Find Me in Paris

Chapter 16

Sixteen

SOPHIE

Sophie sat under an awning at the first café she’d spotted when the rain started, a café crème on the table beside her, along with her notebook that she kept in her bag at all times. It was ironic, she thought, that she was finally living out such a Parisian moment, and she didn’t even feel like she could enjoy it.

She wasn’t the type of person who believed in things like karma, but right now, she felt like the universe was punishing her.

She’d lied to her mother about her whereabouts. And now, the man who had hurt them the most was in town…in Paris…and coming to dinner!

A part of her was excited about the idea of seeing her father again after all this time. The other part was afraid of being disappointed again. And of course, as always, she was worried about what her mother would say if she found out.

Which was why she never could. Not about the dinner. Not about Paris.

Not about any of it.

She glanced at the screen of her phone. Her mother had left four messages today, asking for details about the conference Sophie was supposedly at, but rather than feed into the dishonesty, Sophie turned off the device. She couldn’t think about her mother right now. She had plenty of time to do that when she went home.

Home. Just thinking of going back to New York filled her with dread, and she forced herself to look around, at the people, and the buildings, and to remember where she was, to tell herself that she was allowed to enjoy it, that she wasn’t being punished.

That seeing her father was not a bad thing. Completely.

“Hello?” a deep voice said, pulling her from her darkening thoughts.

Sophie looked up to see Gabriel standing on the sidewalk under an umbrella, a bemused expression on his face.

“This is a coincidence!” she marveled, quickly moving her notebook into her bag to make room for him. “Come get out of the rain!”

“I don’t mind it,” Gabriel assured her, but all the same, he closed up the umbrella and moved under the awning.

Sophie’s mood shifted as her stomach fluttered. She wasn’t sure when she’d see Gabriel next and she’d been telling herself that was for the best. She had a boyfriend—sort of—back in New York. And an entire life there, too.

Even if more and more it wasn’t a life she yearned to return to anytime soon.

If ever.

Gabriel’s smile was guilty when he sat down. “Actually, it’s not. Isabelle called and asked me to find you. Based on your last known location and the weather, I knew I wouldn’t have to look far.”

“She sent you to track me down?” Sophie wondered if Isabelle feared her sisters might leave Paris.

But nothing could make Sophie want to leave Paris. Not even a surprise visit from Papa.

Camille, on the other hand… Sophie frowned when she considered the possibility that her middle sister might go back to London early. She hoped that wouldn’t happen, not when they were finally getting somewhere with their relationship. Sure, Camille could be a little overbearing, but it felt nice to know that she cared for once.

And, Sophie suspected, it helped to keep Camille from missing Flora, who was back in England.

“I think she just wanted me to cheer you up,” Gabriel said kindly. “Isabelle mentioned that she had to deliver some difficult news today.”

“ Difficult is one word for it,” Sophie replied.

“Maybe it was lost in translation?” Gabriel suggested. He gave a little smile, one that she would have found smug that first day. “Her French is not perfect, you know.”

Sophie laughed, and she didn’t know she was capable of that after today’s announcement.

“I didn’t know.” Everything about Isabelle had always seemed perfect, from her marriage to her relationship with Camille, to the life she was living here on the Left Bank. Even her walk to work was idyllic compared to Sophie’s smelly subway commute to Midtown. “But I think difficult is probably the word she meant,” Sophie said with a sigh. “Our father is coming to town.”

Gabriel frowned in confusion. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Not bad, but not good,” Sophie said carefully. “Just…difficult.”

“I take it you don’t have a close relationship with him?” Gabriel ventured.

Sophie paused as a waiter stopped by the table to take Gabriel’s drink order. It gave her time to consider the question—and her answer. There was a time when she was extremely close to Papa, when she would run to greet him when she returned from school. But those moments became further and further between, until one day, he was just gone.

“My father doesn’t have a close relationship with any of us,” Sophie replied. “He keeps in touch with Isabelle, but loosely, from my understanding. I’m not sure how much Isabelle has told you about him.”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said simply. “I only know him by his art, which I admire, as you know. His early work in particular was very captivating.”

