Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
~CARMINE~
“ Y ou could shop anywhere in Paris,” I say to Nadia as she leads me down a little cobblestone street tucked back in a corner off the left bank of the Seine in Paris. “And this is where you want to go?”
“Yes.” She tugs on my hand and smiles at me. We arrived in Paris yesterday morning and spent the day in our suite at the Ritz, sleeping and fucking, recovering from jet lag.
This morning, she was ready to explore the city.
After I had my way with her in the shower.
“There’s a little shop tucked away back here,” she says as we stroll along the uneven sidewalk. “And it’s the best. Just wait until you see it.”
There are many little shops along this street, all selling different things—clothes, jewelry, art. But the store she stops at has me scratching my head.
“This?”
“Yep.” She climbs the three uneven steps and tries the knob, but it’s locked. “Jean Luc must be on a break. Oh, there he is.”
She grins as an older man with little hair, wrinkled, leathery skin, and what’s left of a cigarette burning in his mouth walks up with a frown.
“I only come for you,” he says gruffly.
They don’t hug or even exchange pleasantries, but he unlocks the door, and Nadia steps inside with an excited flourish.
I’m even more confused when I follow her.
The store is no bigger than my bathroom at home, and every surface is covered with things. If I were a claustrophobic man, I’d turn around and leave.
But I’m far too fascinated to leave now.
“Oh, Jean Luc, you never disappoint.”
The man simply sits on a stool behind a tiny glass counter and watches Nadia. “I have a new Chanel. Vintage from 1968.”
“Let me see it.”
He reaches under the counter, pulls the signature black bag out, tugs a handbag free, and sets it on the glass.
“Oh, she’s pretty. And the leather has really stood up well.”
“It was hardly used, in all these years,” Jean Luc replies. “I know you’re fond of Chanel.”
“Who isn’t?” She grins. “I’ll be hitting up Angelina tomorrow.”
“Such a tourist trap now.” He clicks his tongue.
“Yes, but she went there. Every day,” Nadia reminds him. “And I do enjoy that hot chocolate.”
“Who does not enjoy a cup of le chocolat chaud now and again?” he says, and unless I’m seeing things, he actually smiles at her. “Eight thousand.”
Nadia’s brows climb. “That’s a little steep.”
I want to interject. Eight thousand euros for a used handbag?
Jean Luc shakes his head and gives her a morose look as if she’s physically hurting him. “Seven, then.”
“Five,” she counters.
“Nadia, you pain me. You can’t find vintage like this, in this condition. I could sell to many others for more than five.”
“Then sell it to them.” She shrugs a shoulder as if it makes no difference to her, and Jean Luc sighs heavily.
“Six, and no less.”
“I can live with six.” She nods happily. “Done. Now, do you have a black Hermes Kelly?”
Jean Luc’s eyes narrow for a moment as if he’s pondering the question, but something tells me the man knows exactly what he has.
“For you? I will show you this.”
He walks to a cupboard and pulls out another handbag, setting it on the glass next to the Chanel. A black handbag with a top handle and a gold clasp.
“Oh, she’s beautiful. What year?”
“2004,” he says. “Also, never used. Sat on a closet shelf for years.”
He pulls out a pair of gloves before opening the bag and then showing it off to Nadia.
I’m lost. Who is Kelly, and why does she have a handbag named after her? I start to ask when Jean Luc tells her the price.
My eyes widen at the five figures that just came out of his mouth.
But Nadia doesn’t even blink as she looks it over.
“Not even a scratch on the hardware,” she murmurs. Her hands lovingly caress the leather as if she’s touching a lover.
As if she’s touching me.
“Jean Luc, you just sold yourself a Kelly. I’ll take both.”
“I have new jewelry,” he begins, but Nadia shakes her head with a laugh.
“I’m going to stop while I’m ahead. But thank you. And thank you for opening your shop just for me. On a Tuesday morning.”
“The French don’t keep American hours,” he reminds her, but his eyes are full of humor. “Who is your man?”
“I’m sorry, I got so excited, I completely lost my manners. Jean Luc, this is Carmine.”
I shake the other man’s hand, surprised by his firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you. Coming to Paris to fall in love is always a good idea.”
