Page 72 of Enemies to French Kisses
I just have to try to remember that tomorrow when I face him again.
CHAPTER28
Marc
“What were you thinking?”I demand of the man in the mirror, but he has no reply. He rarely does in situations like this. It’s as though every rational possibility flew out the window, and what was left behind was a wild scheme of convincing Laura that we were always destined to be—the plan that sounded so great in my head.
And in reality was a disaster.
Convince her to love me? Fool her into staying with me for a week?
I really believed that with time, she would see who I am and not who she thought I was. The words she shouted in my face in front of Sacre Coeur still sting. Arrogant. Selfish. Boorish. Sure, some people think that because they only see the side of me at work that is trying to be everything that’s expected of the son and brother of France’s successful business world.
A side that isn’t me at all.
When I’m at work, I have to be a certain kind of man. There isn’t space for sensitivity or weakness. A man doesn’t get as far as I have by being gentle. Didn’t Alain show me that time and time again? He reaps all the benefits from the family business, and me? I’ve had to find a way to be someone who’s worthy of success, and I’ve had to figure it out all on my own.
It was going so well until Laura appeared in my life.
I toss the bedsheet in the air to smooth it, and a sock flies out. The sock is oversized and woven, little grips on the bottom as if for a child who’s learning to walk, but I know whose it is. She wore these most days as though they were slippers, coming halfway to her knee when she wore her nightshirt.
Every night, she was on that chaise longue. Every night, she checked to see if I was breathing.
Every morning, I woke to see her there.
And when I had nightmares, there she was. An angel waiting to comfort me.
I can’t have messed this up permanently. Or did I? Is there any space for forgiveness in a strongminded American career woman?
The phone rings and I nearly jump out of my skin. When I see Alain’s name, I rather wish I had. It would have been a great excuse to avoid his call.
“Brother,” he says before I even have a chance to say hello. “How is your health?”
“How’s yours? And also, good morning. Do you know what time it is?”
“I wasn’t the one hit hard enough on the head that I thought faking a marriage with an American was a good idea.”
It’s too early in the morning for truth.
“Touché. Is that what you called for? Because if so, then don’t think I haven’t already cursed myself enough for the events of the past week.”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
“Then we can end it right here.”
I pull the phone away and am half-way to hanging up when I hear, “No! That’s not what I mean!”
I might regret this, but Alain remains my brother, despite Father accidentally pitting us against each other.
“Whatdoyou mean, then?”
He’s breathing, I can hear it over the line, but he takes his time before he speaks. “I’ve been thinking. A lot. Ever since you took the fall, I’ve been in a silent panic mode.”
“You?”
He sighs. “I know. I hide it well. So well, in fact, that I realized—thanks to your calling it out—that I haven’t fulfilled even the least of my brotherly duty.”
I can add this to the list of most improbable things to happen this week.
