Chapter 5
I’m in France, I tell myself for the third time as we collect our luggage from the carousel and make our way to Timothé’s car. Like, really in France. I can practically hear the macaron shells crack and smell the baguettes baking. This has got to be a pinch-me moment. By some miracle, I resist the urge to jump in the air and give a loud cheer.
“Aurora, are you okay?” Timothé questions, looking down at me with his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Seems I was a little louder than I thought.
“Yes.” My cheeks heat. God, Aurora, way to be a weirdo. “I think I got a leg cramp.” I furiously start rubbing my thigh to emphasize my point, wincing as my stiff muscles protest in response, taking away from my little internal celebration.
Timothé nods. “Long plane rides do that.”
I have to agree, while the plane ride was long, it wasn’t too bad, and I slept for most of it so I can’t complain too much. I whip out my phone and connect to the airport Wi-Fi. A few notifications ping on my phone, but none of them are important. A message from Briar pops up, making a small smile touch my lips; at least someone cares whether I made it here alive. I quickly reply.
Rory
Landed. I can already smell the baguettes baking.
She responds straightaway.
Briar
Hopefully you will meet a hot French guy in time for hot girl summer.
Rory
LOL more like HOT FRENCH GUY SUMMER
“The car is this way, Aurora.” Timothé pulls my attention away from my phone, which I pocket as he leads us through the busy airport to the open-air parking lot. I don’t know what kind of person Louis Monet was, but he must have left some will to have his lawyer literally come to New York, read me his will, and transport me back to France.
“You must really love your clients,” I mumble as I lift one of my suitcases into his open trunk and clench my teeth when I barely budge the handle. Shit, that’s heavy.
“Why do you say that?” Timothé asks, the corner of his lips lifting in a ghost of a smile as he places my suitcase into his car like it weighs nothing.
“Do you pick all your clients up from overseas, or am I just lucky?” I stand back and watch him put the second suitcase in the trunk and close the lid with a loud click.
“No.” He chuckles. “I only do this for Louis. He was an old friend. It only seems right I help him carry out his final wish.”
“What was he like?” I ask as I pull the seat belt over my body. It feels weird that I don’t know Louis like Timothé does and he’s left me a chateau.
“He was…” Timothé adjusts the dial to increase the temperature in the car; the glass window is covered in a thin layer of frost from the cold air. Thank god I have all my warm clothes. He continues, “An amazing man, who loved your father very much. The chateau was his second greatest love. In the last few years, it’s not the same as it used to be, but I’m sure with you now running it, it’s in good hands now.”
I give a small nod, a deep ache forming in my chest for the man I’ll never know but who somehow knew about me. Timothé starts the car, quickly leaving the parking lot. A sign with ?le-de-France Paris marks the end of the airport. From the little research I’d done, I know we have a long car ride to reach the Burgundy region to get to Carcen, where my new home is located. An hour passes by and my stomach rumbles with hunger pains. I haven’t eaten since the bread roll I buttered in place of a dish the air hostess assured me was chicken, but I had my reservations. Not wanting to risk accidental food poisoning, I stuck to the least mass-evacuating-inducing thing possible—even if it was a bit stale. Crossing my arm over my stomach, I try to quiet the noise. I lift my legs, sliding down in the soft leather seat, giving my stomach a smaller space to be a bass drum. I blow out a frustrated breath; we still have a long way to go before we reach my final destination. Food is just going to have to wait.
“Aurora.”
I hear my name being called as someone jostles my shoulders.
“Aurora, Wake up.”
“What?” I mumble, my voice thick with sleep, discretely wiping the crust from the corner of my mouth on the sleeve of my top. My eyes try to adjust to the light as I stare, disorientated, around at a series of giant light brown brick buildings lining the street, relics of French history. My nails dig into my jean-clad thighs, my palms sweating as the realization of being in Carcen sinks in.
“We’re here.” He motions around him to the center of Carcen. “This is the Bureau du Conseil,” Timothé says, pointing to a brick building on the opposite side of the road. “You need to talk to Madeline; she will help you with everything you need.” He looks at me, nodding his head in encouragement.
“Madeline,” I repeat her name, trying to wake my brain up from the sleep-induced fog.
“Oui, Madeline, she works at the conseil. I have a meeting I must attend.”
“Thank you, for the ticket and for the ride.” I meet Timothé on the sidewalk, where he has already pulled my suitcases from the trunk of his car.
“It was a pleasure.” Timothé dots a kiss on each of my cold cheeks and gets back into his car. As I watch the taillights disappear down the narrow cobblestone street, I release a pent-up breath, clouds of cold air dancing around my lips. Here goes nothing. With my suitcases clasped in my hands, I cross the road and walk into the building, proudly displaying a bureau du conseil plaque on the front. I scan the buildings lining the street, a deep sense of belonging humming through my veins. Was it like this when Dad was younger? Did he use to buy candies from this sweet shop? Did he trip on the cracked pavement? A world of possibilities whirls through my mind, like an extreme waterslide at a theme park. People bustle past me, a few giving me curious looks, the smell of orange and anise thick in the air.
