Chapter 56 Jean-Paul
Chapter 56
Jean-Paul
He’s sure he heard incorrectly.
Did Rosalie just say Jean-Paul is her father? That he is her father?
No. The girl is confused. He misunderstood.
He had never met Cassidy. He would know. He would remember something like that. And he has never cheated on Renée. But the dots are beginning to connect, and they’re painting a heart-thumping picture. He backs up, banishing the idea. It’s too implausible, outlandish. Something that those women on the television screen would squabble over.
Rosalie is oblivious to his presence, and he darts down the hall to find Renée, to forget what he’s just heard. He repeats to himself that he misunderstood, and by the time he returns to the waiting room, he almost believes it. Renée’s not there, but her bag sits tucked beneath the seat, Rosalie’s green notebook peering up at him. He could take a quick look. It wouldn’t hurt. And before he chickens out, he snatches the notebook, pretending his heart isn’t hammering against his chest.
He finds pages and pages of photos and articles about the inn and about them that Rosalie must have printed off the internet. Then he spots the form. It’s crinkled, as though she has handled it over and over. Or had she crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash with second thoughts at some point? He picks it up with both hands, his fingers trembling.
Explore Your Match!
Jean-Paul De La Rue. 50.2% shared DNA: 3700 cM across 23 segments
He grabs the armrest of the chair when the room begins to spin. He doesn’t yet understand what he’s reading, but something tells him that everything has led to this. Rosalie. His daughter. How is this possible? He flips to the next page, and there it is. Indelible black ink. Explore your match , followed by loaded questions with life-altering results: How are you and Jean-Paul De La Rue related? Parent-child relationship.
He tells himself there must be another Jean-Paul De La Rue. That’s it. Rosalie merely mixed up the two. This is a glaring mistake. But the secret he holds taps on that memory he’s long tried to bury. And hadn’t he noticed the similarities? When Rosalie walked in that morning without her makeup, hadn’t those eyes called out to him? Rosalie hadn’t researched the inn for vacation purposes. The inn was secondary. She had researched Jean-Paul. And she had been clever enough to lure her mother into turning it into their summer trip.
He can’t think. What had she planned to do? Announce it at the table? Instead of asking him to pass the pepper, did she plan to announce her paternity? He can’t imagine what this will do to Renée. To them. He stares at the pages, feeling a headache coming on. It’s slow moving and packs a punch. An ominous shiver slips down his back. What the fuck did he do?
Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a figure approaching. Rosalie. And the only thing he notices is the translucent blue peeking out from her long lashes. Her eyes are so striking it’s hard to pin down an exact shade. But the resemblance is unmistakable. They’re his eyes.
“That’s mine,” she says, reaching for the notebook, but it’s too late. She spots the paper sitting face up on his lap. Jean-Paul’s name. The percentage that ties them together.
“Why are you looking through my stuff?” She’s upset, her cheeks red.
He stands, and the contents of the notebook fall to the floor. “You left it behind. Renée thought ...” He trips over his words, suddenly aware that this person could be his child. His flesh and blood. She will remember everything about this moment.
Rosalie stares down at the floor, soundless, slowly dropping to her knees to pick up the papers. She may be crying. He can’t be sure.
“I didn’t want you to find out this way, Jean-Paul.”
“What is this, Rosalie?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Rosalie’s eyes fill up with tears, and her voice cracks. “I planned to tell you ... but first I needed to tell my mom. You have no idea what it’s been like.”
As confused and shocked as he is, he fights the urge to pull this lonely, terrified girl into his arms. “I’m trying my best to understand, Rosalie. But this is—”
She holds up the paper with his name. “I know what this means, but you have to believe my mom had no idea. And she didn’t recognize you. I watched.” She stops. “She said you looked like a chubby George Clooney.”
This doesn’t make him feel better.
“I’m guessing neither of you remembers.”
He’s trying his best to grasp what she’s saying, to roll the pieces around until they make sense. She’s referring to the one-night stand Cassidy told her about. He places his hands on his head. This is bad. This is very, very bad.
“I know how these things go,” she says.
“I didn’t cheat on my wife,” he says.
She lets that sink in. “Sixteen years is a long time.”
He’s still wrapping his head around the fact that he’s talking to his daughter, that Rosalie Banks could very well be his child. “So this is why you’re here? This is why you chose the inn?”
Her lip trembles when she speaks. “I emailed you through the registry. You didn’t answer.”
He never got an email, and he looks up to see Renée approaching.
“Are you going to tell her?” she asks.
He exhales. “She’s my wife. Of course I’m going to tell her.”
“I can’t find anyone around here to give me answers,” Renée says, noticing she possibly interrupted something. “What’s going on?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, which is good because he doesn’t know how to break the news to her. He should have never kept this from her in the first place. “I’m going to the bathroom, Jean-Paul. Wait for me to get back before heading out. Oh good.” She turns to Rosalie. “You got your notebook.”
They wait until she turns the corner. Jean-Paul is tense, jumpy. The person he needs to talk to is unconscious. The only person who can verify that he didn’t sleep with Cassidy is Cassidy. And the other minor detail—the hasty, complicated decision he made a lifetime ago—is a boulder about to roll down their little mountain.
Rosalie sighs. “Do you think it’s a mistake?”
“I don’t know what to think. Maybe?” He tries to sound convincing. “Could it be the immaculate conception? Probably not.”
He’s too stunned to formulate words. His mind swirls with possibilities, and none of them will end well. “Are you sure your mother said she had a one-night stand?”
She crosses her arms. “I wasn’t in the room, if that’s what you mean.”
He needs to talk to Cassidy.
“I did everything right. I followed the directions, provided a sample. How could it be a mistake?”
“I don’t know what to think, Rosalie. You shove a piece of paper with a statistical probability that I’m your father ... What am I supposed to think?”
“I didn’t exactly shove it.”
“Right.” But it felt that way. He stares at her, soaking her in and pushing her away. “I heard you talking to your mom.”
Rosalie sits in the seat, her shoulders hunched over. “I had to tell her. What if she doesn’t make it?”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. She sees a parent in him. Whatever he says matters. He wonders what Renée would say. “You need to be positive. She feels your energy.”
“Henry said big things were about to happen. A supermoon. And I knew I found you for a reason. And when Mom fell ... the stars ... they aligned. They’re aligning now.”
He wants to believe her, but he’s doubtful. She sees an alignment; he sees the stars colliding. A big burst of chaos about to rip through their sky. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Renée moments ago. He suggested they leave it alone, to steer clear of Rosalie’s search for her father. She was the one willing to interfere to help Rosalie. He wonders what she’d think of her plan now. How could they have known that the person Rosalie was trying to find was him?
“I see myself in you,” she whispers. Her eyelashes flutter when she says this. He’s embarrassed to be staring, but how can he not? He may have had something to do with those eyelashes.
Renée’s heading their way, and he feels himself shrinking in her presence. He doesn’t know how long he can maintain control.
“Are you going to tell her?” she asks again.
He musters what minuscule rationale he has left. “Not here, Rosalie.” He guesses by the way she ducks her head that she takes this as rejection, denying her of what she believes is hers. He swallows back the emotions, and Rosalie grabs her notebook and holds it close to her chest. Renée smiles at them, and he can’t bear being witness to how everything is about to change.
He should have seen this coming. Energy. The universe. All of us magnets. He focuses on Rosalie. Her cheeks. Her hands. Her fingertips.
He thinks before he leaves, I see myself in you too.