Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2) (9 page)

“No doubt.” Jeanne chuckled.

She pulled up another picture. “I forgot the
name of this street, but it’s in the most popular pedestrian area in town.”

“Who’s the guy playing the piano?”

“No clue, but he was good. I enjoyed his
music.”
Until he played the song Mat and I had danced to at Lena’s party.

Jeanne showed Daniela a few more photos, each
one awakening bittersweet memories. It had been such a weird day. Physically,
she’d spent it with Lena and Rob sightseeing and sampling Copenhagen’s food and
drink, but her mind used the tiniest pretext to daydream about Mat. The
exhibits in the ARKEN Museum reminded her of Mat’s love for contemporary art
and how he’d once droned on about some undiscovered talent from his hometown.
The City Hall building reminded her of Mat’s ambition to be mayor of Baleville.
But the worst were the people on the streets of Copenhagen. More specifically,
the men. By the end of that marathon day, Jeanne could no longer stand the
sight of the tall, sandy-haired, light-eyed Viking descendants who looked so
different from the average Frenchman.

And so much like Mat.

***

How did you avoid someone a month before the
wedding when you were the bridesmaid and the someone in question, the best man?
Had they lived in different countries—or, better still,
continents—it may have been possible. But as it was, Jeanne had no choice
but to go to Lena and Rob’s for an emergency brunch on the last Sunday of the
month. The couple had to find a new venue for the wedding, because the location
they’d booked months in advance had fallen through due to a “regrettable
misunderstanding.”

“It’s too late for any Parisian venue,” Lena
said, placing a steaming coffee pot on the table. “As soon as they hear the
wedding is in three weeks, they just laugh at me.”

“How many guests are you expecting?” Jeanne
asked.

“A hundred and twenty, give or take.”

Jeanne wrinkled her nose. “Hmm. That’s way
beyond what
La Bohème
can handle.”

“I know,” Rob said with a sigh.

“The worst is that Dad is going to say we
should’ve let him take care of everything.” Lena threw her hands up in despair
before turning to Rob. “If we eat humble pie, I’m sure he can organize
something in Moscow.”

Rob gave her a miserable look. “I’m sure he
can. And I have no doubt it would be a
grandiose
event. Christ.”

Mat swallowed his last piece of toast and
wiped his fingers with a napkin. “Everybody, stay calm and eat croissants. I
have a plan.”

Three pairs of eyes stared at him in hopeful
silence.

“After we sign the certificate at the town
hall here, get the photos taken and grab a quick lunch, we’ll drive to
Normandy. The guests can carpool or take the train.”

“You think we can get a large enough place
there on such short notice?” Rob asked.

“I don’t think, I know,” Mat replied with a
smug smile. “My mom is friends with a priest at Saint-Pierre, a Benedictine
abbey not far from Baleville. She talked to him yesterday, and he said he can
squeeze you between two other ceremonies.”

Lena clapped her hands, and Rob grinned.

Mat raised his hand. “There’s more. I talked
to the charming hotel near the abbey. The manager is a client.”

“And?” Lena looked at him as if he were a
messiah.

“It’s a go, both for the reception hall and
the rooms. You need to travel there as soon as you can, make the payments, and
discuss the details.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Rob said.

Lena beamed. “You just lifted a ton off my
shoulders. Thank you so much, Mat!”

“Don’t mention it. That’s what the best man
is for, after all.”

At around two Jeanne stood to leave. “As much
as I love your company guys, I’m working this afternoon.”

“I need to get going, too,” Mat said.

As they walked out of the building, Mat
cleared his throat. “May I walk with you to
La Bohème
? It’s on my way to
the train station.”

“That’s not where I’m headed,” Jeanne said.

“Oh. OK.”

“I need to stop by Casa Shop to buy curtains
for my apartment,” she explained to sweeten the pill. And regretted her charity
a second later.

“I know that shop! It’s only ten minutes’
walk from the
Gare Saint Lazare
,” Mat said, perking up. “So we’re going
in the same direction.”

Jeanne shrugged.

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

“How have you been, Jeanne?” Mat asked.

“Great,” she said.

“Still going out with Didier?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Of course.”

A few more minutes passed in silence. Jeanne
stole a glance at Mat. He studied the buildings along the street, his lips
pressed in a hard line.

“Louis Napoleon had that one built for
factory workers.” Mat pointed to stately white building.

“How generous of him,” Jeanne said.

Mat gave her his crooked smile. “In exchange,
the workers were ordered to vote for his majesty’s candidate.”

“Is it one of the tacks they teach you at the
School for Aspiring Politicians?”

“Only these days you’re supposed to do it in
subtler ways.”

Jeanne tut-tutted. “Damn democracy.”

Another 500 meters and we part ways
.

At the crossing of rue de Rochechouart and
rue de Maubeuge, Mat stopped in his tracks and dashed after a scruffy teenage
boy. Flabbergasted, Jeanne watched him catch up with the youth, grab his arm,
and turn him around.

“Give me that purse,” Mat said.

“Easy, man! You’re hurting me.” The teenager
rubbed his arm and handed Mat a tattered purse.

Mat took the purse and returned it to the
middle-aged Roma beggar hovering nearby.

“Can I go now?” the young thief asked, trying
to wriggle his arm free.

“To do what? Attempt another theft?”

The youth jutted out his chin in defiance.

“I see. Well, you can certainly continue
snatching purses,” Mat said. “Until you get caught and spend a couple years in
juvie.”

The teenager rolled his eyes as if to say,
I’ve heard it before.

