A Friend in Paris Read online

  Victor smiled broadly and kissed her again before pulling away, his brows furrowed. “And, regarding family? I mean, just to put everything on the table. You want to be a mom one day, right? We could…”

  “Definitely.” April grinned up at him. “Matthias wasn’t yours, but there will be a sweet little boy or girl who will be one day. Perhaps not right away. Maybe we could go to Colombia after China, since the guy who bought my painting—”

  “—for fifteen thousand euros.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “For fifteen thousand euros, which, by the way, is enough to pay for art school and airfare to Shanghai, but not enough to pay for cost of living.”

  Victor shrugged and lifted his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose I could take care of that.”

  “I didn’t know I would come to Paris and end up with a sugar daddy.” April laughed and Victor joined her.

  “I can only guess what that means.” He put his hands on the sides of her face and whispered, “I love you.”

  Their eyes held, and she covered his hands with her own. “You feel just like home to me.”

  The door buzzed, shrieking through the stillness of the apartment, and April jumped. “Who is that?”

  Victor pulled away from her, a smile hovering on his lips. He walked toward the intercom and announced, “Entre” before buzzing the entrance open. When he turned back to her, his eyes glimmered with mischief. “Who else? Penelope and her band. I just felt we couldn’t celebrate our engagement without our new friends.”

  Once again, April’s mouth was agape. This was becoming a regular thing. “Well, it’s lucky I didn’t arrive any later, or you wouldn’t have had time to propose!”

  “I was getting nervous,” he confessed.

  Slipping her fingers into his, April said, “I’m so glad you invited them though. It will make it seem real if we can share it with them. They’ve been good friends to us, haven’t they?”

  The door buzzed, and Victor went to open it. “Come on in,” he said, as Penelope and Guillaume entered with Aimée, Morgane, Théo, Martin, and Auriane piling in behind them.

  “I’ve brought champagne,” Penelope said gaily, lifting the bottle high.

  “And I’ve brought more,” Théo said. “Because one is never enough.”

  “How did you know I’d say yes?” April asked, hands on hips.

  “Oh.” Penelope shrugged. “With the two of you, it’s been plain right from the start. There was no way the answer would be anything but yes.”

  Victor went to pull the long-stemmed champagne flutes from the counter in the kitchen where they’d been hidden and handed one to each person as Penelope wiggled the cork out of the champagne bottle. When it popped, Guillaume tilted his glass to catch the bubbly liquid running over. She quickly filled the rest of the glasses.

  “I think we need a toast,” Guillaume said, taking the lead, and Penelope looked at him in surprise. Aimée smiled and lifted her glass in expectation, and everyone else followed suit. April and Victor raised their glasses last.

  “To young love,” Guillaume said, to a chorus of cheers. “To a made-for-each-other, unmistakable, unbreakable, irresistible love,” he said. More cheers.

  “To first kisses,” he said, to even louder cheers.

  Penelope protested. “I don’t think that was their first kiss.”

  “I wasn’t talking about them.” And before Penelope could react, Guillaume scooped one hand around her waist and pulled her flush against him. He leaned down to kiss her until her hands dropped to her sides and she kissed him back. There was another chorus of cheers, and April couldn’t help but laugh out of sheer delight. Guillaume finally pulled away, looking pleased and proud, and Penelope stared at him in astonishment.

  Guillaume exhaled. “Sorry about that, Victor. I didn’t mean to steal your thunder, but this was something that had to be done.”

  Victor shook his head, laughing. “Be my guest. I already got my girl.”

  “And now, if I may give a proper toast,” Guillaume said, lifting his glass. “To friendship, and to a love that will last. Victor and April, may you have every happiness in the world. I have no doubt that you will.”

  Everyone raised their glass to toast and took a sip. April wrinkled her nose from the bubbles.

  There was a short silence, and Penelope broke it first. “Well, you could have given me some notice,” she said, her voice severe but with a smile hovering on her lips.

