Chapter 14
Fourteen
ISABELLE
Isabelle took her usual route home from the gallery that day, but instead of stopping by the boulangerie for a baguette, she walked past the street that housed her apartment, deciding to eat her dinner at the bistro on the corner. Sophie was probably still out with Gabriel and Camille—well, she could fend for herself. It was what she preferred, wasn’t it? A life of solitude? One in which she didn’t lean on anyone, didn’t open up, or even love?
The only person Camille had ever truly dared to love was Flora, and that had been a surprise. A happy one, but an unplanned pregnancy all the same. Had it not been for those circumstances, Isabelle was sure that Camille never would have planned to have a child, but she’d thrown herself into motherhood, prioritizing her daughter above all others, determined to do better than their own parents. And loving every minute of it, that much was clear.
It was bitterly unfair, and Isabelle felt her eyes prickle with tears behind her sunglasses. She was grateful for the long Parisian spring days, how the sun still shone when her workday ended, extending well past eight o’clock. Once, it had felt like possibility continued. That until nightfall, there was still hope that something good or even surprising might happen that day. That it wasn’t over just yet.
But her marriage was over, wasn’t it? And her hope for a baby was, too.
Unless… But no. No! She couldn’t possibly consider staying with Hugh just because she wanted a child. It wouldn’t be fair to the baby—or Hugh, not that he was considering her feelings these days.
Besides, there was no telling when or if Hugh would ever grace her with his presence again. Having her sisters visiting was an easy excuse to keep him away for now, but what would happen when they left? Would he turn the key one night when his dalliance ended, claiming he was happy to be home at long last when all this time he’d been right across the Seine?
Maybe Camille was right. Maybe Isabelle had taken her life for granted. Assumed it would carry on just as it was, or even get better. She’d never stopped believing that a baby would come along eventually. She’d certainly never thought that Hugh would lie to her, or worse.
When she reached the bistro, she took a table on the terrasse under a heat lamp, in case she was there for a while. She ordered a glass of good red wine and then took her time skimming the menu, even though she always ordered the chicken soaked in the creamy mustard sauce.
Maybe she’d choose something different today. Embrace change. Accept that things were going to be different from now on. That the neat little life she’d made for herself was coming to an end.
Or maybe she’d hold on to the little things that still brought her joy instead.
“ Du poulet, s’il vous plait ,” she told the waiter. Her usual. She loved her routine, her life here in Paris, down to the smallest details, and she wasn’t quite ready to give it up.
“ Bon choix, madame ,” he replied briskly and took her menu. Good choice.
Was it, though? Going about her day as if nothing was different than the one before, when she didn’t know the truth about her marriage? Only she didn’t know the whole truth, did she? And maybe she never would, considering that her husband was so willing to lie to her.
She supposed that was part of why she hadn’t confronted him yet. But the other part, the bigger part, was that knowing the truth would make it impossible to keep her life here exactly as it was. And right now, she needed to hold on to it for just a little bit longer.
Isabelle sighed and leaned back in her chair, turning to watch the passersby on the street corner but instead catching the eye of a man a few tables down. He was watching her with a small smile, and she looked away before registering that it was Antoine.
“ Salut !” she said in surprise.
He gave a nod and then, after some hand gestures between the two of them, collected his book and glass of wine and moved over to her table.
“You don’t mind me joining you?” he asked as he sat down. His soft brown eyes locked with hers.
“Not at all,” she said honestly. “I could use the company.”
“I wasn’t sure if one of your sisters would be meeting you. Or…your husband?”
Isabelle’s hand froze on her wineglass, and she slowly took a sip as she considered her response. She supposed she’d have to come up with a handy excuse, one that didn’t lead to further conversation. One that didn’t hurt too much to say.
“Hugh travels for business a lot,” she replied. “And my youngest sister is sightseeing. And my middle sister, Camille, whom you met, is…well. She’s just Camille.”
She couldn’t help but smile despite how upset she was with her sister at the moment. It was how their relationship worked, always had and always would. As the oldest sister, she felt protective of Camille, tolerated her stubborn behavior, and supported her without always getting the same in return. Taking care of Camille made her strong.
She just hadn’t stopped to think that now Camille was following in her footsteps.
“Mini Marie.” Antoine smiled. “Funny. My ex-fiancée is named Marie.”
Some insight into his personal life. Isabelle felt her pulse tick with interest. She was more than happy to hear about his life rather than talk about her own.
“Was she as stubborn as my grandmother, too?” Isabelle asked with a conspiratorial grin.
“Worse.” Antoine’s eyes hooded.
Isabelle laughed. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She realized just how much she longed to connect with someone who may have experienced the heartache she felt. The betrayal and confusion. Really, she yearned to talk to her family, the people who were supposed to know and love her most, but her mother would be no different than Camille, saying “told you so” even if it was only with silence and a significant look, and Sophie…Sophie was young. Happy. Why bog her down with her problems?
