A Friend in Paris Page 19

  Ben had been her friend. Not a close friend, but a friend. And now it turned out he was nothing more than a selfish, jealous, immature traitor. She stomped along with heaving breaths, refusing to waste any tears on him. Victor was a friend too, and he actually listened to her. He actually cared about her paintings, and her safety, and how she felt. But he was a completely unavailable friend, and that was what hurt the most. In her heart of hearts, she knew that if he didn’t have the baby with Margaux, Victor would want to be with her. They were so comfortable together. Comfortable, with that added element of spark.

  Not all that comfortable, after all.

  April’s phone rang, making her heart leap. Perhaps it was him.

  “I called to get the latest on Lucas.” Penelope’s voice rang out, and April pulled the phone away from her ear. “Served him right, the jerk, that he’d get beat up by a bunch of racaille. And you, ma chérie, are completely safe now. You can live freely without looking over your shoulder.”

  “Yeah.” April had stopped walking, and leaned against one of the trees that were planted in a square cut out in the sidewalk. Her melancholy must have shown in her voice.

  “What’s wrong?”

  April’s throat worked as she tried to get the words out. “Victor is going to marry Margaux.” Then the tears started, and she began walking again, hoping no one would see her, hoping she could pull out her next words without sobbing.

  “Ma chérie.” Penelope’s voice was full of tenderness. “What brought this about? Did you just see him?”

  “No. I just saw Ben.”

  She sensed Penelope’s confusion by the long pause on the other end of the phone line. April didn’t have it in her to explain, so Penelope was forced to ask. “What does Ben have to do with Victor?”

  “Ben stole my painting. Or not stole, exactly, but borrowed it. Well, he took it so it wouldn’t get entered into the competition.”

  Penelope gasped. “That is infamous. How did you find out?”

  April’s voice was as melancholy as she felt. “He confessed. He feels bad about it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he does. How could he have done something like that?”

  April went on as if Penelope hadn’t asked a question. She couldn’t have answered in any case. “And his painting made it in anyway. He didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

  “Yes, but it might not have. They were limited in number, so someone’s painting would’ve been left out. It might very well have been his.” Penelope reflected for a moment. “Although, his was quite good. What a stupid thing to do, really. What a stupid man.”

  April exhaled and moved forward again, her phone clamped to her ear. “He did say something about being jealous. I think he’s jealous of Victor.”

  “Ugh.” She heard Penelope’s snort. “All the more reason you would never have ended up with Ben. He just retaliated instead of trying to win you over. No wonder Victor is the one who won your heart.”

  “Please don’t. His heart is not free.” The tears threatened to fall again.

  “Victor loves you. I know he does,” Penelope said. “It’s just the baby thing, right? The only thing that’s holding him back?”

  “Yes, but truthfully, it holds me back too. I wouldn’t want him to do it any other way. I wouldn’t want him to be different than he is. I like that he wants to stick around and be there for his baby, and I get that he wants to give Matthias a happy, safe family.”

  “Hmm,” Penelope said. “Bet you anything the baby isn’t even his.”

  “Maybe. Unfortunately, there’s no way to be sure without a paternity test, and it’s not up to me to insist. I think Victor is avoiding it through some misguided sense of honor. Anyway, it’s useless to dwell on it.” April took a deep breath. Her anger had left her, and in its wake there was just fatigue and a sense of futility. “All right, let me get going. I need to go home and see how Mishou is doing. She seemed tired before I left this morning.”

  “I’ll talk to Arthur to see what we can do about getting your painting included in Mr. Chambourd’s gallery. Does Ben realize he’s losing his chance to have his own painting shown by this confession? I mean, he could probably go to jail.”

  “Honestly, I’m super mad at Ben, but I don’t want him to go to jail. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, and in some way I feel like the guilt was punishment enough. I do, however, want my own painting to be included, so I’d be grateful if you could talk to Arthur. Or even Françoise.”