  “I’ve given you all kinds of notice for the past eight years. I figured it was time to act,” Guillaume replied. “We can talk about everything later, mon amour.”

  “Oh, so it’s mon amour now,” Penelope said. April looked around the room at her friends laughing at Penelope’s inevitable capitulation, as they engaged in friendly arguments, punctuated by animated gestures, and raised their glasses to April’s happiness. Her joy overflowed.

  “Shh,” Guillaume whispered to Penelope. “This is about April and Victor.”

  “Yes, it is,” Victor said. He put his arm around April’s waist, and they basked in the glow of unmistakable, unbreakable, irresistible love—and friendship.

  Letter to the Readers & Acknowledgments

  Thank you for reading A Friend in Paris. I’m glad it found its way into your hands, and I hope you enjoyed it. Leaving reviews on Amazon is a huge help to us authors, as is sharing about the book on Facebook, if you’re so inclined. I appreciate your support, which allows me to keep writing more books. You can click here to leave a review for A Friend in Paris.

  I’m lucky to have had help from Angie Brooksby on all aspects of the art world, from creation to sale, particularly as it relates to France. If you’d like to see her paintings—and I’m sure you would because they’re stunning and many of them are of Paris—you can visit her website at angiebrooksbyarcangioli.com.

  I also want to give a shout out to a few other friends and colleagues who kindly read and critiqued the rough draft of this book. Thank you so much, Emma, Jaima, Julie, and Paco for your time, insight, and sage advice. You all made my book so much better, and I’m grateful. I would be remiss if I did not mention Stephanie Parent, the editor; Michelle Lynn, the interior layout designer; and Su from Plumstone, who designed the cover. You guys did excellent work.

  I thought you might be interested to know that the story about the art students pulling a prank (their version of subtle rebellion) on the Nazi visitors is a true story. My husband has three relatives who studied at the École des Beaux-Arts, so we have it first-hand. History is sometimes more interesting than fiction. If you’d like the recipe to the tarte à la moutarde (also called tarte à la tomate), which won the heart of my husband on our third date, you can find it here on my blog.

  Speaking of which, I write a weekly blog on the topics of faith, France, and food and you can read the posts here. I’ve also written a memoir on travel, grief, and faith, called Stars Upside Down, as well two more books, whose excerpts are included below.

  After this acknowledgment page, you’ll find a sample of the first novel I wrote called A Noble Affair and a link to download the rest of the book. Following that, is an unofficial sample (as in, not the final edited version) of my upcoming Regency, A Regrettable Proposal, which will be published by Cedar Fort in March, 2019.

  Finally, if you want to stay up to date on my books, you can click here to sign up for my author newsletter. I send out emails every Friday with a brief bit of personal news plus a couple of book deals or new releases from other authors. The books are usually in the genre of clean romance, but are sometimes faith-based books, memoirs, women’s fiction, books about France, or regular romance. Any romance book I share that doesn’t fall into the clean romance category I’ll signal to my readers. And that, I believe, is quite enough links for you!

  All right, friends, read on for A Noble Affair and A Regrettable Proposal.

  A Noble Affair

  Chapter One

  “You wanted to see me?” Chastity poked her head into the prin
cipal’s office.

  “Yes, come on in.” Elizabeth Mercer took freshly printed sheets out of the tray and checked them against a list in front of her. She swiveled on her chair and placed one paper on the stack behind her, and the other to her right. “You’re settling in all right?”

  Chastity nodded, hiding her fatigue. She didn’t need to discuss her small worries with her boss.

  “I saw your e-mail about meeting with Monsieur de Brase. Here—have a seat. And why don’t you close the door?”

  Chastity walked over and peered into the adjacent library where the voices swelled. “Hey everyone, keep your voices down.” She gave a pointed look at the students clustered around a tiny screen, and their voices fell to a whisper. While her principal continued to sort papers, Chastity sat, staring absently out the window at the young children chasing each other with untrammeled glee.

