Find Me in Paris

Chapter 15

Fifteen

CAMILLE

The first thing Camille did when she woke up on Saturday was the same thing she had done every morning since arriving in Paris. She checked her phone for any texts or missed calls from Flora—and Rupert—and then she sent Flora a good-morning text.

And then she spent a solid twenty minutes scrolling her photos, telling herself she was just looking at the ones of Flora, even though Rupert was featured in so many of them. She had even zoomed in on his face, her chest tightening every time she saw his broad smile and the way it made the corners of his eyes crinkle. The way his entire face lit up when Flora was in his presence.

Tossing the phone onto the bed, Camille pushed back the duvet and stood, stretching her back and sneaking a glance out the window into the neighboring buildings, all nearly identical, differentiated by the plants that lined the iron balconies. It was slightly overcast, meaning the weather could probably go either way, and Camille found herself hoping for sunshine, if only because it would make it easier to spend a day wandering. She’d already hit all the museums, getting lost in each one, purposefully winding her way through the halls without bothering with a map, aching for anything to distract her from the constant thoughts of her family.

Because that’s what Flora and Rupert were, weren’t they? However unconventional, however misunderstood. They were her family.

And that was why she had to protect them at all costs. Especially Flora.

For her daughter’s sake, she would stay strong. Stay the course. Preserve their wonderful life. It was and always had been.

She wouldn’t long for more. Because she’d learned a long time ago that when you wished for more, and dared to go for it, it usually only ended in disappointment.

Her sisters were already awake and dressed when Camille left her bedroom—purposefully not taking her phone with her.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Isabelle teased.

Camille gave a guilty smile. “I needed the extra hours. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

That was an understatement. She’d been awake from one o’clock onward, her mind racing, her thoughts alternating from Flora to Rupert. She’d only finally found sleep once the sun began to rise, and now she’d slept the morning away.

“Get dressed and join us!” Isabelle told her. “We’re going out to lunch.”

“You’re not going into the gallery?” Camille remarked. Isabelle had been gone from dawn to dusk the day before and Sophie had, too, on yet another date with Gabriel—leaving Camille to think far too much about how much she missed Flora. And Rupert.

Isabelle stood and moved into the kitchen to rinse her coffee cup. “Maybe I will later, but it’s already Saturday, and we haven’t had a meal together in days.”

And this was supposed to be a bonding trip. Sister time , Camille believed were Isabelle’s exact words. And exactly what Camille needed to keep her mind busy. She’d just been lonely, and she could only work for so many hours each day. Yes, a day of fun would cure everything and clear her head. She had no doubt that by the time she went to bed tonight, she’d sleep like a baby.

She went back to her bedroom, quickly dressed, pulled her hair back into a low ponytail, and put on a bit of mascara and lipstick, then, eyeing the phone, cursed to herself and stuffed it into her handbag, telling herself that as a mother, she had to be reachable and that she would look at it only if she was contacted by Rupert or Flora.

Rupert and Flora who probably already made breakfast this morning, like they usually did on weekends. What would it be today? Eggs and toast? But no, Rupert would probably want to do something more special, seeing as it was just the two of them.

Just the two of them. Something about that statement didn’t sound right. Not when she wasn’t there, a part of the laughter and the mess. The plans for the day.

Nonsense! Camille pushed out into the hallway and hurried to the front door. “Where to?” she asked before hurrying down the stairs while her sisters took the elevator.

Once they were settled at a table at a pretty café around the corner from the apartment, their drinks in front of them, their food ordered, Camille focused her attention on Sophie, because it was certainly easier than thinking of herself.

“How was your day with Gabriel yesterday? You must have gotten in late. You were still out when I got home. Same with you,” she said, giving Isabelle a pointed look.

“I was at work,” Isabelle said airily, but she didn’t meet her eye. She turned to Sophie. “Has Gabriel said any more about the final painting?”

“I know he hopes to finish it this weekend,” Sophie said, but Isabelle looked only mildly relieved by that news.

“You’ll believe it when you see it?” Camille gave her sister a little smile. “Maybe you’re not quite as trusting as I thought you were.”

She eyed her sister, wondering if there was more going on than Isabelle was leading her to believe.

On the surface, Isabelle’s life certainly seemed perfect. She had a beautiful apartment in one of the best neighborhoods in Paris. A gallery in the heart of the city. A handsome husband who she never complained about. She never openly longed for more or expressed fault with anything.

And maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe her life was just that. Perfect.

And maybe Camille’s was not, because something was still missing. By choice, but still, missing.

“It’s okay to trust people, Camille,” Isabelle said, but again, she didn’t meet her eye. Instead, she turned to Sophie. “But I was wrong for pushing Gabriel on you, Sophie.”

