19. Speakeasy Paris
Samantha
Alexander invited us—Mara, Emelyne, and me— and, curious as ever, I can’t wait to discover the place.
For the occasion, I put on my most beautiful black dress, its simple, fitted cut highlighting my curves, paired with high heels that give me a few extra inches and, above all, give my legs a stunning shape.
I want to feel confident tonight. Untouchable.
Emelyne chose black shorts, a gold sequined top that sparkles with every movement, and thigh-high boots with towering heels that give her the look of a valkyrie.
Mara looks just as stunning in leather pants and a tank top accented with metal eyelets at the neckline and armholes. A knockout, without question.
Alexander picks us up by car. He parks in front of our building, and we hurry to climb inside. Tonight, he’s given Gilles the evening off, wanting to come get us and drive us home himself. I get in beside him in the front passenger seat, while Mara and Emelyne settle into the back.
I still haven’t told my friends the nature of my new relationship with Alexander. We decided to stay discreet for a while, long enough to get used to this new us. I wonder how long it will take them to realize we’re no longer pretending.
“Good evening,” we say in unison to Alexander.
“Good evening,” he replies with that crooked smile that makes me melt.
And without further ceremony, he reaches out, pulls me toward him, and gives me one of the most scorching kisses of my life. His tongue finds mine immediately, his hand slides into my hair, and for a few seconds, I completely forget we’re not alone.
When he finally lets me go, breathless, I see Emelyne’s jaw drop in the rearview mirror.
“Mara, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” she asks her sister, eyes wide.
Mara smiles mockingly, arms crossed.
“Yes, I think someone here has been keeping secrets from us.”
“Spill,” Emelyne orders, leaning forward between our seats. “Tell me everything. How long have you two been together?”
I turn toward her, trying to hide my smile.
“Uh… a week.”
“A week and you didn’t tell us anything?” she says, feigning outrage. “Jesus, Sam, how am I supposed to live vicariously if you don’t tell me anything?”
Alexander raises an amused eyebrow but refrains from commenting. He simply starts the car, a satisfied smile on his lips.
“So?” Emelyne insists. “How did it happen?”
The drive to the Speakeasy is punctuated by Emelyne’s relentless questions, which Alexander and I dodge with varying degrees of success. Complicit glances. Half-truths. Laughter. When we finally arrive, Alexander finds a parking spot not far from the entrance.
We step into the restaurant, and I’m immediately struck by the atmosphere. Red velvet, dark wood paneling, dim lighting… A jazz band plays softly on the small stage, conversations blend with the clinking of glasses, and the ambiance is intimate and warm.
We join Oliver and David, accompanied by their partners, already seated at a round table near the stage. When we arrive, Oliver stands to greet us and introduces Marion, his wife, a warm woman with hazel hair. David then introduces Florence, his partner, a lively brunette with a contagious smile.
I sit between Emelyne and Alexander. He keeps my hand in his, his thumb absently stroking my knuckles beneath the table. Conversations flow, laughter rings out, and I feel good, surrounded by people I genuinely like. Safe.
Dinner is going well until I see Kristel approaching our table with two of her friends.
“Fuck, no,” Alexander mutters when he spots her too.
His hand tightens around mine. Protective. Instinctive.
“Good evening,” she says in a syrupy voice, a perfectly calculated smile on her lips. “What a pleasant coincidence! It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”
Her gaze sweeps over our table, lingers on our hands hidden beneath it, and something cold flickers in her eyes. Understanding. Then calculation.
Then, turning to the server passing nearby, she adds with a charming smile:
“Could you please add three chairs so we can join my sister, her fiancé, and their friends?”
Intimidated by her authoritative tone and likely unwilling to cause a scene, the server nods and starts doing as she asks.
Around us, other patrons look on with curiosity. We’re trapped. Impossible to refuse without making a public spectacle. Exactly what she wants.
I feel Alexander stiffen beside me. Oliver and David exchange a worried look. Mara places a reassuring hand on Emelyne’s arm—Emelyne looks ready to pounce like a drawn bow.
