Frankie pressed her lips together. “I thought you should know. He’s been in all the newspapers, on the gossip sites…” She paused. “Looks like he’s partying it up.”
My eyes widened as I stared at her. He was…partying? Oh. A renewed burst of anger invigorated me, and I sat up. “Well, I’m glad to hear he’s not taking what happened too hard.”
Frankie’s brow furrowed, and she shrugged. “He looks drunk in most pictures.”
“Women hanging off him, I suppose,” I muttered.
She bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah.”
A spear of sorrow pierced my heart, but I gathered my inner strength—my inner Adélaïde—vowing not to crumble. If Adélaïde could remain strong through all she’d experienced, I could, too. I would.
* * *
“Wow,” Frankie said as she came up behind me, where I stood before the mirror. “If those crusty researchers don’t notice you in this, there’s truly no hope for them.”
I laughed, running my hands down the handmade, champagne-colored lace dress interwoven with gold beading. The lace pattern featured hundreds of roses, all intertwined, from the floor to the bodice, and there was a delicate gold belt at my waist. It was beyond stunning—a true work of art—and it hugged my body as if it had been made just for me.
When Frankie had first brought it home, I’d noticed the roses—they were subtle, and you had to look closely to discern the flower pattern at all—and I’d been tempted to reject it for that alone. But the longer I’d stared at it, something inside me had warmed. The roses…that weekend…it was a good memory, and despite how Callen and I ended, I wanted to hold that part of us close. Roses had scented that weekend, and now I would wear roses as I officially said goodbye to the Loire Valley and to him.
I would be brave despite my heartache. Though I would never learn the final pieces of her story, Adélaïde had taught me that. Jehanne herself had taught me that.
Frankie looked at me thoughtfully in the mirror, her eyes traveling from my gold strappy heels to my makeup to my twisted updo. “Something’s missing.”
I frowned, glancing back at the mirror. The only jewelry I had on was a pair of gold teardrop earrings. The neckline of the dress was too high to wear anything around my neck. “What?”
“Stay there.” She turned and walked quickly out of the room, and I heard our apartment door open and close. I waited, confused, until she came back a minute later, breathing heavily from apparently running up the stairs, with a white rose in her hand. “Mrs. Bertrand’s garden,” she offered in explanation before bringing the rose to the back of my hair and clipping it in.
I turned, looking at the white flower pinned neatly in my hair.
“Perfect,” she said.
The doorbell rang. “That must be Ben,” I muttered, glancing at the clock and heading toward the door. Ben stood on the other side, handsome in a black tux.
“Wow,” he said, his eyes sweeping over me. “You look incredible.”
Frankie laughed from behind me, nudging my shoulder. “Told you.” She stepped forward. “I’m Frankie.”
Ben grinned. “Nice to meet you.”
“Will you be up when I get back?” I asked as I walked into the hallway.
“God, I hope not. Have some fun,” she said, smiling and winking.
I released a breath. “Okay. Night, Frankie.”
Frankie waved, shutting the door.
Down on the street, a limo was waiting for us. “Ben. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. We were in a dusty basement for a month. We deserve one night in high style, don’t you think?”
I smiled. “Good point, and thank you.”
Sparing no expense, the banquet dinner was held at one of the most luxurious hotels in Paris. Not only would the team I’d worked with in the Loire Valley be in attendance, but many top administrative staff members from the Louvre, as well as donors who had helped fund the project, would be there as well. Maybe I’d even make a connection that could lead to a permanent position.
The ride was relatively short, and when our limo pulled up in front of the hotel, I had to admit how decadent it felt when a doorman opened the door and took my hand to help me out.
Ben and I followed the line of people dressed in elegant evening wear entering the building and stepped into the massive foyer, resplendent in gold and marble, with glittering chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and enormous vases of fragrant flowers everywhere. Roses, of course. Naturally the place would be decked out in roses. I sighed, a soft sound that I hoped Ben couldn’t hear, and forced a smile to my lips.
