Page 32 of Forgiving Paris
Ashley couldn’t focus on counting the receipts or helping return the other paintings to the gallery floor. Marguerite must have known something was going on between Jean-Claude Pierre and her new American gallery girl. Because before Ashley left, the woman walked up to Ashley and looked her in the eyes. “Don’t get caught, Ashley. Jean-Claude is married and highly respected.” She paused. “Just make sure he favors Montmartre. He is our favorite artist.”
In other words, go ahead and have an affair with the man, as long as he doesn’t move on to a different gallery. That’s what Marguerite had basically told her. Ashley should’ve been sickened, should’ve run back to her room at Ms. Martin’s. Maybe never shown her face at the Montmartre Gallery again.
Instead, she was practically breathless when she finished her work and walked out the back door of the gallery. Jean-Claude was waiting for her, leaning up against a white Mercedes. No one else was in sight.
“Ma chérie.” He took her hand. “Marguerite says you do not work tomorrow.”
That wasn’t true, but Ashley nodded. “Okay.” If Marguerite said so.
“Then… beautiful girl, let me show you Paris.”
Jean-Claude’s tour of the city began that night with drinks at a nightclub in the Marais. Ashley was only twentyand she’d never drank before. She felt heady and sophisticated, sipping a martini and looking into the artist’s blue eyes. “Tell me about yourself.” His words were a caress. Only one guy had ever treated her with more respect. But he wasn’t in Paris.
“I’m an artist,” Ashley told him. “That’s why I’m here.”
“I’m sure you are.” Jean-Claude kissed her hand. “Tell me more.”
Ashley didn’t want to tell him about her life. She had left Bloomington because she didn’t want to talk about that. She felt the flirtatiousness in her eyes. “Instead… tell me about you.”
“I am a man who grew up loving art.” He was so close she could smell the mint of his breath. He never once looked away. “I am still that man today.”
The message was clear.
In this situation, he was the patron and she was the painting.
THAT NIGHT WHENJean-Claude brought her back to Ms. Martin’s, he walked her to the door. She leaned against the red brick wall and he moved close. So close he was almost touching her. For the longest time he just looked at her. Then he ran his thumb over her brow and came closer to her.
But instead of kissing her, he brushed his face against her cheek. His whisper felt like a physical touch. “Until tomorrow, belle. I will see you at ten tomorrow morning.”
“Are you sure… Marguerite said I don’t work tomorrow?” Ashley wasn’t supposed to have a day off for weeks.
“I’m sure, mon amour.” Jean-Claude shook his head, and a sly sort of smile lifted his cheeks. “You have tomorrow off.”
Ten in the morning.“Okay, then… demain… tomorrow. Bien.” She spoke French before she could stop herself, and Ashley could see that her effort made Jean-Claude smile.
His words stayed with her as she made her way up to the fourth floor, quiet so she didn’t wake up Ms. Martin. With every step up to Ms. Martin’s front door, with every pounding heartbeat, shame covered Ashley like a suffocating piece of plastic. What was she doing? Yesterday she wouldn’t have considered even talking to a married man, let alone going to a bar with one.
Now, though, she was a worldly Parisienne. An artist. She would’ve kissed him if he’d tried. Never mind her family or her upbringing, her faith or her prior convictions. Never mind Landon Blake. Ashley was the softest clay in Jean-Claude’s talented hands.
But when she looked in the bathroom mirror that night, the spell broke.What am I doing?“You are not going to have an affair with Jean-Claude Pierre,” she ordered herself. “That’s not who you are, Ashley Baxter. No.”
She reminded herself of this again and again, every few minutes that night. By the time she was ready for bed and had slipped between the covers in her new room, she had convinced herself. Jean-Claude was a fellow artist,nothing more. He wanted to show her Paris, and why not? No way Ashley was going to cross lines with a married man.
Even so, the last image she saw as she fell asleep that night was the handsome face of Jean-Claude Pierre.
12
If this was a dream, Ashley couldn’t wake up. The past was as alive as she was and the memories kept coming.
The next day Ashley was on her guard. She wore a white denim skirt, white tennis shoes, and a modest red blouse.There is nothing special about today,she told herself.I’m allowed a day in the city with a new friend.
She would keep the boundaries between them. No more walls down, no doe-eyed smiles in his direction. He held the door for her as she stepped into his Mercedes. The car smelled of leather and expensive cologne.You are not having an affair, Ashley Baxter.She closed her eyes for a brief moment.You are not.
“I wish to show you the captivating arrondissements of Paris, ma chérie.” He pulled away from her building and turned his eyes to her. “Ashley… you are even more beautiful in the daytime.”
And every promise Ashley had made to herself fell like a house of cards.
By the time they reached the next traffic light, Ashley had all but forgotten her name, let alone her convictions. She swallowed hard and stared straight ahead. Just onethought pierced through the intoxicating sensation of his presence.
