Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
JEMMA
Once again, I’m in spiky heels standing on a cobblestone sidewalk. But this time, it’s completely warranted. Gretchen’s Christmas-red A-line dress demands the perfect footwear. It would be a crime to pair it with anything less than the perfect shoe.
I feel amazing in this dress. I love the way the lace bodice hugs my figure, while the tulle skirt billows around me. I can’t help but feel like a princess, and I have my Prince Charming linked around my arm to prove it.
But not even the confidence this dress is feeding me could prepare me for the building I’m staring at.
“Is this your boss’s home?” I ask, my eyes traveling upward, feeling small and insignificant, yet completely enamored by the sight. I’ve seen some stunning buildings in Paris, but this one takes the whole darn cake.
The creamy stone structure appears to be a recently renovated Haussmann-style building tucked near the edge of the seventh.
The second floor is elegantly defined by one long continuous terrace, while the next two levels showcase charming wrought-iron Juliet balconies with intricate designs.
But the true gem is the top floor with its expansive wrap-around balcony that follows the curve of the building, beneath a mansard roof with dormer windows breaking through the steep slopes.
I could stare at this building for hours. It’s architecture porn.
“His is the top floor in case you were wondering.” Luca leans in, whispering in my ear.
My jaw drops. “The entire floor?” I stammer, counting the number of windows that make up his boss’s home.
Nine. There are nine street-facing windows. Luca has four, and I thought his place was large for Paris.
“Maybe now would be a good time to tell me more about your job.”
Luca chuckles as a doorman drags a towering glass entryway door back for us. Which is clearly not the original, I might add.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Debois.” The man nods to Luca as we pass.
We cross through a grand common area with beautifully designed marble floors. A sweeping staircase calls to us from the left, but we choose the path leading toward three long, narrow marble steps and up to a tiny glass lift. The black metal cage is intricately detailed with rosettes and vines.
Luca calls for the elevator as I shift nervously while we wait. I’m meeting his co-workers for the first time, and I want to make a good impression on the people Luca spends his time with.
He takes my trembling hand in his, calming my racing nerves.
“I think I was less nervous about meeting your family,” I admit.
“Don’t worry; everyone will love you.”
With my free hand, I nervously press down the fabric that’s billowing out from under my jacket.
“You’re fidgeting.” Luca grins, squeezing my hand.
“Oh,” I respond, letting my gaze drop to the stone flooring.
“You look absolutely stunning tonight,” Luca says, drawing my attention back to him.
A rush of warmth floods my cheeks as he leans in, brushing his lips softly against my cheek in a gentle kiss.
He pulls back just as the lift arrives. We step inside the metal cage, and the door glides shut.
Luca presses a button, and with a playful twist of his body, he reaches for me, pulling me against his chest. He leans in, capturing my lips with a tender kiss that sends me spinning.
I could get used to this life. I never want this trip to end.
Inside the lavish apartment, someone greets us at the door and offers to take our coats. Luca helps me out of mine and hands it to a woman who disappears behind a double glass doorway.
Luca takes my hand and leads me into a circular room—the curved part of the building I saw from the street.
Massive floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around every wall, offering amazing views of cathedrals and domes in the distance.
I search for the Eiffel Tower, but I don’t see it.
Such a shame to have everything else in view but that.
In the center of the room, people are chatting in large groups and sipping on sparkling beverages.
Luca approaches one of the gatherings and introduces me to a few of his co-workers.
They don’t seem interested in me, and I try not to take it personally.
Instead, I sink into Luca, letting his arm wrap around me.
This is all I need, but Luca catches me off guard, as his eyes nervously dart around the room.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” he says, kissing the top of my forehead.
I open my mouth to plead for him to stay and not leave me alone with these unfriendly people, but I don’t have a chance. He’s already out of my sight.
I sigh, lingering on the outskirts of the group.
I catch a rail-thin woman with a turned-up nose and a sleek bob eyeing me. Her mouth contorts with disgust as she turns to the gentleman next to her and says very loudly, “Peux-tu croire qu’elle porte cette horrible robe?”
The man snickers as his eyes slowly trail the entire length of my body.
“Pouah,” she puffs. “Je mourrais avant de porter ca!”
The whole group bursts into laughter.
My heart pounds in my chest as my mind races to catch up.
They’re making fun of my dress.
The woman turns to take a drag of the slim cigarette resting between her fingers.
I hope that thing kills you.
Harsh, Jemma. That’s not like you.
Okay, maybe not kill you, but make you sound like a man and give you premature wrinkles. That’s right; take that, karma. Screw these people.
“Je parle francais.” I force a cocky smile and push my way through the group, desperate to find Luca.
I dart into the next room, my heart still pounding with adrenaline. I shrink as far back into the corner as I possibly can, hoping to blend in while I wait for Luca to return, but I know that’s impossible.
Glancing down at my dress, I still feel a flicker of love for it, but it quickly fades as I check out the women in the room with their effortlessly chic pantsuits and sophisticated floor-length dresses.
