the door. “Hey, Charlotte!” I called out.

She flipped around, her long sparkly dress swishing at her heels. “Yes?”

“You don’t speak French by any chance, do you?”

“Sure, I used to be a French teacher.”

“I know I’ve already intruded enough, but would you be willing to take a quick look at this note and translate it for me?”

She walked over and took the piece of paper in her French manicured hands. “Hmm, all together, it means,
if you want the painting, stop this woman from speaking to the police. It’s urgent.
” She handed the note back to me. “Is this from a book you’re reading? Sounds like a good one.”

“Yeah, a book. Thank you, Charlotte. You were really helpful.” The words spilled numbly from my mouth as I watched her walk away from me, my head spinning in circles.