  “You’re a better woman than I am,” Penelope said, “but all right. I’ll let you know today what he says. We need to work fast because the showing is in two weeks. I’ll call you later today with news. Oh, and save Thursday night for dinner at Guillaume’s. I’ve got a surprise, and if it’s as good as I think it will be, you’ll be happy. Bisous, ma chérie.”

  April couldn’t imagine that anything could possibly make her happy. “Bisous,” she said, and hung up.

  Mishou was seated at the table, fanning herself slowly when April entered the apartment. “April, I haven’t seen you all day. Are you recovered from yesterday’s fright?” Mishou had stayed up the night before until Victor brought April home, and Victor had had to help his grandmother into her bed after all the excitement. Today, Mishou’s listless attitude concerned April.

  She came and sat at Mishou’s side. “Are you all right? It’s very warm in here.” April went to open the window, but Mishou waved her away. “Ça va, ça va. It’s not usually this hot in June, and it will probably cool down again.”

  “May I bring you some lemonade? I bought some yesterday, and I’ve kept it in the refrigerator.”

  “That sounds nice.” Mishou began to wave her fan again as April rushed to get her a glass of cold, sweet lemonade. She’d have to talk to Victor about getting some type of cooling system in his grandmother’s apartment, although she wasn’t sure air-conditioning was common in France.

  After a few sips of lemonade, Mishou seemed to perk up. “It’s a relief that horrible Lucas was put away and will not cause you any more trouble. Have they looked for your painting?”

  “No need. I know where it is.” April gave a weak smile. “My friend, Ben, took it.”

  “Some friend.” Mishou blew out through her lips, the French expression of dismissal. “So what will happen now?”

  “I’ll ask the professor to consider including it. Maybe there’s still a chance. If it sells, I sure could use the money.” April went back into the kitchen to pour herself some lemonade too. The buzzer rang, and April hurried to answer it, but Mishou was already up.

  “I wonder who that could be.” Now that Mishou had had a few sips of lemonade, there was a decided pep in her walk, and her eyes sparkled. April wondered if the leap in her own heart showed on her face.

  “I’m always here. I know, I know.” April heard the amusement in his voice—a voice she was coming to love. She stood behind Mishou at the door, then stopped short. Victor was pushing a stroller into the apartment.

  “Oh, now who is this?” Mishou leaned over the side of the stroller, her face alight, and all trace of lethargy gone.

  “Mishou, meet Matthias.” Victor positively beamed as he presented his son to his grandmother.

  Matthias was sucking on his fingers and when Mishou, April, and Victor all peered into the stroller, the baby broke out into a toothless grin. “Aren’t you just un petit chou,” Mishou crooned, reaching for the baby. She started to lift him out, but Victor had to unhook the straps first. He picked him up and handed him to his grandmother, apparently not concerned that she was too weak to hold him.

  April suddenly felt like an outsider. How foolish she’d been to think the baby wasn’t his, or that she had any sort of future with him. Matthias was even starting to resemble his father, she thought, and Victor was practically beaming.

  “So Margaux let you take him?” April strove for a normal tone over the lump in her throat.

  “She practically insisted. She said I neede
d to get used to being his father, and that I should spend some time with him.” Victor leaned over his grandmother and grinned at Matthias, and his son responded with a giggle. “Margaux is in full wedding-planning mode, so I think it’ll do her some good to have free time.”

  With Matthias propped on her shoulder, Mishou walked to the sofa. “You’re still going to marry that woman, hmm?”

  Victor’s gaze dropped to his feet, and all trace of enthusiasm disappeared. “How can you ask me that when you’re holding my baby?” He darted a glance at April, and she thought she saw regret there. Misery. Longing? “It’s the right thing to do,” he said in a firm voice.

  “Bah.” Mishou gave another sign of dismissal, and a ray of humor pierced April’s own misery. Mishou certainly had ideas about how things should be run, and who was worth her grandson’s time. At least April had made the cut.

  “April.”

