Page 13 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
Luc takes a sip and hums in approval too. “Were you close to your grandmother?”
I shook my head. “Not really. We fought during the trip. She was uptight, and at twenty, I didn’t like the restriction she tried to put on me. She didn’t drink at all, actually.”
“Sounds pretty different from my grandma. Mine is old-school French, a bottle of table wine with every meal and cigarettes after.”
“And your parents?” I ask. He is obviously fond of his grandmother, but he hasn’t mentioned his mom or dad.
“My father was never in the picture, and my mother left when I was young. Mémé didn’t always have an easy time raising me. It’s better now. She’s doing marvelously for being in her seventies, and she just might live forever. Her mother lived to be ninety-two.”
“Do you have a girlfriend? Or a real fiancé?”
“No, I’m alone,” Luc says with an eyebrow raise, and I think about how a flirt like Luc probably brings home women or girlfriends. He changes the subject. “You said you are a writer, journalist,andeditor?”
“I run a travel magazine. I started out writing, but now I’m the boss. I’ve spent my whole life traveling and have always loved it.”
“When you travel like this,” Luc gestures, as if to encompass all of Paris, “is it work or pleasure?” There’s a bit of that tease in the question again.
“This weekend is all pleasure,” I say, and Luc leans closer. The heat in his gaze causes the flirty chemistry to tip over into sexual tension, butterflies and heat flickering in my core. I have the hotel room to myself tonight, and I haven’t been with anyone since James. If Luc didn’t have to work tonight, would I want to give myself a treat in the form of a younger, flirty man in my bed? Am I even capable of a one-night stand?
Our food comes, and we fall into easy chatter. Luc asks about my other trips to Paris, and when I tell him about visiting during the Euro Championship, it leads to talk about European football.
The food is good. We keep ordering little dishes, another bottle of wine, and the streets slip into darkness.
“What will you do tomorrow?” Luc asks, leaning in close. My stomach flips at the way he smells and how I can see the long, thick eyelashes he has. Even though they are pale golden, fairer than his hair, they catch the light and frame his eyes.
“The rest of the group gets in tomorrow morning. Once they had to reschedule, they coordinated to meet at the train station and then come to the hotel. I imagine we’ll grab breakfast at the restaurant and then go do all the things that were on our list for today.”
“Busy day then.”
I grin. “I don’t suppose you are free...to play tour guide tomorrow?”
Luc laughs, clearly expecting me to end the sentence a different way. “No, I have to work at the bar. But if you give me your number, I can text you some tips.”
We swap numbers, and Luc checks his watch. “I better get going. My shift starts soon.” He starts to pull out his wallet, and we wrestle for a few minutes, me refusing to take any money from him. “I picked the place,” he says. “And this will cover the rest of the wine that you can enjoy while people watching now.”
“I don’t care.”
“If you pay, this won’t be a date.”
“That’s sexist bullshit,” I say instead of pointing out that it’s not a date regardless, and he laughs and then grabs my outstretched hand that’s trying to shove the cash back into his pocket.
“Please,” he says, sobering his tone. “I feel bad that you had to pay for a full tour when it felt more like a date. An all-day date.” His grin is back.
“Fine,” I huff. “But you really don’t need to feel bad. I had a great time today, and it was worth every penny.”
“Well then, I have a clear conscience.” He slips the cash under his plate and picks up the wine bottle, pouring a generous glass of Rosé for me and emptying the bottle.
When he’s done, I stand, and Luc smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Tessa.” He opens his arms, and I give him a hug.
“Thank you for being my fake fiancé,” I say into his chest and am rewarded by feeling his chuckle.
I let go—reluctantly—and Luc steps away, giving me a wave before he turns and threads his way out of the cafe. I sit and, once he’s out of view, slump down, propping my chin up with my hand.
He’s just a guy, I tell myself.A guy who you’ll never see again.
I pick up my wine and take a sip, the refreshing drink rolling around on my tongue before I swallow.
Alone again.