Needless to say, the mood collapses like a collapsed soufflé.
Kristel maneuvers herself to the other side of Alexander, literally slipping in between him and Florence with disconcerting confidence. She immediately begins to dominate the conversation, speaking loudly, laughing excessively, acting as if nothing is wrong. As if she belongs here.
“So, Alexander, how’s business?” she asks, placing a hand on his arm. “I hear the IPO is coming up. You must be excited.”
“It’s moving forward,” he replies curtly, pulling his arm away without looking at her.
Under the table, Alexander squeezes my hand gently, keeping contact, letting me know he’s with me—not with her. A silent anchor.
When she notices, her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. A flash of rage crosses her face before she resumes her mask of perfection. Cracks, quickly plastered over.
The next moment, she suddenly stands.
“Oh, we need more wine!” she announces cheerfully.
She grabs the bottle in the center of the table. I sense her intention just before she acts, but I don’t have time to react. She pretends to stumble, and the bottle tips over, splashing red wine all over my dress and neckline.
The cold liquid makes me flinch. Mortified, I feel the wine soak into my dress, the fabric clinging to my skin. Eyes turn. Whispers rise.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, so sorry!” she apologizes, wearing an expression of perfectly acted horror. “I’m so clumsy!”
But I catch the small, satisfied smile hidden behind her apologies and victory, in her eyes.
I don’t bother responding. I simply grab my napkin and try to blot my dress as best I can. Unfortunately, my skin has been stained too, and the wine has already begun to seep into the fabric. There’s no saving it.
“Sam…” Alexander starts, apologetic.
“I’m fine,” I cut in as I stand. “I just need to clean up.”
I refuse to give her a scene.
Emelyne rises immediately.
“I’ll come with you.”
We head toward the restrooms, and I can feel the eyes of every diner in the restaurant on me. Perfect. Public humiliation, achieved.
Once inside, Emelyne helps me clean up the damage. We use paper towels and cold water to remove most of the stains.
“That bitch did it on purpose,” Emelyne growls, blotting my dress vigorously. “Did you see that smug little smile?”
“I know,” I say with a sigh.
“Her maturity astounds me,” Emelyne mutters. “How old is she again? Twelve?”
Despite everything, I can’t help smiling. Emelyne always knows how to lift my spirits and remind me I’m not alone.
We’re just finishing up when we suddenly hear voices outside—voices I recognize immediately. The restroom window must open onto a back courtyard or an alley, and apparently Alexander and Kristel stepped outside.
“So you two are already together,” Kristel snaps bitterly, her voice thick with reproach. “My so-called betrayal was awfully convenient. What did it take—two weeks before you jumped on her?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Alexander replies, and I hear the fatigue and exasperation in his voice.
“You think I don’t know about your Friday afternoon outings?” Kristel spits. “You claim I cheated on you, when you’re the one cheating on me every time you go out with her!”
Alexander’s voice rises, cold and controlled:
“Don’t talk nonsense. We’ve been doing those outings for years. Long before you. If I’d wanted to be with her that way, I wouldn’t have waited for your permission. And in case you’ve forgotten, we originally did those outings with Andrew. After he moved to Lyon, Sam and I simply continued.”
He pauses, then continues.
“The fact that you’re trying to shift the blame onto me and reverse the roles is pathetic.
You cheated on me, Kristel. You. Not me.
I was faithful for three years. Three years in which I gave you the best of myself, tried to build something with you.
And you reduced it all to ashes by sleeping with Grégoire. ”
“Because you never looked at me the way you look at her!” she screams, consumed by rage. “I was just an acceptable choice—nothing more!”
A tense silence settles. The truth, raw and ugly.
Then, suddenly, Kristel’s tone changes completely. Her voice becomes softer, almost fragile. A performance shift.
“I know I made an unforgivable mistake, but it was just a one-time lapse. I love you. I was just jealous of the closeness you share with Sam. I felt invisible. And sometimes you do stupid things just to remind yourself you exist. We can get past this. If you really love me…”