Madeline. I need to see Madeline.
The glint of the gilded glass doors whoosh as they open to accommodate me, my life’s possessions, and the deed to my new life in each hand. The musty smell of old papers housed in simple shelves assaults my nose. A giant bookcase lines the wall, gold foiling on the spine of each book. It sends a shiver across my spine. I love books, and these are gorgeous, even if I can’t read them…yet. I breathe deeply, absorbing the warmth from the heating. The cold from outside already manages to penetrate my bones, and my fingers tingle from the blood pooling. Numbly, I rub my thumb over my tattoo, seeking comfort from the words.
“Elle vient aujourd’hiu [She’s coming today],” the man standing at the counter says to the woman behind the counter.
“Oui, elle doit accoucher d’une minute à l’autre [Yes, she’s due any minute now],” the woman behind the counter replies. It looks like a heated conversation.
I stare at the two of them, the meager amount of French my father taught me evaporating from my brain. No matter how hard I try to grab onto as many words as possible, they’re talking way too fast for me to catch anything. Susan ensured anything to do with Dad was stamped out of me the moment he was no longer in my life.
“Je n’arrive pas à croire qu’il l’ait trouvée. Personnen’a entendu parler d’élliot depuis des années et maintenant sa fille perdue depuis longtemps revient [I can’t believe he found her. No one has heard from élliot for years and now his long-lost daughter returns].” His voice becomes tight, almost like he’s concerned about something.
The woman behind the counter nods enthusiastically at him. “Ne t’inquiéte pas luc, elle sortira d’ici avant la fin de ses six mois [Don’t worry, Luc, she will be out of here before her six months is up].”
A phone ringing interrupts their conversation, and the woman leaves to take the call as the man casually leans on the counter. He spots me behind him and turns to look at me. I stand a little bit taller, taking in every inch of him.
Holy pear and fig sticks, he is hot. He’s so hot, he should have his own category.
My eyes widen as I watch him lift a hand to adjust the collar of his thick black overcoat. Before running a hand through his dark brown hair in what looks like a frustrated gesture. The moment his honeyed eyes flick over me, my knees weaken. Maybe Briar wasn’t wrong. Hot French summer definitely doesn’t sound so bad anymore. Especially if the Adonis standing in front of me is anything to go by. With high cheekbones, deep-set, honey-colored eyes, a straight nose, full lips, and a square jaw dusted with a generous amount of stubble shadowing his face, the man standing in front of me looks more like a prized painting that should be gracing the walls of the Louvre, or as the model for Dior Savage. I’m not ashamed to say that, like a fruit fly to a honey trap, I would happily get stuck in his web.
His thick, bushy eyebrows raise like he is just seeing me for the first time. “Mademoiselle, vous avez besoin d’aide?” he asks. My eyes dart from left to right trying to think of how I can escape. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect him to speak to me in French! Sweat beads gather near my temple as I try my hardest to understand what he is saying. “Mademoiselle, vous avez besoin d’aide?” he repeats again.
I open and close my mouth like a fish gasping for water. Shit. Improvise, Aurora. Do something? I’m going to have to learn French, and quick.
I clear my throat and shake my head. It’s almost like a lightbulb goes off in his head. My stomach chooses that moment to announce itself, making a loud gurgling sound. My reminder that food comes before my raging libido. I slide my hand across my stomach; I need to get some food soon. Actually, scratch that, I need some coffee stat, before I say or do something even worse.
“Do you speak English?” he asks, his thick French accent only more pronounced.
“Yes, English.”
“I’m Luc.” He offers me his hand. My cheeks heat with the way his eyes slowly work their way down my body, and I hope my just-got-off-a-seven-hour-flight look isn’t as tired and ragged as I feel inside. I push my shoulders back, trying not to look like I’ve crawled out of the gutter.
“Nice to meet you.” I offer him my frozen handshake. Luc gives me a warm smile and takes my hand in his own, much larger, one.
“Are you here for a vacation?” he asks, pointing to my suitcases.
“No, visiting family.” The lie rolls off my tongue. Well, it’s not entirely a lie; I’m visiting family…they just aren’t really alive anymore.
Luc nods, his eyes flicking down at his watch. “I must go.” He grabs his gloves from the counter as he catches my stare and flashes a smile with teeth so straight they could only have been achieved from years of sitting in an orthodontist’s chair. “Enjoy your time in Carcen.” He winks at me and I think my entire body just melted and my panties flooded with desire. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Impératrice.”
As he leaves a trail of cloves, spices, and smoked wood scent in his wake, I stare at my reflection in the dirty mirror hanging on the wall.
What the heck does impératrice mean? Scratch that I don’t care. I hope I get to see him around.