  “So, you’re meeting him to talk about Louis’s English grades, is that it?”

  “His grades, yes,” Chastity said. “But also the quality of his writing. It’s really below standard. How did he keep passing on to the next grade?”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together before replying. “He continued to scrape by. We helped him whenever we could, and it didn’t seem like holding him back would make much of a difference. He’s just never been a great student. Either way, it would’ve been hard to go against the wishes of his father.”

  Chastity frowned. “His father?”

  “He refused to let him repeat a grade and said he trusted us to do whatever it took to help his son pass.”

  “But—why does the father have a say in whether his kid passes? I didn’t think a parent’s opinion ever swayed our decision-making.”

  “Ah. You don’t know who Monsieur de Brase is." Elizabeth gave her a level stare, and if Chastity hadn’t begun to know her principal better, she would say she was pausing for effect. “He owns the Château of Maisons-Laffitte.”

  “Oh. The viscount.” There was a pause. “Still, we have other influential parents. I don’t see why—”

  “Because he donates a large amount of money to the school, and we depend on it. He’s also on the board, and some of our largest donors are on it because of him. It’s not worth the risk of losing that kind of support if we can avoid it.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry, but that just…irritates me. He’s using his wealth and influence to push people around, but he’s not considering what’s best for his son.” Chastity was breathless and wound up, which might have been the extra cup of coffee she’d had before her last class.

  “You’ll see for yourself,” Elizabeth responded. “He’s a nice enough man, but he’s kind of hard to argue with.” Chastity snorted delicately. “Just don’t say anything to set him off. We do need his monetary gifts.”

  Chastity rolled her eyes, but smiled as she picked up her bag. “I’ll try to be on my best behavior.”

  Once back in her office, Chastity realized she’d forgotten to tell her principal everything, but she didn’t have time to fill her in now. Only fifteen minutes remained before Mr. de Brase arrived, and she wanted to be prepared. She selected a colored file from the stack on top of the cabinets near the window.

  Flipping through the papers, she came to the one she wanted. It was Louis’s critical essay on Euripedes’ play, “Medea,” and she read it through once more. “You are kidding me,” she muttered. “How could the school let him bulldoze…”

  She reviewed her corrections—“There should be no first person in a critical essay. The beginning is too informal.” —and added, “Louis, you need to improve your writing. These words are too simple.” At least this is ready to show his father. He can hardly argue with me on how bad—

  Elizabeth rang earlier than expected. “Chastity, Louis’s father is here to see you.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll be right down.”

  Chastity slung her purse over her shoulder and pushed her reading glasses on top of her head, which was starting to hurt. She wasn’t sure if it was the upcoming meeting or if she had pulled her hair back too tight.

  At the bottom of the spiral staircase, she rounded the corner and came abruptly against a tall, well-built man. What she noticed, when he faced her, was the shape of his nose—a Patrician nose that looked as if centuries of aristocracy had poured into the genes that formed it. A nose made for snubbing people. She barely took in his blue eyes and firm mouth.

  A quick look at his Italian shoes and navy blazer with a little silk scarf caused her to glance at her own long skirt with a peasant top tucked in. I should really start dressing like a French person. His hair was his friendliest quality. It had a few strands of gray but was otherwise thick and tousled with boyish locks that made him look much less formidable.

  She hid her nervousness and stuck out her hand. “Bonjour, Monsieur Brase.”

  “Monsieur de Brase,” he answered, accenting the prefix, which denoted ancient nobility.

  “Monsieur de Brase,” she conceded, although she had known perfectly well how to pronounce his name. She had just been flustered by the fact that he appeared younger than she had expected. She turned to walk back up to her office. “If you’ll follow me?”