Mat smirked. “A sweet-faced boy like you, I’m
sure you’ll have a lot of
fun
in juvie. When they let you out you’ll
burglarize a dozen apartments. Then you’ll go to a
real jail
for a few
years. When you’re out, you’ll graduate to armed robbery—I hear jewelry
boutiques are an easy target—until they finally lock you up for a very,
very long time.”

Jeanne stared at Mat.
Where’s he going
with this?

“But I have a better idea,” Mat said with a
smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Take a shortcut. Skip all the intermediary
trouble. Join a serious gang right away and rob Cartier while you’re young.”

The teenager’s mouth fell open.

Jeanne raised her brows in disbelief.

“When you’re released after your maximum
sentence, you’ll still have a few years of relative health to enjoy,” Mat said.
“Before you sit on a sidewalk vent and beg for a coin. Like the woman you stole
that purse from.”

The youth squirmed, wiped his nose with his
sleeve, and twisted his head to look at the beggar.

Mat let go of him. “Think about it!” he
shouted as the boy scampered away.

He walked over to the woman, dropped a
one-euro coin into her paper cup, and returned to Jeanne’s side.

“Confess,” she said as they resumed their
walk. “At nightfall you don a red cape and roam the streets of Baleville in
search of offenders and lost souls.”

Mat smirked and pressed his index to his
lips. “Shh.”

“Now I understand why you’re vying for the
mayor’s office.”

“And why’s that?” he asked, a twinkle in his
eyes.

“So you can have a legitimate excuse to
indulge your interventionist do-gooder tendencies.”

“Hmm. I never thought of it that way, but you
may be right.” He gave her a happy grin.

Jeanne’s cheeks warmed and her mouth itched
to grin back.

She looked away. “You shouldn’t have given
money to the woman though,” she said. “Didier claims it’s a mafia system. The
women have to hand over their ‘earnings’ to the clan chief who arranged for
them to come to France.”

“It can’t be excluded.”

“So you’d agree it was useless to give her
money?”

“No.”

Jeanne turned to look into his eyes.

Mat shrugged. “First, Didier’s theory won’t
apply to every case. Second, if she can keep a small share of what people give
her, it’s fine by me. Imagine the misery where she comes from. Imagine what her
alternatives are to make begging in this weather a better option.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Jeanne
muttered and realized they’d reached the Casa Shop.

Finally.

Or was it too soon?

They lingered for a few awkward moments by
the entrance until Mat said, “It was great to see you.” He gave Jeanne the
customary cheek kiss.

She didn’t turn her head or move her lips to
participate in the ritual. “Good luck with your campaign,” she managed in lieu
of a good-bye.

Mat nodded and rushed away.

Jeanne lifted her eyes skyward.
Why does he have to be
good
on
top of being a hunk?

As she shopped for curtains, she tried to imagine Mat in a ridiculous
comic-book superhero outfit—formfitting tights and all. For more impact,
she made said tights bright pink and shimmery.

It worked for three seconds, before her treacherous mind zoomed in on his
athletic legs.

And then the bulge between them.

***

Chapter Seven

April

The following weeks zoomed by like the TGV
train to Marseilles. Mat hardly had a spare minute between his election
campaign, day job, and helping with the wedding arrangements.

Then the wedding day arrived. A small crowd
of over a hundred people attended the official ceremony in Paris and then drove
to Normandy on the congested A13. That they managed to make it to the abbey on
time was a minor miracle.

Mat allowed himself to relax only after the
last guest took entered the hotel’s spacious dining room. He looked around.
Everyone appeared a little tired and happy for this chance to replenish their
energy depleted by the long day.

He and Cécile were seated at the central
table with the newlyweds, Rob’s family who’d come from Jura and Lena’s from
Russia. Lena’s maid of honor sat
across from them. With her
date
.
Or should he call Didier her
boyfriend
? The headwaiter wore a well-cut
suit and acted as if he belonged with Jeanne.

And Jeanne . . . Jeanne was
ravishing in a strapless emerald green dress, a silky wrap thrown around her
slender shoulders, and her hair pulled back into a loose romantic updo
.

For Christ’s sake, stop staring at her
.

“Did you enjoy the day so far?” he asked
Cécile, after he finally peeled his gaze off Jeanne.

“I did. It was a good idea to do it here,”
she replied with a sweet smile. “By the way, I think you’re expected to deliver
your speech now.”

He collected his thoughts and tapped the side
of his wine glass with a spoon.

After everyone quieted and turned to him, he
began.

“Dear Lena and Rob, you can pack away your
slingshots and relax. I
do not believe
it’s the duty of the best man to
tell embarrassing stories about the couple in front of family and friends.”

Rob beamed and Lena chuckled.

Mat gave them a grin. “Not for lack of
material, as you would no doubt agree. But because I’m farsighted. Literally
and figuratively.”

Half of the table cheered at that, while the
other half booed.

“So instead, my dear friends, I’m going to
make the most truthful statement I’ve ever made in public.” He cleared his
throat. “Lena and Rob, your love is one of those rare, magical things that’s
impossible to talk about without sounding like a sappy cornball.”

Several people giggled.

Mat raised his eyebrows. “You want proof?”

He pulled from his pocket and waved three
pages of crossed out notes. “See?”

He turned back to the newlyweds. “But I will
say this before I let you guys go back to your meal. Your journey to this day
has been long and bumpy. So much, that each of you got very close to giving up
at some point. But you didn’t. You persevered because what you share is
stronger than any obstacle you may face. Your union is based on a love that’s
brave, pure, and forgiving. That kind of love is the most solid foundation a
marriage can have.”