Page 33 of Enemies to French Kisses
I shoot off a quick text to Vincent, noting that the doctors say everything is okay. I don’t tell him about my fears that it might not be okay at all.
My phone pings in my hand, but it’s not Vincent. Natalie’s name flashes on the screen.
“Should we expect you home tonight, or is the date going really well?”
“No date,”I reply.“At the hospital. I’m okay. Marc Lemonstre is not.”
I hit send and wait for what is likely going to be a very quick reply.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
My phone rings in my hand as I’m typing my reply to her, nearly making my heart stop and sending my phone across the floor.
When I pick it up, there’s a great big crack across the screen.
It’s the least I deserve.
“Hi, Nat.”
“LAURA!”
I cringe and pull the phone away from my ear. “I’m in a hospital, you have to speak quieter.”
“What in the name of the Lone Star State have you done?”
“It wasn’t on purpose. It really wasn’t. Why did he have to wear a stupid scarf?”
“You’ve landed a man in the hospital because he wore a stupid scarf?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
Worry is apparent in her voice. “The stress of work must be really getting to you. How’s the man?”
“Hard to say, he hasn’t woken up yet.”
“YOU KNOCKED HIM OUT?”
“Shhhh.” I cover my phone, but Marc isn’t moving. Then again, if Natalie’s squeal wakes him up, that can only be a good thing. “It was an accident. It’s not how it sounds, except that heisin the hospital and heisknocked out, so that part is exactly how it sounds.” The whole situation finally catching up to me, a weight settling on my shoulders that’s heavier than I have felt in a long time. “Natalie, it’s horrible. He’s got bluish purple bruises under his eyes, and he’s all banged up under the hospital sheets…”
“I’m coming. Where are you?”
“The hospital.”
“Sweetie, there’s a whole bunch of hospitals in Paris, you’re going to have to be more specific.”
I look around the walls, but there’s no signs, no business cards, nothing stamped to say where we are. I could be anywhere and nowhere, and this situation is growing out of control. A whimper escapes my lips but Marc doesn’t stir, and that only makes it worse. Where am I? How did this happen? And what am I supposed to do to fix it?
“I—don’t—know.” The tears flow down my cheeks.
“It’s okay, hun. Ping me your location on your phone and we’ll get there as soon as we can.”
Outside the room, two police officers are talking, leaning against the counter of the nurse’s station, and the nurse is pointing.
At me.
“I’ve got to go, Nat.”
“Send me your location.”