Ben led me up the stairs to the ballroom, which was even more beautifully decorated, with draping white tablecloths on the long tables, candles set on mirrors to reflect the light, and tall, clear-bottomed vases that overflowed with roses and ivy. Everywhere I looked, soft lights glowed and sparkled, bouncing off the paneled walls. The entire space appeared magical. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
Ben nodded. “It is.” He pointed toward the bar. “Do you want a drink?”
“Just water for now. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I’ll be drunk if I drink a glass of wine before dinner,” I said on a laugh.
Once we had our drinks, we wandered out a side door that led to a sweeping balcony. A few people were milling about, but I didn’t see anyone I knew.
As we moved to the edge of the balcony, Ben pointed off into the distance. “Look.”
I turned my head and spotted the Eiffel Tower, just lighting up. I sighed with pleasure. “That sight will never get old.”
He smiled, leaning on the balcony ledge and looking at me. “There’s no city in the world more beautiful than Paris.”
I nodded my agreement as I gazed at the sight of that famous tower, sparkling against the nighttime sky. “Do you ever consider moving here?” While we’d been working, I’d learned that Ben lived in Marseille, a city in southern France. He’d been recommended to Dr. Moreau because of his specialty, but he had a permanent job waiting for him at home.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment. “Sometimes. But I like living near my family, my brothers and sister and all their kids. I’d miss watching them grow up.”
“You’re close to them.”
“Yes, very.”
I nodded. How wonderful to have that kind of loving support. “You’re lucky.”
He considered me for a second. “I know. I don’t take them for granted. What about you? Is your family still in California?”
“My dad and his new wife and my brother are, yes. But we’re not…close.” I did talk to my brother occasionally, but mostly about superficial things. Both of us had sought to be anywhere but at our house for most of our childhoods and then our teen years. Our absence from home didn’t exactly lead to a close relationship.
Sometimes the beginning of love is just a simple matter of proximity.
The words Madame Leclaire had said as Callen and I had left her inn that rainy weekend caused a sharp ache to spear my gut. I took a sip of water to keep from grimacing.
“You look so sad, Jessica,” Ben said, putting his hand over mine on the railing and taking a step closer. I glanced up, seeing the nervousness in his eyes, the concentration on his face. He was going to kiss me.
I blinked, going still as he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was sweet, mostly chaste, as he simply held his mouth over mine, brushing our lips together and then retreating.
I brought my fingers to my lips. “Ben…”
He shook his head, grimacing. “You don’t feel anything for me, do you?”
I turned my hand over and squeezed his. “I feel so much for you. I respect your mind. I admire your kindness and your humor. I think you’re one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.”
“Nice. Ugh, the kiss of death.” But he smiled kindly, if not a little bit sadly.
I shook my head. “No. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, Jessic
a. I know you just broke up with someone. I’d still hoped…” He sighed, letting go of my hand. “Well, I hope we can be friends. I value that.”
“Me, too, Ben. So much.”
He nodded, giving me another smile. “I think I’m going to go get another drink and lick my wounds at the bar. Will you be okay out here?”
“Yeah. I’ll be just fine.”
With one last squeeze of my hand, he turned and moved toward the doors we’d entered through. There was another couple standing near the doorway, but other than them, I was alone. I wanted to groan aloud. I’d had no idea Ben had any romantic interest in me. He’d never even hinted that he’d felt more than a friendly, coworker respect. Maybe he’d just been waiting for our project to end so that if I was interested, too, there wouldn’t be any worry of impropriety.
I simply wasn’t attracted to Ben as more than a friend. Did Callen ruin me for other men? Or rather, will he continue to ruin me?
A soft, tinkling sound caught my attention, and I turned, drawing in a sharp breath and freezing.
Callen. One hip leaned in the doorway of a second entrance near the end of the patio. He had a glass of amber liquid in his hand, and when he swirled it casually, the tinkling of the ice sounded again.
