Page 37 of Enemies to French Kisses
“On top of the Sacre Coeur.”
“Discuss work at Sacre Coeur on a Friday night? That is very not French.”
“Turned out he actually just wanted to shoot the breeze.”
“Hold on, hold on.” Vincent covers his eyes with his hands. “Marc wanted to ‘shoot the breeze’—withyouof all people—on a Friday night atop the Sacre Coeur under the guise of the RFP, and instead ended up being run over?”
“Not run over. Why does everyone keep saying that? He was accidentally thrown off balance resulting in a tumble down the steps.”
“Is that what you told the police who are hovering in the hall?”
Breath catches in my throat and chokes me. I try to stifle the cough which only makes it worse so I pull up my shirt and cough into it hoping that muffles the sound enough not to wake Marc.
“Please, we don’t need another Innov’ Biotech employee ending up in hospital today.” Vincent claps my back—hard—which doesn’t help.
I finally compose myself, my throat scratchy and raw. “They’re still out there?”
“Indeed they are, and looking bored. What do they think you did?”
“They think I’m a husband-abuser.”
“You’re married?”
“No.”
Vincent squints. “Did you hit your head, too?”
“No.”
“Then who do the police think you’re married to?”
I point my thumb toward the sleeping giant. “Him.”
Now it’s Vincent’s turn to choke on air. “They clearly don’t know the two of you. Why in the name of Gustave Eiffel would they think you were married?”
“Because Marc said we were.”
Vincent stands from the chair like a shot, nearly smacking me in the face as he goes. “Now I have heard everything. Just how hard did he hit his head?”
“Really, really hard.”
“That explains it.”
We’re interrupted by a whispering flurry of activity in the hallway, American accents that aren’t so subtle, and Vincent looks at me. “Your people?”
“I think it may be.”
Natalie runs in front of the room’s window to the hall first, looking left and right, then stops on a dime. Perfectly out of a cartoon, Jess, Chrissy, and Gina smush into Natalie’s back. I gesture with a finger to my lips and they tiptoe through the door.
“Hey,” Natalie rushes in, taking me in her arms the way she used to when we were kids. Every time my Mom did something that would send me to tears, Natalie was my landing place. I’m now a good head taller than her, but she’s my girl and thank goodness for that.
“Hush, baby girl,” she coos. “Sit back down now.”
I didn’t realize I’d started crying.
Jess then struts in. “Did you know the cops are here because of you? Oh,hello,” she looks at the bed. “Nice catch.”
“Dude,” Annelise rebukes Jess, “a bit of respect for the patient, please.”
