Chapter 19 Tara
Tara
Love is in the air!
Yes, it is because my heart is full.
I can feel the glow of it all around me.
I can feel it in the way my steps bounce as I cross the Louvre’s marble floors.
I can feel it in the way the Paris light seems brighter through the glass pyramid.
I’ve met Aubert, and he likes me.
The way he talked to me told me how I make his father happy—I felt as if Gustave’s world finally opened a door for me.
For the first time, I’m letting myself imagine a future here with Gustave. Not as the interloper, not as the silly American with paint under her nails, but as someone who belongs.
It’s been four weeks since that wonderful day in Gustave’s apartment. I’ve seen Aubert once more, and even Philippe—his charming friend sans stick-figure Sigrid—for dinner at Gustave’s place.
I feel like a proper girlfriend, even though he’s never called me that.
He just introduces me as Tara.
And somehow…that’s enough. Completely, ridiculously enough.
And today, Gustave asked me to come to his office after work.
To his office on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, where his family’s foundation occupies an entire floor of a 19th-century building.
He’s making a public statement. Isn’t he? Dios mio!
I’m almost giddy as I push through the museum doors, the spring air cool against my cheeks.
I bump into someone because my head is in the clouds.
“Désolée*,” I apologize, looking up at the person standing in front of me. Words flee.
It’s Simone.
“Excusez-moi*!” I whisper.
She’s immaculate in cream silk, her sunglasses perched like a crown. She has a look about her, graceful as a panther and just as predatory.
“Tara Gayarre.” My name on her lips stings.
“Yes.”
“We should talk.”
“Ah…I can’t imagine why.” She’s not my ex-wife. If she has something to say, she needs to talk to Gustave.
I try to walk around her, but she blocks my way.
She’s so close, her perfume wraps around me—something expensive and faintly poisonous.
The only way to push her away is to make a scene, which I won’t do.
Absolutely not!
I look around, not for the first time since I met Gustave, to make sure someone with a camera is not around.
“You are clever.” Her smile and demeanor are cold, her voice low.
“You’ve managed to insinuate yourself. Into Gustave’s life.
Into our circle. Even Aubert is charmed.
But let me make this clear for you.” She leans in, her voice a whisper meant only for me.
"If you think you can replace me, you are mistaken.”
Her hand brushes my arm, a touch that feels like a threat.
I step away from the contact. “Anything else?”
“Oui. I will make you regret your little overreach.” Then, she smiles widely, the picture of elegance for the passersby. To them, it must look like two friends talking.
I stand frozen on the steps as she glides away, her heels clicking against stone, my pulse hammering in my ears.
The giddiness of love is gone. In its place is a chill that no spring sun can warm.
* Sorry (French)
* Excuse me (French)