I backed up against the railing, my hands latching on to the edge behind me, and watched him. He pushed himself off the doorway and walked slowly to where I stood, my heart galloping in my chest at his approach.
He was wearing a tuxedo, but something about him looked far from formal. His jaw was dark with stubble, his hair was tousled and a little too long, and his bow tie was crooked and a bit loose, as if he’d recently pulled at it.
“We meet again on a rooftop in Paris,” he said, his voice slightly slurred. He’s drunk. He stepped right up to me, boxing me in.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, my pulse jumping. I could smell his cologne mixed with the singular scent of his skin, and though he looked worse for wear, he smelled the same. It caused my heart to ache with longing. No, no, no.
He inclined his head toward the door where Ben had exited just a few minutes earlier. “I see you haven’t wasted any time. Looking to find a daddy for junior?”
I frowned in confusion. “What?”
He tilted but caught himself. “I came here tonight to see if you had some news for me, Jessie.” He ran his hand over my stomach and then glanced at my water sitting on the balcony ledge next to my hand.
I let out a short, incredulous bark of laughter and pushed at him. He stumbled back a step, smiling as if in amusement. “Are you kidding me? First of all, I’m not pregnant, and if you wanted to know that, you didn’t have to crash my work party…drunk. You could have just called. Second of all, how dare you question me about who I spend my time with. You headline every tabloid. You dismissed me from your room so you could spend the night with another woman.” A small sob choked me, and my last word cut off abruptly, but I swallowed down my tears, refusing to appear weak in front of him. I took a shaky breath, lifting my chin. I was heartbroken, but I was angry, too. “I don’t want any part of your games, Callen. Just leave.”
For the briefest of moments, I swore I saw the shadow of pain blow across his expression, but then he replaced it with a drunken smirk. He took a quick sip of his drink. “You used to like games, Jessie. Adventures.”
“Yeah. I also used to like you.” Defeat was in my voice. I sounded tired. I felt tired. Exhausted, in fact. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Callen. For what I did. It was a mistake, and I regret it deeply. I’d do anything to change it, but I can’t. I’d never hurt you on purpose, and I think deep inside you know that.” I paused. He was watching me closely, though his expression was neatly blank. “But what you did to me was purposeful. And even worse, what you’re doing to yourself is purposeful.” I looked pointedly at his drink.
He laughed, and it sounded cold. I resisted cringing and squared my shoulders. He brought his glass to his lips again, and I saw, though his expression was a vacant half smile, his hand was shaking. Despite my resolve, tenderness welled inside me. “I saw you. I know who you are. I saw you as a boy, and I saw you as a man one beautiful weekend. You didn’t hide from me then. You didn’t hide from yourself.”
The amused smile on his face slipped. “Goddamn it, Jessie, that wasn’t even real. That weekend was as much a fantasy as the fairy tales we used to come up with together.”
“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?” I shook my head. “No. It was real, Callen, and you know it as well as I do. It doesn’t matter, though, because you’re too afraid to admit it. You’re too busy making a mess of your life and throwing away the gifts God gave you.”
He did laugh then, a harsh sound that contained more pain than anything else. “God? God? I’m bored of all your God talk. Take your writings and your stories and your questions to someone who cares. Joan of Arc was a crazy loon who heard voices, that’s all. There’s no God. And if there is, he’s never spared a second of time for me. Should I pray to him now, Jessie? Should I get down on my knees and beg for guidance?”
I shrugged. “There’s a saying about the best prayer being gratitude. You could thank him for the treasures bestowed upon you. You could thank him for the gift of your talent, for the means not only to change your life for the better but the ability to help others in so many innumerable ways, most especially with the way your music makes people feel. For the way it transforms and lifts and inspires. But what do you do instead? You waste it. You squander it.” I shook my head. “You’re a disgrace.”
His lips tipped up in a mocking smile, and he raised his glass. “That’s what he always said, too.”