“Oh, you didn’t push him on me,” Sophie protested, but Isabelle just shook her head.

“I had an ulterior motive. I did think you’d have fun. I wanted you to enjoy your time in Paris.”

“I am enjoying it! Very much!” Sophie’s smile was genuine, but Isabelle just stared at her miserably.

“What’s going on, Isabelle?” Camille asked, growing concerned. “I know you’re worried about the show, but I’m sure your artist will deliver. He has a lot at stake, too.”

Not that she would know firsthand, seeing as she’d chosen to create art on command rather than from her own heart and mind. Sure, her illustrations took imagination, and she had the books to showcase her hard work, but it wasn’t the same as a gallery show, and up until now she’d been fine with that.

It was just being back in Paris, hearing Isabelle talk so excitedly about this opening, that made her second-guess herself.

But just like with Rupert, Camille couldn’t go throwing away a sure thing. And she wasn’t going to get lost in work, consumed with ideas and the need to put them on paper. She would not put her daughter last the way Papa had done so many times.

“It’s not just that,” Isabelle said, giving her a fleeting, nervous glance. “There’s something I need to tell you both.” Isabelle inhaled deeply and then lowered her gaze.

Camille had to restrain herself from smacking the table. She knew it! She knew that something was up, that Isabelle was keeping something from her. Trouble with Hugh? She wouldn’t be surprised—well, a little, perhaps, only because it had all gone so well for this long. A problem with the gallery? She’d hate for her sister to lose something she’d poured so much into, especially when, like Rupert always said, it was all she had.

Or chose to have , Camille thought. For as much as Isabelle might think Camille had limited her journey, Isabelle was guilty of the same by never wanting children.

But the satisfaction was quickly replaced with concern. What could it be? Because from the look on her sister’s face, it didn’t appear to be good news. Was Isabelle sick? In financial trouble? Was it something to do with their mother? But surely Camille would have heard that sort of news first!

Isabelle let out a long breath. “I heard from Papa. He’s coming to town. He wants to have dinner. With all of us.”

Camille felt like she’d been doused with ice water. She stared at her sister, who struggled to meet her eye, all too aware of the pounding in her chest, the rushing of blood in her veins, and the shaking of her hands.

She couldn’t speak, and the city seemed to have gone very quiet. Across the table, Sophie was just as still.

“I should have told you sooner—”

Wait.

“You already knew ?” Camille all but shouted. Then, catching the disapproving glance from a couple at the next table, she pursed her lips and leaned forward, practically hissing. “You knew and you didn’t tell us?”

Her eyes darted around the street as if Papa might materialize at any point. She checked her watch, calculating if she could pack her bags in time to get to the station and make the last train back to London.

Heck, she’d send for her bags!

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Isabelle pleaded. “I worried that if I did then you might not come.”

Camille glanced at Sophie, who hadn’t moved and was very pale.

“Wait,” she said, turning her attention back to Isabelle. “You mean to tell us that you didn’t invite us to Paris for your gallery opening but because of Papa?”

“Of course I invited you to my opening,” Isabelle said tersely. “It’s going to be a huge event with lots of press and it means a great deal to me that you’re there, especially with Hugh…” She stopped, blinking quickly. “With Hugh not able to make it. I’ve worked hard on this show. It could really open doors for me.”

“But you knew about the dinner with Papa before you invited us,” Camille said flatly, folding her arms across her chest.

Isabelle’s sigh rolled through her shoulders. “Yes. I knew. He asked me to get us all together and it planted the seed that it might be nice for us to have some time together in Paris.”

“You know how I feel about this city,” Camille said angrily as hot tears filled her eyes. “And you know how I feel about Papa.”

She fumbled for the napkin in her lap. She would not cry. Not at this table. Not in public.

Not over Papa. She’d shed enough tears for him.

“Why does Papa want to meet with us?” Sophie finally spoke, her voice calm, as if she’d taken a moment to gather her thoughts. To zero in on the one question that hadn’t been answered.

“I don’t know why he suggested this dinner,” Isabelle said.

“When?” Camille asked, adopting Sophie’s need to get to the facts. It was far easier to focus on them than the emotions roiling inside her. “When is this so-called family meal taking place?”

Isabelle hesitated long enough for Camille to panic.

“Monday evening,” Isabelle finally said.

Meaning she could still get out of Paris before he arrived. She’d leave first thing in the morning, Camille decided.

Feeling only slightly more relaxed, Camille reached for her wineglass and took a big slug before refilling it. If ever there was a time to self-medicate, it was now.

“This is concerning,” Sophie said, glancing worriedly from Camille to Isabelle.

“It’s only my second glass!” Camille replied. “And it’s France!”

“I don’t mean that,” Sophie said with a soft laugh. “I mean… Why would Papa need to see us all in person? This could be really bad.”