This makes Nadia blink rapidly and seems to catch her off guard.
“Paris is called the city of love for a reason, no?” he continues as he gets the two new purchases ready for Nadia to take with her. “I thought Nadia would never find her man, but I see I was wrong. You’ve been coming to see me for how long now? Six years?”
“About that,” she says quietly, clearly uncomfortable, but I step forward and take her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze.
“Six years, she always comes alone. Such a beautiful woman. I think she should be with someone. Not me. I am too old. But someone.”
He takes her credit card and expertly uses the new machine discreetly tucked to the side.
“So I’m happy you called and came in today and brought your Carmine.” He passes the card back and asks her to sign the slip. “I will worry less.”
“Jean Luc, you’re the sweetest.” Nadia leans over and kisses his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m perfectly fine.”
With fondness, he tucks an extra little box into Nadia’s bag and walks us to the door.
“Enjoy your time in Paris. You’re welcome to come see me anytime.”
“My credit card is already weeping,” Nadia says playfully. “But you know I’ll come see you every time I’m here. Take care, Jean Luc.”
He waves us off, and we stroll away. I take the bag to carry and lean over to kiss her temple.
“That made you uncomfortable.”
“I’ve never known that man to talk so much,” she says. “He’s always so quiet. I assumed he didn’t speak English well. Then, I bring you with me, and he’s Chatty Charlie. It’s just weird.”
“No, weird is paying what you just did on used purses.”
She gives me the side-eye and then raises her chin defiantly. “You just don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me. I’d love to see what you do when you look at those bags.”
“Okay.” She nods and then offers me a grin. “I’m getting hungry. Let’s go to Café Flore for lunch. We can chat about it there. It’s not far.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time in Paris,” I comment as we make our way to the café.
“I wasn’t lying when I told you that it’s my favorite city. When I don’t have anywhere to be, I come here. I roam the streets, wander the museums, you name it.”
“And meet interesting Frenchmen who sell you old accessories.”
She smirks as we cross the street to the café. We’re seated, and to my utter shock, Nadia orders our lunch in perfect French.
“What?” she says when she turns back to me.
“You speak French?”
“Yeah, but don’t tell Jean Luc. I like him thinking I don’t so I can pretend not to understand when he tries to upsell me.” She winks and takes a sip of her coffee, but her face sobers as I continue watching her. “What is it?”
“There are moments I realize that I don’t know nearly enough about you.” I reach over and take her hand. “I thought I’d already learned so much, but I realize that I’ve only scratched the surface with you, Nadia.”
“Well, we spent the better part of three months lying to each other,” she reminds me. “Then, we had a job to do.”
“That’s not a good excuse.”
“It works both ways, you know. I don’t know much about you, either.”
“Then, for the next two weeks, we’re going to do exactly that. Learn about each other. So, tell me about the bags.”
She shimmies in her seat. “My favorite topic.”
“What was it about these two bags that you loved?”
“It’s two very different reasons. We’ll start with the Chanel. Coco Chanel lived here in Paris, at the Ritz, actually, but she also had an apartment above her boutique. She didn’t sleep there. She gave parties and worked there. I’ve never been upstairs, but I’ve been on the stairs, and it’s a trip, let me tell you. Anyway, she went to a little café near the Louvre called Angelina. Every single day. She sat at the same table and always ordered the hot chocolate. It’s a short walk from the Ritz. We’ll go. You’ll never feel the same about hot chocolate again. And I think Chanel’s quality is insanely good, especially the vintage pieces. And because this bag was made before her death, she may have held it herself. I love the history of it, and it’s always in style.”
“Fair enough. And the other?”
“That was Grace Kelly’s favorite handbag. Hence the name, the Kelly.”
“Ah, makes sense now.”
She smiles and leans back as our lunch is served. Once the waiter bustles away, she eats a fry and then keeps talking.
“These bags are made by hand, here in France, by artisans. Each one takes a lot of hours to make…”
I sit and watch her perfect face as she talks, using her hands for emphasis, explaining in detail how every product makes its way to a storefront.
Her enthusiasm is contagious. I don’t need a bag, but she has me ready to run out and buy the first one I see.
“And here I thought you were all about the family,” I reply when her story winds down.