  Pulled out of her thoughts, she looked up, startled. Victor came to stand in front of her, an intimate gesture she struggled not to read too much into. “I went to the police station to ask if they’ve made any headway in interrogating Lucas about your painting, but they said he has no idea where it is. I think—”

  “I know where it is. Ben took it. He was jealous.” The words came rushing out, and she hoped it was the last time she would have to explain. “Penelope is going to talk to Arthur to see if it’s too late to include my painting in the exhibit, and she said she’d let me know as soon as she had word.”

  Victor shook his head. “What? I can’t believe he had the gall to do that. Quel idiot. It’s so…selfish.” He blew out his breath, looking at that instant very much like his grandmother. “Well. Perhaps we’ll have something to toast to on Thursday night.” Upon seeing April’s look of confusion, he clarified. “At Guillaume’s. I assume you’re going?”

  “Penelope told me about it. I’m glad they’re including you in all the invitations, too. Now we’re all friends, which is the best.” April gave a small smile. “I assume Margaux is coming.”

  Victor’s expression fell a little. “Yes.” He looked at Mishou, but she was fully occupied with Matthias. He leaned toward April and whispered, “I’m more sorry than you will ever know that…we could never take our friendship to a deeper level. We’ve only known each other for a short time, but you are the best friend I’ve ever had—” He seemed to swallow nervously, and she suspected he was unaccustomed to revealing so much of his feelings. “—and you’re my favorite person to spend time with.”

  Victor leaned down to kiss her on her cheek, but because she turned her face in surprise, it landed on her mouth. Their lips met in a gentle touch that lasted only a split second, but jolted straight to her heart. “I’m sorry,” he said, when she gasped in surprise.

  He stepped away, and she saw he was now red in the face, as he shoved his hands in his pocket.

  “I’m sorry too,” she said, softly.

  Chapter 24

  Victor headed down the familiar street on his way to Margaux's apartment. He had walked this way so many times while they were dating, and his steps had always lightened the closer he got. Now, his gloom seemed to deepen. That kiss. He had kissed April, and he wanted more. His heart felt raw and filled with longing. How could he even think about getting married to someone else when he was feeling this way about April?

  He’d been a fool to think it would be enough to marry into a stable family and provide the same for his son—that it could fill the hole that had been in him for as long as he could remember. No, it wasn’t enough. The family would be stable, all right, with a father, a mother, and a son; but he wasn’t sure there was any love. With blinding clarity, he saw that he had matured enough to take the next step in his life. He was ready for marriage. He had just offered it to the wrong person.

  Even if Matthias was now in his life, he needed to make a decision that would be the best for all of them before it was too late. It was time to put an end to the madness and tell Margaux he could never marry her. He would simply be in her life as father to her child. Oh, but Matthias…for this kid he would do anything. He would be the best father this kid could possibly have.

  Having reached the decision, his steps grew more determined, but a sense of wariness settled over him. He was now going to have to tell her, and Margaux was not someone he could simply dismiss. If he’d thought Christelle was bad…Margaux was capable of making him doubt decisions he had so firmly made on his own the instant he tried to communicate them to her. This time he would have to take a stand.

  Victor arrived at the door and rang the bell, and Margaux's voice came over the intercom, announcing that she would be right down. Victor sat on the whitewashed ledge near the entrance, rehearsing how he was going to break the news to her. Now that he was decided, he needed to do it fast. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  He saw her coming out of the elevator through the glass door of the entryway, but he couldn’t open it for her since he had no key. She clicked the door open and allowed him to hold it while she pushed the stroller through. “You’re bringing Matthias?” Victor peered into the stroller and saw his sleeping baby, and his heart filled with love. No matter what I say to your mom, he thought, I will be there for you.

  “My parents couldn’t watch him. I’m sure he won’t cause any problems. He’ll probably sleep through the whole dinner anyway.” She allowed Victor to push the stroller as they stepped on the street toward the métro.