“I’m not sure what could be worse than having to share a meal with Paul Laurent,” Camille replied, but she, too, felt worried. A gnawing sensation took over her stomach as possibilities formed. Cancer. Weeks to live. “You didn’t think to ask why he suddenly wanted to get together?” Camille couldn’t believe that Isabelle agreed to this dinner without pressing for more information.

But then, she couldn’t believe that her sister had agreed to this dinner at all—or that she’d accepted on their behalf.

Isabelle paused. “You know Papa. He lives by his whims…”

Camille’s eyes narrowed. “I do. Meaning by now he’s probably already forgotten the dinner.”

“Or…” Sophie’s eyes were round. “Maybe he has news.”

“That was my concern,” Isabelle admitted. She glanced at each of them. “I was afraid to ask. Afraid of the answer. And…if that’s the case, it will be easier to take the news together.” She shook her head. “He sounded healthy on the phone. But I agree, it’s impossible not to worry.”

Camille snorted, snapping herself back to reality. “Like he ever worried about any of us!” It seemed unfair, to care more about a parent than they did about you. Unnatural, even. As a mother herself, she knew what it felt like to be on the opposing side. To care more about Flora than herself. To do anything and everything to protect her child and shield her from harm or pain, even if it was at her own expense.

Her mind drifted to Rupert, to the image of a happy family. And then to the thought of how easily it could all be snatched away. And who would be the biggest casualty in that case? Rupert would move on and find another girlfriend. She had her career and her sister—make that sisters, she thought, glancing at Sophie.

But Flora had only her. And Rupert. And Camille needed to ensure that nothing ever threatened that.

“And he hasn’t given you any updates either?” Camille asked Sophie.

“I haven’t talked to Papa since Isabelle’s wedding,” she replied. “He sent a few postcards, from Turkey, Greece, Croatia. I don’t even remember. They eventually stopped.”

Camille lifted an eyebrow, officially silenced.

“You seem surprised by that,” Sophie observed. “You know how Papa is.”

“Oh, do I.” Camille chuckled bitterly. “But you two seemed to be getting along so well at the reception. You even danced together. Quite a bit.”

“That was because he asked, and…it felt nice to be asked. He wasn’t exactly present much in my life since I was twelve other than some phone calls and gifts. He would promise to visit but then something always came up.” Sophie paused, looking down at the table as if searching for an explanation, and when she lifted her gaze, it was tired. Sad. “I didn’t want to say no, I suppose. Papa was paying attention to me after so many years of being absent from my life. And…he was the only person there I knew. I…think we both felt a little out of place.”

Camille felt a wash of shame, thinking of how she’d treated Sophie at that wedding, deliberately keeping her distance and being cool, not even introducing her to Flora as her aunt, but rather just as Sophie, like she could be anyone.

She hadn’t even introduced her daughter to Papa. How could she tell Flora that she had a grandfather, only to crush her little girl when he disappeared again the next day, likely never to be heard from again?

“I…just need some time to process this,” Sophie said, pushing back her chair.

“Are you leaving?” Camille asked in surprise, but she felt something else. Envy. Or maybe fear.

Right now, Sophie felt like an ally. Unlike Isabelle, Camille and Sophie didn’t maintain a relationship with their father. And they didn’t see the good in him either, but rather, saw him for who he was. A man who had let them down. Left them. And reappeared only when it was convenient for him.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Sophie replied.

“But—” But so many things. The clouds in the sky looked threatening. Sophie didn’t have an umbrella with her. And her sweater was thin; maybe Camille should give her her trench coat.

“It’s fine,” Isabelle said, giving Camille a warning glance.

Camille kept her mouth shut, resigned to letting Sophie go, and wishing that she could join her. But she had words to say to Isabelle. And they were easier said when they were alone.

Because just like Sophie had sensed, there was a different bond that Isabelle and Camille shared. A history, a life that Sophie had never been a part of.

“I trusted you,” she said once Sophie had rounded the corner, the words causing her entire body to tremble. “Out of everyone, I thought you were the one person in this world that I could trust.”

Only now she realized her error. There was no one in this world she could trust. No matter how much you loved someone or thought they loved you, they always found a way to let you down.

And she’d be best to remember that before she slipped again.

Isabelle didn’t argue this time or try to defend herself; she simply nodded because she knew that it was true.

Only maybe it was only partly true. Maybe there was another person that Camille had trusted—or could trust. Or wanted to, at least.

And just like that, all her strength seemed to fall into a puddle at her feet, just like it had when she was six years old and their father walked out the door of their apartment and never came back. She’d cried into Isabelle’s arms then, let herself be held, rocked, and comforted.

And she needed that again now, only Isabelle wasn’t the one who could deliver.