“Not at all,” Antoine replied. “We were young, in love, and broke, honestly. As the wedding day approached, I think Marie soon realized that married life was not for her. She’d rather be free.”
Isabelle nodded along. “Sounds familiar.” Then, seeing the question in his gaze, she replied, “My father has a wandering spirit. He loves life, and he loves love, and when he falls, he falls hard. Until something better comes along.”
Talking about her father made her tense up, thinking of his pending visit on Monday, arranged to have given Camille and Sophie time to arrive over the weekend. She hadn’t heard from him since she’d called to confirm the dinner, and a part of her dared to hope that this meant he would be a no-show—that she was right for not telling her sisters about the request if only to let them down in the end. But deep down she knew that he would show up, that his lack of communication was just Papa’s way. He’d reach out when he was in town, assuming as always that she’d be available. That she’d have kept up her end of the promise. And he’d be right.
If she could convince Camille and Sophie not to flee back to their respective countries first.
Yes, all the more reason to wait.
Still, it didn’t sit right with her. More and more, it felt dishonest, and she knew just how terrible it was to be betrayed by someone she trusted. First by Papa. And now by Hugh.
“And you?” she asked Antoine, getting back to the topic of his broken engagement. “Do you prefer being single?”
Unless…
She realized that he might have a girlfriend. Letting her gaze drift over his face, which was handsome in an approachable and friendly way, she knew that this was entirely possible—and strangely disappointing. Any woman would be lucky to have a man like Antoine in their life. She couldn’t imagine him holing up in a five-star hotel on the Right Bank and pretending he was in Tokyo.
But then, once, she couldn’t have pictured Hugh doing such a thing, either.
Still, there was no comparing the two men. Hugh was buttoned-up, polished, and always aware of how he came off to others. Antoine didn’t seem to notice the world around him. When they talked, he never took his eyes off her.
As her heart fluttered, she almost wished he would. But only almost.
“I’ve grown accustomed to being alone,” he said slowly.
“Oh!” she said brightly. Too brightly. “Oh, well. It’s been a while, you said…”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t say that I prefer it. Life is meant to be shared. So is this city.”
She smiled. “Paris is wonderful. I’m trying to share it with my sisters, but Sophie has found her own tour guide in an artist from my gallery, and Camille… Well. Camille likes to do things her way.”
Again they shared a smile, thinking of Marie, who wasn’t shy in voicing her opinions or needs. Who liked things her way, on her terms.
Solitude could do that to a person, but with Isabelle’s grandmother, it wasn’t by choice. She’d been widowed, but Camille wanted to be alone.
“Where is your gallery?” Antoine asked as he sipped his wine.
Isabelle perked up as she always did at the subject. “On ?le Saint-Louis. It’s small, but it’s all mine. I opened it when I moved to Paris last year.”
“Art runs in the family then,” Antoine remarked, looking impressed.
“Oh, not really,” Isabelle said ruefully. “I’m afraid that I have two left hands. But I appreciate art. It was impossible not to, growing up as I did.”
She smiled fondly, as she always did when she thought of her childhood, wishing that Camille was able to do the same.
“And your husband?” Antoine asked, breaking eye contact for the first time to slide his napkin around the table. “Does he like Paris?”
Isabelle took a long sip of her wine. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold back the truth, especially when he’d shared the circumstances of his relationship. Especially when there was no one else to tell.
She looked up into Antoine’s caring brown eyes, seeing no judgment or shame.
“Hugh prefers to travel. Or so I thought.” She pulled in a breath. “I think Hugh does like Paris. I just…don’t think he prefers enjoying it with me.”
She blinked back hot tears, shaken by the sudden burst of public emotion.
Across the table, Antoine frowned before reaching over to set a hand on hers. It was warm and solid and so reassuring that she thought she really might cry then. “The man is a fool, then. Sorry. I shouldn’t speak badly about your husband.”
“It’s fine,” Isabelle said, lifting her hand to wave it dismissively. “And I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be my husband. I haven’t seen him in weeks. I don’t even know where he is.”
That was only partly true. She knew where he had been recently. And she knew he might still be right here in Paris. But it was easier to not think about that. To keep the situation vague until she was ready to confront it.
“Is he not answering his phone?” Antoine asked carefully.
“Oh, he is.” Isabelle shrugged. “He just doesn’t seem to want to be forthcoming with his whereabouts.” She shook her head and stared into the distance for a moment, across the street, where the lights were starting to glow in the little shops. “It’s funny, because Hugh always seemed like the total opposite of my father. He has a steady job, whereas Papa was always bouncing from one thing to the other. He’s traditional, and Papa is anything but.”