“So you picked up right where he left off.” I sighed. “At some point you’re going to have to take responsibility for your own life, Callen, instead of blaming everyone else. At some point you’re going to have to stop being a coward. I sincerely hope you do.” I scooted away from the balcony ledge, turning my back on him and walking away. He didn’t call my name, and I didn’t look back.
I left him there to fight his battle…or not.
Because I understood now.
Some battles could only be fought alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jessica
Monday morning dawned warm and sultry; summer was in the air. The myriad scents of the Paris streets greeted me as I made my way from the train station to the Louvre: warm pavement, exhaust, fresh-baked croissants, and rich-brewing coffee.
Dr. Moreau had asked to meet with me this morning, and nervous butterflies swarmed in my belly. Ben and I had worked with him more closely during our final weeks in the Loire Valley, and he’d praised my work when we’d wrapped up at the château, so I had my fingers crossed that this meeting pertained to a job, or maybe even another temporary project. Otherwise, I’d be sending out résumés again tomorrow. I hardly had the emotional energy to job search, but a girl had to eat, and I’d do what I had to do because I didn’t have much choice.
Callen’s face flashed in my mind, the way he’d looked on the balcony of the hotel a couple of nights ago in his wrinkled tux, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t dwell on him right now. I wouldn’t. And anyway, I still felt crushed but was glad I’d said my piece to him. My heart was broken, but I’d meant what I said: he had to take responsibility for his own life. There was nothing I could do short of begging. And that wouldn’t work either. I knew from experience that people didn’t change because they were begged to do so. People changed only when they made the choice to change on their own.
I took the elevator down to Dr. Moreau’s office and rapped lightly on his door. “Entrez,” he called, and I opened the heavy, wooden door slowly.
His office was just as untidy as it’d been the first time I was there, and something about the disorderliness made me smile.
“Ah, Jessica, ma chérie, do come in.” He stood and rounded his desk, kissing me kindly on each cheek before returning to his chair. I smoothed my skirt and took a s
eat in front of him.
“How did you enjoy the banquet dinner? I’m sorry we only got a chance to chat briefly.”
“It was lovely. I met several of the donors and most of the Louvre staff.”
“Good, good. It’s what I want to talk to you about.” He smiled, and I sat forward. “An offer.” I released the breath I’d been holding, and Dr. Moreau chuckled. “Good news?”
“Yes, very.”
“Good. Your work, Jessica, is wonderful. The way you interpreted Adélaïde’s voice was not only technically accurate, but contained a level of intuition that not every translator has. Words are so”—he rubbed his fingers together as if he was thinking of them as a tangible thing—“powerful. And language, if not translated properly, never perfectly conveys the meaning of the writer. It does not speak from their heart as they meant it to do. It does not give us the essence of them. You, Jessica, helped to bare Adélaïde’s heart, and in turn, a small part of Jehanne’s as well. For a moment in time, you brought them back to life.”
His compliment made my heart thrum with joy, and I let out a soggy-sounding laugh. “Thank you, Dr. Moreau.”
“You’re very welcome. Now, about the offer. There is a position in our ancient documents department I believe would be perfect for you. I’ve recommended you for it, but you’ll have to meet with the head of the department as a formality. If you’re interested, of course.”
“Interested?” I sputtered. “Yes.”
Dr. Moreau laughed. “I hoped for as much. Here is her card. She’s expecting you tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Thank you, Dr. Moreau. I…really, I can’t thank you enough. For everything.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I started to stand, when Dr. Moreau smiled in a way I thought was just a bit mischievous. “Oh, just one more small thing.” I sat back down and looked inquiringly at him as he took a folder from his desk drawer. “Two of the writings you were meant to work on were misfiled at the field.” He shook his head. “An unfortunate mistake, though they were written on a different type of parchment and used a different color ink, so they were assumed to belong to a different project. These are copies. I’ve only glanced over them briefly. I know how disappointed you were not to have the completion of the story, and I would love for you to do the honors and translate them as you’ve so skillfully translated the others. But please send them to me the minute they’re completed.”