But someone else would. He always had. And even if she didn’t want to depend on anyone right now, in this moment, when someone she’d cared about had betrayed her in the worst possible way, she needed to know that someone she loved still cared about her on some level.

That one person would still stand by her and pull through.

“I have to go,” Camille said, pushing back her chair.

She didn’t even make it to the next intersection when she pulled out her phone and called Rupert.

“Hey!” he answered in his usual bright and cheerful voice, which immediately made Camille want to weep with relief.

She sank onto a bench at a small corner park, her back to the busy street. “Hey.”

“Uh-oh,” he said, hearing the crack in her voice. “Is something wrong?”

Only everything , she thought. She opened her mouth to start to tell him the whole horrible story about her father, and Isabelle, how she’d been led here under false pretenses, and that the one person in the world she thought she could trust had not only let her down but lied to her, in the worst possible way.

Rupert wouldn’t need an explanation for just how deep of a betrayal this was. He’d understand, just like he’d understand why the mere thought of seeing Papa would send shock waves through Camille’s body.

He’d tell her to come home. That he’d be waiting, with Flora, and a hot meal. There would be a fire in the hearth, a glass of wine on the table, and a cake that Flora probably helped him bake in honor of her return. Or maybe they’d go down to the pub instead, where they’d sit at their usual table, nestled in the back, near the window, devouring fish and chips until their stomachs were full and their hearts felt a little less heavy. And she would go. Immediately. And by the end of the night, somehow they’d be laughing, and all the pain, and all the fear, and all the sadness would be gone.

And there would just be happiness. Comfort.

And…love.

She opened her mouth to tell him what had just happened, but then she heard music in the background, and people, and she realized that Rupert wasn’t at home, but out, with Flora, no doubt.

“It’s just been…” She swallowed hard. There was too much to tell in a short conversation, and she’d caught Rupert at a bad time.

“I know,” he said gently. “Hey, why don’t I call you back later, when it’s not so noisy? Then you can tell me all about it.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her, even as the disappointment set in. “Where are you guys?” she asked.

“We’re at a festival,” he replied as the music changed in the background, gaining traction.

“That sounds like fun!” Camille felt a pang in her chest, wishing she was there with them instead of sitting on a park bench in Paris.

And what was stopping her? She didn’t owe Isabelle anything from the way she saw it—and she certainly didn’t feel any obligation toward Papa’s dinner request. She could go back to the apartment now, while Isabelle was still out, pack her bags, and hail a taxi to the train station. She could be back home in a matter of hours, all her troubles forgotten, or at least behind her.

“I think I might—”

But just as she started to speak, Rupert said, “Hold on, Flora wants to say something.”

A second later, Flora’s excited voice came through the receiver, the smile so evident in her tone that Camille couldn’t help but feel better even as a drop of rain splashed her on the forehead, catching her by surprise.

“Mum! You should see it! There are rides and a petting zoo. With baby goats! And Dad bought a bunch of tickets for the games, and he even won me a stuffed animal. One for Maisie, too.”

“Maisie?” Camille went through the catalog of Flora’s friends, but she came up blank. Another raindrop landed on her head, and she scooted to the side of the bench, shielding herself under a tree branch. “I don’t think I remember you ever talking about a Maisie before. Is she a new friend from school?”

“She’s not my friend, she’s Dad’s,” Flora corrected her.

Another raindrop came down, landing on her cheek, but Camille felt like she’d just been punched in the chest. She blinked quickly, trying to push back the emotions that were fighting for first place. Confusion. Jealousy. Loss.

And always fear. Stone-cold, like a vise gripping her heart.

“She’s super cool,” Flora went on as Camille nodded along, swallowing hard, her mouth too dry to speak. “Oh! We’re about to try another ride. Do you want me to pass you back to Dad?”

“No!” Camille blurted, finding her voice just when she needed it. “I mean… No, honey. You go and have fun. And reach out later. Tell me all about it.”

“I will, Mum! Every single detail!” Flora said cheerfully before disconnecting.

Every single detail. Of a day spent at a festival. With Rupert. And his new “friend.”

Camille sat on the bench, clutching the phone, as the rain fell harder, soaking the shoulders of her trench coat, and plastering her hair to her head, until she didn’t know where the rain stopped and her tears began.

The last time she’d cried had been here, in Paris, as she’d looked back at the city that she’d sworn she’d never see again, the city she’d loved with all her heart. The city where all her happiest memories had taken place, and where all her worst ones had happened.

And she knew then and there that coming back had been a mistake. But it was one that she’d chosen. She’d asked for this—not just for the details of the day at the festival, but for this scenario. One in which she was free and so was Rupert. One in which there was space for someone to enter his world and take her place.

She’d come here and let it happen. And now she didn’t know how she could bear it.