She smiled when she thought of Papa working furiously into the night on a new painting, or being stricken by a sudden burst of inspiration on one of their many weekend walks. Each time an idea hit him, he was elated, and overjoyed, his pace quickening along with his voice, like a child who couldn’t wait a second longer.
When he had a new project, it became his obsession, his only focus. He gave up everything else for it: meals, sleep, birthday parties, and school events. Promises were broken but art was made.
Isabelle knew that he was like this when he fell in love, too. He gave up his family. He gave up Paris.
But Hugh…Hugh was always so measured.
She narrowed her eyes, thinking of just how strategic he was to continue to deceive her like this, to lie without flinching, for how long she still didn’t know and may never, unless he was willing to finally be honest. And he might not be, even if she asked.
“But it turns out that Hugh is just as unpredictable as Papa,” she said, turning back to Antoine. “And just as driven by his wandering spirit, except I didn’t see it that way at first, because for so long I went with him, all over the world. And then I made the mistake of wanting to settle down, here in Paris.”
And wanting a baby , she finished to herself.
“Some people aren’t made for marriage,” Antoine said frankly.
“No. And Paul Laurent is at the top of that list.” Isabelle couldn’t help but give Antoine a sly smile, but just saying his name made her stomach tighten and her thoughts of Hugh were replaced with another worry. “He’s coming to visit, actually.”
“Your father?” Antoine looked surprised. No doubt he’d heard his share of stories from Marie over the years. “You don’t seem happy about it.”
“My father and I have a complicated relationship but I’ve chosen to accept him for who he is rather than wish for more. I can’t say the same for Camille. Or Sophie,” she added, even though she didn’t sense the same anger coming from her youngest sister. With Sophie, it was more of a sad resignation. “Like I said, it’s complicated. He left us—all of us—when we were younger, and he’s been in and out of our lives ever since. Mostly out. And…” She picked up her wineglass and took a hearty sip. “And my sisters don’t know about his visit. Or that this is why I invited them to Paris.”
“Why do they think you invited them?” He seemed intrigued.
Isabelle winced. “For a big gallery opening I’m having.”
Antoine raised one eyebrow and then burst out laughing, a loud, rich sound that attracted the attention of a few fellow diners. And even though it wasn’t funny, Isabelle couldn’t help but laugh, too.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Isabelle asked once they’d settled down.
“Do you want the truth?” Antoine asked plainly.
“Always,” Isabelle said, meaning it. Even when it hurt.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m afraid that you probably can’t keep this secret much longer.”
“No,” she admitted. “I’m just so afraid of how they’ll react when I tell them.”
“When is he coming?” Antoine asked.
“In four days,” she said. Then, seeing Antoine’s reaction, she quickly added, “Or so he says. With him, you never know.” There was a very real possibility that Papa would forget or change his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But something told her that she wasn’t so lucky. That this time, Papa intended to follow through on a plan.
Her stomach tightened when she remembered the tone of his voice. How serious he sounded, even when he assured her that everything was fine.
“It must be quite serious for my father to insist we are all together for this visit,” Isabelle said worriedly.
“He didn’t give a reason?” Antoine asked. “But did he need to?”
Isabelle thought about her mother, who, while Isabelle was still living in London, might call and suggest lunch, and Isabelle would think nothing of it.
“Papa doesn’t make casual visits,” she explained. “And he’s never requested that all of us are together, especially when he knows that Sophie lives abroad.”
“Perhaps you are right, then, and it could be serious,” Antoine said thoughtfully.
Isabelle chewed her lip. A dozen catastrophic thoughts had already crossed her mind, each one more devastating than the next.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about this on your own,” Antoine said. “Camille and Sophie are his daughters, too.”
True, all true, but again, it was complicated.
“Over the years, it seems that I’ve fallen into the role of being the spokesman for Papa. We haven’t seen each other in a couple of years, and that was only because I happened to be visiting Istanbul and he was briefly living there. He calls at Christmas—sometimes. But I don’t think he reaches out to my sisters anymore. I try to paint him—no pun intended—in a good light, because I’ve hoped that Camille would come around as she got older.” She paused when their food arrived. Chicken for her, and a steak for Antoine. “But I’ve also tried to protect Camille. She was so hurt when Papa left, and then when Sophie was born just months later. Camille felt replaced, and it took a long time for her to get over that feeling. It’s a fine line, knowing how hard to push.”
“You sound like a mother,” Antoine said with a kind smile.
Nevertheless, his words punched her straight in the gut.
“Just a sister,” she replied softly. That’s all she would ever be. To Camille. And to Sophie, the baby she used to push in the stroller, now all grown up.
“Well, if he’s coming on Monday, then you have to tell your sisters,” Antoine told her.
Isabelle nodded. Yes, she did. She knew she did. She just couldn’t bear the thought of losing their company when she needed it the most.
But now she risked something worse—losing their trust.