Hm. Yes, that was when he was working in oils, painting colorful and unique portraits. He’d been very successful for a while, maybe too much so, because he was always trying to compete with himself, hoping to outshine his former days. He started experimenting with other mediums, which had only made him restless, constantly in search of something new and inspiring.

Sophie hesitated, unsure if Gabriel was waiting for her to open up, or if she should, but then she remembered that for whatever reason, he had come when asked.

That Isabelle had thought to call him.

That maybe this made her and Gabriel friends.

“My father was married to Isabelle and Camille’s mother for years,” she started. “Over a decade, I don’t know for sure. To hear Camille tell it, they had a perfect life here in Paris.” She paused, her anger rising when she thought of the way her middle sister had always narrowed her gaze on her, for as far back as Sophie could remember. How nothing she ever did or said was right, but rather, further proof that Sophie couldn’t make up for Papa’s disappointments.

And that maybe she had caused them.

“Though they’ve never come flat out and admitted it, it’s obvious that Papa had an affair with my mother. It could have been weeks, months, I really don’t know.” She shrugged. She’d long since given up trying to piece together the timeline of her father’s transgressions, though she was sure if she asked, Camille would be able to produce a diary complete with exact dates and time stamps. “He left their mother, married mine, and I was born a short time later.”

And she’d never been forgiven for it.

Neither, it would seem, had Papa.

“He left when I was just twelve. My mother…didn’t take it well.”

“And you didn’t keep in touch?” Gabriel frowned.

“At first, yes.” Sophie hesitated, unsure if she should stop there. It had been an emotional day already, opening up a part of her past that she had closed off for a long time. But there was another story that she had tried to write, or at least stop telling herself. One that she’d learned in time was best forgotten. “I was…I was supposed to study here in Paris, at the Sorbonne.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “What happened?”

Sophie pushed back the wave of hurt, anger, and confusion that accompanied that time in her life. She didn’t like to think about it, and spoke of it even less. Her mother certainly never breathed a word about it, and Sophie saw no point in stirring up something that couldn’t be changed or made right. Eventually, it was as if it had never happened.

“I had a scholarship. I was so excited.” She smiled, thinking back to those weeks leading up to what she thought would be the beginning of a huge adventure, the start of her life in Paris. All her hard work and hours of studying paying off for the experience of a lifetime. For a dream she had made come true.

Just as quickly, she frowned, straight to the heart, and looked at the table. She wanted to get the next words out as quickly as possible.

“My mother could only think of her feelings at that time,” she said. “She had changed after the divorce. She became closed off, bitter, and cynical. She no longer saw the world the same way, and she wanted me to see it through her lens. She still does. Me going to Paris…that was not something she could support.”

Sophie hesitated, wanting to stop as much as she wanted to get the words out. It had been so long since she’d thought back to that dark time that she almost couldn’t believe that it ever happened, that her dream had been within her reach, that she’d made it come true, only to have it be snatched away.

“She wrote to the school and told them I wouldn’t be attending. By the time I found out, the scholarship had been awarded to someone else.”

Gabriel sat back in his chair, silenced. “So you never came to Paris.”

“I never came to Paris,” Sophie whispered. “Until now.”

Even now she could remember that feeling of certainty, of knowing that something she’d worked toward for years and had finally achieved was just gone and that she was powerless to stop it. That someone she’d trusted and loved and depended on could make that decision for her, without feeling, emotion, or remorse. That was simply that. And Sophie knew it. She didn’t cry or try to argue.

It was as if by then, she’d seen how her mother had changed, who she had become, and maybe, deep down, a part of her had known all along that some dreams were never meant to come true.

Except that this one did, she thought, looking around.

She’d made it happen. Ten years later.

Sophie blinked back tears and forced a brave smile. “It turned out okay. I went to a good college, locally, of course. I got a sensible degree, something that she made sure of, which worked out, I suppose. English literature instead of creative writing, but it could have been worse. I have a good job, which she set up for me, and again, it could have been worse.”

“Sophie, everything could always be worse,” Gabriel pointed out.

Sophie thought about that for a moment but then jutted her chin defiantly. Her life had turned out fairly great by outward appearances. If anyone looking at her didn’t know her story, they’d say she had a storybook ending.