“I am.” She takes a bite of her sandwich. “It’s always the priority and will be until the day I die. But this is a fun hobby.”
“An expensive one.”
“Says the man who bought a ten-thousand-dollar watch in New York.”
“It wasn’t secondhand.”
Her laughter is a drug.
“Have you spent much time in Paris?” she asks.
“Not as much as you,” I reply. “And I’ve only really seen the most touristy of places.”
“Then we’ll avoid those.” She chews thoughtfully. “Will you think I’m weird if I suggest a cemetery?”
“Are you planning to kill me, then?”
“No. I’ve heard about a really beautiful cemetery here in Paris. If you’re up for it, we could go check it out this week. The weather’s beautiful.”
“I’m game.”
“Bet you never thought you’d be hanging out with me in a cemetery, did you?”
“Honestly, I never thought I’d be with you at all.” I push my finished plate aside.
“Same.” She rests her chin in her hand. “I told my father about us coming here.”
I raise a brow in surprise. “And what did he say?”
“He didn’t seem to care in the least.”
“And if he did?”
She sighs and glances down at her empty cup of coffee. “If he’d been angry or forbade it, I wouldn’t be here.” Her eyes find mine again, and I see the heaviness in them. “We have responsibilities, Carmine. To our fathers. I love him. I respect him. And, at the end of the day, I guess I’m trying to prove something to him. So, as much as I wish I could say that I’d tell him I’m a big girl who can call her own shots, I know that’s not the case.”
“I understand.” It sits like a lead ball in my stomach, but I do understand. Because I’d do the same thing.
I, too, had a conversation with my father before we came to Paris. And if he’d been unhappy with it, well, I’d be in Seattle.
Alone.
“Do you ever wish we weren’t…?” She waves her hand in the air, not finishing the sentence.
“Intelligent? Wonderful? Wealthy? Witty?”
“Part of the organization, you moron,” she interrupts with a laugh. “And, I should add, modest.”
“No.” I reach for the check and put my credit card in the leather folder. “I don’t wish that. Do you?”
“No. I’m not like Annika. She hates it. Wants to be as far removed from it as she can. But I always found it fascinating.”
“Maybe it ties in with your love of history,” I suggest, and she nods.
“I think so. Our family goes back generations. To Russia. I used to love sitting on my father’s knee and listening to him tell stories from his childhood about his parents—and theirs. My family has been in our line of business for hundreds of years.”
“That’s something we have in common.” I sign the check and reach for Nadia’s bags. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”
“I could use a little rest.”
We’ve just reached our suite when I get a call from Rocco.
“Isn’t it the middle of the night there?” I ask.
“Early morning,” he replies. “Just giving you a heads-up. Someone broke into Gram’s house last night.”
I narrow my eyes and watch as Nadia sets her new bags in the closet, then starts taking her clothes off. “What the fuck?”
“What is it?” she asks, but I hold up my hand.
“The alarm went off at about two this morning,” he continues. “Our security was there within ten minutes, and the cops came five minutes later. A window was broken. I don’t know what they took. If anything. They didn’t make much of a mess.”
“I wonder if they were looking for something specific.”
“If they were, they found it and bailed. No prints. They took out the cameras.”
“Damn it.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re locking it down, and I’m going to live there for a while. It’s not good that it’s been sitting empty for this long. We need to sell it, Carmine.”
“And do what with all of her shit?” I rub a hand over my face. “I’ll be home in a couple of weeks. Let me know if this happens again.”
“Will do. Have a good vacation.”
He clicks off, and I turn to find Nadia watching me with concern. “What happened?”
“My grandmother passed away last year.”
“I remember. We went to the funeral.”
I nod and recall seeing her at the church. “Her house has been sitting pretty much empty since she died. I went through a lot of stuff because I was trying to find Elena, which is another story. But aside from that, there’s ten thousand square feet and sixty year’s-worth of shit to sort through.”
“And someone broke in.”
“Yeah. We shouldn’t have left it that long. Rocco’s gonna stay there for a while.”
“It was probably a professional. Someone who staked it out and knew that it was empty.”
“Most likely,” I agree and push my finger into the waistband of her jeans. “Now, let’s forget about the goings-on more than an ocean away.”
“What do you have in mind?”