  They walked silently up the stairs, and she wondered if her shirt was tucked in properly in the back. A more amiable parent might have complimented her on her excellent French, but Louis’s father said nothing. When they reached the top of the stairs, Chastity gestured forward. “Right in here, please.”

  Shutting the door behind them, she took a seat across from him and folded her hands on the table, trying to keep them still. Why am I so nervous? “I’m sure you know why I’ve requested a meeting?”

  “I’ve no idea, other than your note, which said you wished to discuss my son’s English language skills.”

  He doesn’t care a whit about his son, she thought. “That’s not exactly…it’s not so much a problem with his language skills. It’s that he doesn’t seem to understand the material we’re studying, and he rarely participates in the class discussion. When he does talk, his spoken English is pretty advanced, actually,” she added.

  “Yes, that’s what I thought.” Mr. de Brase spoke with complacence.

  Irritated, Chastity began again. “Have you been following his coursework? His grades on the papers he’s handing in?”

  “My son is fifteen years old and doesn’t need me to stand over him to get his homework done. He’s been doing his own homework for a few years now and his grades were not worrisome last year.”

  Then why do you keep getting called in for parent-teacher meetings? She cleared her throat. “Something has changed, I guess. I don’t know how he was last year, but in my class Louis is below-grade, and if he keeps on in this way, he’s in danger of failing. I’m not sure he’s reading the assignments. And the papers he hands in are not as advanced as other students his age.”

  “Mademoiselle Whitmore, English is not his mother tongue.”

  “Yes, but that’s what I’m trying to tell you. He speaks English well enough, but he…he can’t think critically, or analyze what he’s reading, or…organize his thoughts well enough to write an essay that will get a passing grade.” She grabbed the papers from her desk, slapping the colored file on the table with more force than she intended. Mr. de Brase jerked at the noise, which made her flush with embarrassment.

  She heard her voice grow sharper. “Here, for instance.” Flipping through the papers until she found the right essay, she pointed to a paragraph in his son’s scrawl. He talks about Aegus being a god. But he’s not a god. He’s the king of Athens. Louis wasn’t even able to keep track of the characters, which means he didn’t read the play and needs to work harder. Or he did read it and can’t understand it, and is therefore in the wrong class.”

  “I’m not familiar with—”

  “And here.” Chastity knew she was starting to become aggressive but couldn’t prevent everything from spilling out. “He writes like someone in the sixth grade. There a
re fragments, and misused words, and punctuation in the wrong place.” She stopped abruptly.

  Mr. de Brase sighed. “Isn’t this the teacher’s responsibility to oversee all this? What do you expect me to do?”

  Ignoring the implied insult, she leaned forward. “Help him with his homework. Take an interest in what he’s reading and what he’s working on. Be willing to hold him back, even, if that’s what it takes.”

  Mr. de Brase folded his arms. Oh, he did not like that suggestion.

  “It’s your first year here?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you don’t know who I am.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What…”

  Mr. de Brase changed the subject so fast her head spun. “I’ll talk to my son about his grades, but I won’t start looking over his shoulder. I didn’t raise him that way, and he doesn’t need a babysitter. Besides, his work has always been good enough before.”

  Chastity bit back retorts like “father’s coercion” and “gullible teachers.” Clearly he was used to people eating out of his hands. She would not be one of them. She forced her shoulders to relax. “There’s something else.”

  “Go on.”

  “For the past month or so, I’ve had this suspicion that your son is using illegal substances.”

  Mr. de Brase looked at her sharply, the first sign of possessing an emotion other than bored indifference. “My son doesn’t use drugs. Where would he get them? He doesn’t even smoke.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “He smells like smoke every time he comes into class. And this area is wealthy—a prime target for people who sell drugs. I’ve overheard students talking about weekend parties, and someone is getting drugs. That, in itself, is a concern. But when it starts spilling over into his school days it becomes a real problem.”

  “What makes you so sure Louis is using drugs? You mentioned smoke, but that’s not the same thing as drugs.”