“I have a great job in a coveted industry, honestly. A nice apartment, by New York standards, in a trendy neighborhood. Great friends…”

A boyfriend, which she didn’t mention.

“It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself,” Gabriel said. “Or are you really sure that you’re living the life you want?”

She wasn’t sure of anything, only that right now she was exactly where she wanted to be.

And this time, no one was going to ruin it for her.

Not her mother.

Not Camille.

Not even Papa.

They lingered at the table straight through dinner, something that Sophie would never tire of, this different pace, so much slower than her harried life in New York, where she was always rushing to cram down a sandwich or catch the train. Afterward, Gabriel suggested a walk. “Walking the streets of Paris at nighttime is a very different experience. One that can’t be missed.”

Sophie had no desire to return to the apartment and face Isabelle, not when her chest still ached from the way Isabelle had deceived her.

They walked along the riverbank so that they could take in the view from both sides of the Seine, and seeing the buildings illuminated and reflected in the water filled Sophie with a momentary sense of peace.

Until Gabriel had to go and mention Papa again.

“Do you think you’ll see him?” he asked. “Your father? When he visits?”

Sophie considered the alternative, knowing that Isabelle would be seeing him and that Camille might not.

“The last time I saw my father was at Isabelle’s wedding,” she said. “That was five years ago. We got along fine. It was nice.”

“But then…” Again Gabriel’s smile was knowing.

A few days ago, she might have found it smug. But then, a few days ago, she hadn’t known him. She still didn’t, she supposed, but she was starting to and…she wanted to know more. About him.

About her sisters.

And this city.

“Then he disappeared.” Sophie shrugged and stopped at the famed bridge, Pont Alexandre III, beside one of the gilded statues that anchored its four points. “That’s what he does best.”

Gabriel leaned against the wall, standing so close that she could feel the heat from his body next to hers, the skin from his arm brushing against her own.

“Your father is a brilliant artist,” Gabriel pointed out. “You already know it’s one of the reasons I chose to have my first show at Isabelle’s gallery. Blatant favoritism.”

Sophie managed a smile. She couldn’t help it in Gabriel’s presence; he had a way of making her laugh even when she didn’t think she could.

“It’s his first love,” Sophie said, nodding. Then, because she couldn’t stop herself, “Maybe his only love.”

“And women?”

“His weakness,” Sophie said with a knowing smile. A breeze blew the hair from her neck as she continued to soak in the view. “But no one ever lasts. Not even his children. His art, though, never goes away. He’s always chasing it. Always creating. It’s the one thing he’s willing to fight for.”

“It’s not his art,” Gabriel said, pulling Sophie’s attention. “It’s him. It’s who he is. It’s what drives him, keeps him awake at night, and gives him a reason to get up the next morning. It’s passion, sure. It’s love, yes. But it’s ultimately just who he is. What makes him complete.”

Sophie swallowed hard. She understood. Because she’d once felt that way, too. When she was writing, it was always on her mind, even when she wasn’t at her computer or holding a pen.

And without it, something was missing. Something that had been missing for many years now.

“You know, I wasn’t always an artist,” Gabriel confided.

Sophie looked at him in surprise. “Isabelle didn’t tell me.”

Gabriel gave a small shrug. “That’s because she doesn’t know. Few do. Only those who’ve known me all my life.”

“And that would be?” Sophie realized that this was the first time Gabriel was opening up to her. “Parents? Siblings?”

A girlfriend? She didn’t ask because a part of her couldn’t bear to know. She felt a connection with Gabriel, one that made no sense and one that she couldn’t explain. She knew that she could assume it was all part of her Parisian experience, that she was getting swept away by her time here, when her real life felt so far away, almost as if it didn’t exist at all.

“A few friends,” Gabriel said. “A brother. Parents, of course.”

No mention of a girlfriend, current or otherwise.

“What did you do before?” she asked, genuinely curious. Gabriel was older than her, but still young. She’d guess his age to be somewhere around thirty-two, maybe a couple of years older, but not much.

“I was a lawyer.”

She couldn’t contain her shock when a gasp escaped her, loudly.

