Up the Seine Without a Paddle Page 15

  Even if I had to wear a disguise to get in.

  A blond American woman in her early thirties was admiring the jewelry. She glanced over at a tall dark-haired man. “Just in case you need an idea for our anniversary.” She gestured to an item in the display case.

  He joined her and eyed the price tag, letting out a low whistle. “Gold doesn’t look good on you anyway. I don’t know why you wear it. Besides, after ten years, do we really need to buy each other presents?”

  Every muscle in my body tensed. That ass sounded like Andy convincing me that bright blue looked awful on me. I’d stopped wearing my favorite color for the two years we’d dated!

  The woman shrugged, continuing on to the home décor section. “Yellow is such a happy color. This tablecloth would go perfect in the kitchen.”

  Her husband sneered. “Yellow would look shitty. Get the blue.” He shook his head in dismay. “Sometimes I think you’re color blind. Admit it, honey. You don’t have the best decorating sense.”

  “Her taste in men sucks—that’s for sure,” I muttered.

  “What’s that, you say?” Declan glanced up from a set of pewter wineglasses he was admiring.

  I glared at the guy. “Listen to that jerk.”

  Declan followed my gaze over to the couple.

  “You’re right. My decorating might not always be the best,” the woman said, exchanging the yellow tablecloth for the blue one. “Blue is probably better.”

  “I can’t believe she’s been with that prick for over ten years.” At least I’d only been with Andy for two! I sidled up to the woman. “What color is your kitchen?”

  She appeared startled by my sudden appearance. “Ah, blues and grays.”

  “Yellow and blue were historically two of the most popular color combos in French decorating, still common in Provence.” According to the saleslady at the quaint cooking shop where I’d bought the birthday gift basket. “I would get the yellow.” I handed her the yellow tablecloth. “A much better color. Don’t you agree?” I directed the question at Declan, giving him an earnest look.

  He nodded faintly. “Ah, yeah, the yellow is lovely.”

  “You should also get the matching cloth napkins and placemats.”

  The woman’s husband let out a hrmph and threw his arms up in defeat. “What do I know?”

  I gave him a superficial smile. “Yeah, I’d leave the decorating to her.”

  The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and she bit down on her lip, suppressing a smile.

  The jerk rolled his eyes in that condescending way that made me want to scratch them out!

  A few determined steps and I closed the distance between us, glaring into his coldhearted gray eyes. I clenched my hands into fists, wanting to deck the idiot in the worst way. I slowly uncurled my fingers, flattening my hands. Maybe I’d slap him instead. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, like we women have no clue. You’re the one”—I pointed a finger at him, just shy of stabbing him in the chest—“who has no—”

  “We should be off.” Declan nodded discreetly toward the saleswoman staring at us, trying to determine if our argument was merely over the last yellow linen or something more serious.

  This was so worth getting kicked out over.

  Declan disagreed, grasping hold of my elbow, drawing me near him while propelling me toward the exit.

  I yelled over my shoulder to the woman, “Get the yellow!”

  We flew out the door, and I yanked my arm from Declan’s grasp. I stalked across the Royal Court toward the garden’s entrance, my heels clicking against the concrete. I threw open the door and bolted outside, sucking in the crisp, fresh air. The gurgling fountains and serene grounds did nothing to cool the inferno inside me.

  “Jaysus.” Declan’s gaze sharpened. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “He’s an ass. I seriously could have smacked him.” Pacing, I clenched and unclenched my fists.

  “Calm down. You’re bright red.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.” My voice rose, shattering the peaceful setting, attracting people’s attention. “You don’t think that guy was a total jerk?”

  “He’s a feckin’ arse, but that’s her problem, not yours.”

  “She obviously doesn’t realize it’s a problem. That he’s treating her like an incompetent idiot, trying to make himself look good. Like he’s so perfect and his taste matters more than hers. That she doesn’t have a say!” My breathing quickened to the point I feared I was going to start hyperventilating.

  “Take a deep breath.”

  I sucked in a ragged breath and blew it out, kicking myself for letting that guy set me off and trigger such an intense reaction. Despite now being able to say Andy’s name without vomiting, this was a major step backward in my recovery.

  And I’d done little to help Declan or that woman.

  I’d never be anyone’s Martha!

  “I keep saying I want to help women. There was my chance, and I blew it. I should have pulled that woman aside and rationally asked her if her husband tells her how to dress, eat, act…” I glanced toward the palace. “I have to help her.” I stalked back toward the building.

  Declan raced up behind me and grabbed my elbow, jerking me to a halt. “You’re in no shape to talk to her. You’ll regret it. Besides, he just told her to get a different color tablecloth. It wasn’t that bad. Maybe she is a horrible decorator.”

  I spun toward him, freeing my elbow, giving him an incredulous look. “It doesn’t matter if she decorates for crap—it’s the way he told her she decorates for crap.”