My red frilly dress stands out like a sore thumb.
When Luca said Christmas party, I assumed reds and greens, but boy was I wrong.
Maybe that evil woman did have the right to mock me.
I wish Luca had been there to defend my honor.
Where the hell is he?
My eyes scan the room, but still, there’s no sign of Luca. Where is my prince when this princess needs rescuing?
As I tug on the fabric of my not-so-incognito gown, a waiter strolls by with a full tray of champagne, and I quickly grab one of the flutes from the tray. The beverage may not make me invisible, but hopefully it will quell the rising tide of embarrassment.
“Luca’s a great guy, isn’t he?” A gruff voice rumbles from next to me, catching me mid-sip.
I turn, swallowing, before replying, “Yes, he really is. One of the best.” I smile, hoping he’s not here to poke fun at me too.
“I overheard you’re American, but I didn’t catch your name, dear?” The man is older, with a thick mustache framing his full upper lip.
“It’s Jemma,” I say, extending one hand and keeping my other tightly curled around the narrow stem of my glass.
“Alain,” he introduces himself, taking my hand and flipping it over to kiss the top of it, his lips feeling sloppy against my delicate skin. “Luca’s boss,” he adds.
Just great.
I manage an awkward smile, retracting my hand as quickly as I can.
I’m dying to wipe his slobber off my skin, but I’m most certainly not going to do it on Gretchen’s dress.
Even if it’s not appropriate for this party, I still love it.
So, I uncomfortably let my hand air dry, shaking it lightly behind me.
Yuck.
“Luca is one of my best employees,” Alain continues, his voice swelling with pride. “He’s been with me for ten years. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s one of the best in the business.”
I nod, a small smile creeping onto my lips. It’s nice to hear of his fondness for Luca.
“Are you here on holiday?” Alain’s beady eyes glint with curiosity, taking more of an interest in me than his employees.
“Yes, but I leave soon.” I frown, taking a sip of my bubbly champagne.
“Paris is dreamy this time of year, isn’t it?” He leans in closer, a wink punctuating his comment.
“It is lovely,” I reply. “I wish I didn’t have to go back to New York so soon.”
“What do you do for work back in the States?” he asks.
“I’m in advertising analysis for Foster & Sons,” I say, the words rolling off my tongue out of habit. “I mean, I was—” My voice trails off as I struggle to find the words to continue. It’s complicated.
Alain tilts his head thoughtfully. “Oh, is that how you met Luca?”
“Pardon?”
“Yes, that must be how the two of you met. Foster & Son’s was one of Luca’s consulting projects while he was in New York.”
Confusion wraps around me.
When I don’t respond, the husky man continues, “My company is one of the most sought-after in the world when it comes to getting businesses back on track before the new year, and Luca is the best at trimming the fat.”
I stare at him, the ground feeling unsteady. “I’m the fat he trimmed,” I say through gritted teeth.
Heat surges to my cheeks as the party around me spins into a blur.
An embarrassed expression crosses Alain’s pudgy face. “I just assumed when you said you worked for Foster & Sons that’s how you and Luca met.”
“No, I met Luca at the airport.”
None of this makes sense, but then suddenly everything clicks into place. Luca was the one sitting at the end of the table in the conference room—the one Tyler had been staring at—the one urging Tyler to say the words they rehearsed together.
My stomach lurches.
“Luca lied to me,” I say under my breath.
He knew who I was from the moment we ran into each other at the airport. He knew who I was when he offered his place to stay. He was trying to clear his conscience. Were all those nice things he did for me all a ruse? But why?
I take a shaky sip of my champagne, the bubbles prickling my lips. “Please excuse me. I need to leave.”
Alain’s mustached lip forms an incredulous O-shape. He stands frozen as I rush past him.
Desperate to get out of this apartment as fast as I can, I weave in and out of rooms, searching for my coat, when I spot Luca talking to a woman with high cheekbones and pouty lips.
My vision blurs as tears spill over and race down my cheeks. Everything about this party was a bad idea.
When Luca catches my glare, my chest tightens. Liar is all I can think when I see him.
“Jemma?” he questions, reaching toward me.
I recoil, stepping back. “No.”
“What’s wrong?” he presses.
When I don’t respond, Luca’s expression quickly shifts from confusion to hurt.
“I’m leaving, Luca.” I slip past him, rushing toward the door.
“Wait, Jemma. Don’t go!” he calls after me. “Let me go with you.” He’s quick on my heels, following me into the hallway.
“No, I’m leaving Paris!” I shout, pressing the round button on the wall over and over, anxiously summoning the elevator, feeling trapped.
“Leaving Paris, but why?” A stunned look falls over his face, his features freezing in place.
The elevator dings, and I step inside, the door positioned to close.
“Because you lied to me,” I manage to say before the door seals shut, the sound of his voice fading into the silence just as my heart plummets to my feet.