Page 90 of Enemies to French Kisses
I drop my card on the bill.
“I ought to be getting home,” she says, packing up her handbag as though it were a suitcase with her phone, her lipstick, her wallet, then removing her phone before stuffing it back in. “It’s been a really long day.”
“A long week.”
“A long month.” She bites her lip and I feel the urge to say something so she won’t go.
But I can’t think of anything.
“Well,” she gets up and adjusts her dress, “this has been fun. I’m glad we got that out of our system.”
Why won’t she look at me?
“I hope you get a good night’s sleep.”
“Laura…”
Our eyes meet, but no words come. I can tell she’s waiting for me to say just the right thing to turn this night around, but my heart is being wrung like bread dough and still there’s nothing.
“Goodnight, Marc.”
She kisses me on the cheek. Just once. It’s neither the French goodbye kisses, nor the passion we had for each other just hours ago.
I can’t stop this feeling that I’ve again done something very wrong.
If only I knew what.
CHAPTER36
Laura
Chrissy’s voiceis singsong like a schoolteacher. “You’re going to have to come down sometime.”
“Nooooo.” I shove the pillow back over my face. “I’m staying here forever.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad.” Annelise drones and turns the page.
“Itwasthat bad. We had nothing to say to each other. Just when we should have more to say than we ever have before, nada. Never mind having the heart-to-heart we needed, we could hardly talk about the menu.”
“Come down and we’ll talk about it. Coffee? Croissants? They’re waiting for you right over here…” Jessica may be tempting me with my Achilles heel, but I’m not falling for it.
“We can’t possibly have a relationship if we can’t talk about what’s happened.”
“That’s it.” Annelise loudly shuts her magazine and stands beside my bed. “No more, Laur-ster. Wallowing in self-pity isn’t going to help a thing. When you’re not diving into work, you’re diving into this man. When you’re not diving into this man, you’re criticizing him for not overcoming an Eiffel Tower-sized challenge of meeting your expectations for perfect communication after a wild whirlwind of a week. I love ya, you know that, but you are all over the place and doing neither of you any favors.”
“All this because I want to stay in bed?”
“All this because you aren’t facing the truth. You want to think of yourself as the one who has it all together—and you don’t. That’s okay. But you have to admit it. And also, you have to get out of bed.”
“Whatever.” I roll away and face the wall. “Just leave me alone.”
I’m verging on twelve hours in bed, and despite the fact that my back is ceasing up, I’m not moving. I’ve cradled my phone all night, just in case Marc sends me a message that makes all of last night’s super weirdness disappear.
But nothing. There hasn’t been a peep from him. Maybe because he’s doing the same as me and questioning how on earth we ever thought we could be a normal couple after all we’ve been through. I used to love going out for the occasional semi-fancy dinner back home. It was nothing like Paris, but it felt special. And even if the dude and I weren’t going to become an item, we could—usually—find some way to enjoy the night.
“Laura…” Natalie coaxes.
“Nope, not moving.”