“I know.” Gabriel’s smile was wry. “It doesn’t fit me, right?”

Sophie stared at the man before her, the one whom she’d only ever seen in jeans, at best a button-down shirt, his hair a bit tousled at all times. She tried to imagine him in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase. Sitting behind a desk.

“It’s not fair for me to say,” she said. “I just met you.”

He gave her a small smile as their eyes met. “It doesn’t take long for two people to connect, though. To know each other on some level.”

Sophie felt her cheeks flush and she glanced down. “No. It doesn’t.”

A woman on a bike cycled by, forcing Gabriel to move closer, enough for their hips to touch and for Sophie to sense the heat of his body. Their faces were close when he looked down at her, his lips not far from hers, and she lingered for a moment, wondering…

Clearing her throat, she took a small step back.

“Why did you go into law?” she asked. It seemed the more obvious question than why he left to paint.

“My father was a lawyer. My brother, too. It was the natural path. I was good at it, too. I’m told that I can make an excellent argument.”

They shared a smile.

“But I was also miserable,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly.

A chill went down Sophie’s spine when she thought of her desk job, how she wasn’t quite miserable, but she was far from fulfilled. How every time she read a new manuscript, she longed to write one of her own.

And not just write one, but finish it, too. To do what she’d set out to do. To be the person she not just hoped to be but needed to be.

“So you quit?” she asked breathlessly, wondering if it was just that easy. If she, too, could dare to do the same.

He shook his head, all at once deflating her hope. “I stayed with it. Joined my wife’s father’s firm. She was an attorney, too. We met in law school.”

Sophie stared at him as his words hit her. Hard. “You were married?”

Meaning that he wasn’t anymore. He was divorced. Or—

“I moved here after my divorce,” he clarified. “I quit law then, too.”

“But…but…” She blinked, trying to make sense of everything he’d said, all the talks they’d had, the words they’d shared. “But you seemed to believe so much in lasting love.”

“Who says I don’t?” he asked with a shrug. “Just because it didn’t work for me.”

She stared at him, wanting to ask a hundred questions but not wanting to appear rude.

Finally, he sighed and said, “She left me. I didn’t see it coming. She had an affair with a coworker. Another lawyer. I guess you can say that this was what confirmed my distaste for that profession.”

He slipped her a wry smile but she saw the hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It was a long time ago. Besides, now I’m here, in Paris, doing what I love. Sometimes you have to experience hardship to find your happy ending.”

Sophie considered this, knowing that as much as she wished it weren’t true, that it was. And sensing that there was hope to be found in that.

“Is that what you’ve found?” she asked. “Your happy ending?”

His eyes met hers. “I think so.”

Her heart swooped and then began to pound as his gaze dropped to her mouth, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her, right here in the heart of Paris with the Eiffel Tower lit up in the distance.

And she wondered if he’d let him.

But then he leaned against the wall and said, “You had a notebook on the table before I arrived. Were you writing something?”

“Oh…” Sophie felt her cheeks go warm as she struggled to bring her thoughts back to the conversation. She wasn’t sure what was more nerve-racking—thinking about kissing someone other than Jack or talking about her writing. Another dream lost…that she was trying to find. “I was just scribbling some thoughts.”

“It helps,” Gabriel said, looking straight into her eyes, “to let the feelings out. To put them on paper. Through words. Or…paint.” He gave a little smile.

“For a long time I gave up writing,” Sophie explained, realizing that it was easier to talk about with him than she’d thought it would be. But then, everything was easy to talk about with Gabriel. He didn’t judge, and he just seemed to…understand. “It hurt too much to think about anything that bothered me, and trying to escape it wasn’t working, either.”

“Time is needed to have a better perspective,” Gabriel agreed. “That’s why I haven’t given Isabelle my final painting yet.”

“But you will give it?” Sophie felt a flicker of alarm, and she realized that even though she was mad at her sister, and even though she was disappointed in realizing that they were not as close as she’d hoped, she still cared about her.

And she still yearned for her approval.

“I told you,” Gabriel said. “I’m a man of my word.”

Sophie nodded. He was a man of many things, she’d come to realize. And of many surprises.