  “What are your parents doing tonight?” he asked, trying to muster the courage to break things off.

  “They’re having dinner with the cleric at the Madeleine church to see if they can get around some of the restrictions on using it for the wedding.” Margaux turned to face him as they walked. “They’re really going all out for this wedding. I hope you appreciate it since your father hasn’t offered to do anything.”

  Victor almost froze in his steps. He hadn’t even told his father yet. This was the final straw, the harbinger that showed this wedding shouldn’t take place. If he’d been serious about marrying Margaux, he would’ve told his father right away about setting the date, more from a sense of defiance than affection. He would have wanted to show his dad that something was going right in his life. But no. Victor had only told him about the baby, not about the wedding.

  They were coming to the steps of the métro, and Victor couldn’t do it here. In fact, he should wait until the dinner was over. It was going to be too awkward if he broke up with her before dinner. Picking up the stroller, he carried it down the steps of the métro. At the bottom, Margaux went through the turnstile first and he followed, carrying the stroller over the bars. Paris métro stations were a nuisance for parents.

  At their destination, they walked in silence, closing the distance to Guillaume’s apartment with Victor still pushing the stroller. Margaux sighed. “Papa signed the papers for us so we could move into the apartment right after the wedding. Where did you book for our honeymoon?”

  “Euh.” He cleared his throat. Margaux rang the intercom at Guillaume’s place, and they were buzzed in immediately. As they waited for the elevator, Victor answered. “I haven’t booked anything yet.”

  “Victor.” Margaux's face pinched in a frown. “It’s just like you to be so irresponsible. You know if we don’t book soon there will be no honeymoon.”

  He couldn’t resist retorting, “I’m not irresponsible. You’re the only one who thinks I am. I run a company, and if I were irresponsible, the board at Brunex Consulting would never have urged me to run one of their branches.”

  The elevator arrived, and Margaux took the stroller from him, shoving it in with more force than necessary. “You’re not going to start getting involved in middle management now? I thought we talked about this. How will you make any money?”

  “No, you talked about it. I have plenty of money already, and I’m interested in building companies from the inside. Seeing what I can do to make them grow. Besides—” He turned to her, a muscle throbbing in
his jaw, “it’s not middle management. Running a branch is senior management. And I think I can do a good job of it.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” she snapped. “You’ve had these sorts of ideas in the past, and they never worked out. It didn’t matter when we were together before, but now I’m going to be home taking care of the baby, and you need to be the responsible one.” The doors pinged open, and Margaux pushed the stroller out of the elevator and turned down the hall, with Victor trailing behind. She knocked on the door to Guillaume’s apartment.

  “I don’t want to get married.”

  Margaux whirled to him, her face drained of color. For once she was not composed, and the look of shock eclipsed the outrage. The door opened.

  “Salut,” Penelope said. She gave a slight tug on the stroller, so she could pull it in and peek at the baby. “You brought Matthias. That’s just…parfait.” Victor looked up in surprise at Penelope’s tone and thought her eyes held mischief. Or maybe it was just her usual sense of fun. Penelope kissed Victor and Margaux on the cheeks. “Entre. Everyone’s here. Or—almost everyone. We’ve got an old friend coming to dine with us tonight.”

  There came voices of protest from the living room. “Sorry guys,” Penelope said. “No one knows about it. You’re all in the dark, except Guillaume.”

  “It’s always Guillaume who’s in the know,” Aimée taunted, breaking her usual silence. Everyone turned to stare at her in surprise. “Well, it’s true. Guillaume, when are you going to kiss her, anyway?”

  “Come on, guys. Don’t be ridiculous.” Penelope moved into the room with a wave of her hand.

  The bowl Guillaume was washing clattered in the sink, and Penelope stopped dead in her tracks. His face was bright red.

  Penelope’s jaw dropped. “What…what?” Everyone was grinning at her, as she tried to articulate her protest. Finally, she marched toward the kitchen. “Prosciutto and melon, anyone?”