  “Yeah, he’s an arse, but that’s her issue if she wants to stay with him. She could tell him to piss off or get a divorce.”

  “But she doesn’t see it.”

  He raked a frustrated hand through his hair, giving me a bewildered look. “How can she not see it? She’s been married to the bloke for ten years.”

  Shock, disbelief, anger, betrayal… Every imaginable emotion battled it out inside me. Declan was reacting precisely how Martha had warned me people would who didn’t understand narcissism and the emotional damage it caused. They blamed the victim for staying in a verbally abusive and controlling relationship. They thought once the person was out of it, voila, you should be magically healed, that the abuse didn’t have lasting effects because there were no physical scars.

  Declan didn’t sympathize with this woman.

  A sick feeling tossed my stomach.

  He would never sympathize with me.

  “Of course you wouldn’t understand.” Disappointment filled my voice.

  Here I’d been trying to help Declan open up so I could give him advice or merely listen and be there for him, yet he hadn’t been listening to me. When I’d blasted him with pepper spray in Dublin, I’d confessed my fear that he might have been my ex stalking me. And I’d been confiding in him this trip, dropping hints about how Andy had treated me. That he’d claimed my painting was his, like everything in our relationship. That Rachel thought Andy was a total ass and I’d agreed in the end.

  If Declan didn’t want to discuss his issues, how about discussing mine?

  Or maybe Declan hadn’t reacted to my hints not because he was avoiding discussing Shauna, but because he thought I was blowing my relationship with Andy out of proportion, like I was the conversation with that couple. Maybe he did get it—he just didn’t sympathize with me. Maybe Declan didn’t sympathize with anyone. Maybe he was emotionally void since Shauna’s death. His display of emotions at the cemetery had likely been the first weak moment he’d allowed himself in three years. After which he’d immediately withdrawn back into his safe place, once again cutting himself off from his feelings.

  I had to cut myself off from Declan. Not just personally but also professionally. Needing an immediate emotional and physical distance from him, I fled into the gardens, leaving him standing there, likely wondering what he’d done wrong.

  While I wondered how I could have been so wrong about him
.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I sat at the front of the tour bus, my purse occupying the seat next to me, rather than Declan. Upon returning to the Hôtel Sophie, we stood opposite each other at the bus door, avoiding eye contact while wishing everyone a wonderful final evening in Paris. After the last person stepped off, I headed straight into the hotel, leaving Declan to check the bus for any forgotten cell phones, jackets, or other items.

  When I entered the office, Heather glanced up from her laptop. “How’d the tour go?”

  I smiled. “Great. The gardens are still gorgeous despite it being late in the season.” I couldn’t act too impressed by the palace, having supposedly been there before.

  Declan walked in and glanced over at me.

  I picked at a fictitious piece of lint on my sweater.

  “I finished the proposal,” Heather said. “I just need to polish it.” She handed us each a flute of champagne. “Here’s to a very successful program and to securing future ones.”

  We clinked our glasses together, and I took a sip, the bubbles teasing my nose like the Bellini in the bar the other night. The night Declan and I had seemed so in tune.

  “I usually take staff to dinner the last official night, but the thought of eating still makes me want to puke. And I need to buy my hubby a birthday gift. So you guys are done for the day.”

  “Oh, wow, thanks,” I said.

  It was only 4:00 p.m. However, the Musée d’Orsay closed in two hours, about the time the dinner cruise likely set sail. I could expense at least part of the cruise back as a staff meal. Tomorrow was our last full day in Paris. Attendees would be gone by early afternoon, allowing me time to hit the museum and the Eiffel Tower. I was cramming in as much sightseeing as I could.

  “You guys have done such a great job you deserve time off. And I still feel awful about you having to move hotels, Caity.”

  I was happy I’d been “walked” from Hotel de Snooty to a hotel I still couldn’t pronounce. I’d miss Madame Laurent and Esmé, unlike Antoine. I had to admit, though, I was warming up to Marcel.

  “No problem. And thanks for the time off.” I slammed my champagne. “Have a great night.” I grabbed my purse and fled before they could inquire about my plans for the evening.

  I was upset with Declan, but unlike him, I had the compassion to sympathize with others, so I still felt bad for him and the grief he was experiencing. However, he’d never open up to me now that we weren’t speaking. At least I’d convinced him to start reconnecting with family. I hoped Zoe would have better luck reaching him.

  Marcel was assisting a guest, so I snagged a dinner-cruise brochure as I zipped past. I was going on a Seine cruise just like Audrey Hepburn.

  But without a Cary Grant…

  * * *

  “This escargot is bloody beautiful,” a blond girl said with a British accent.

  “You must have it at your wedding,” another said. “I’m sure your caterer’s would be even lovelier.”

  They probably didn’t care to hear about our attendee puking her escargot off the back of the boat into the Seine. The episode didn’t prevent me from enjoying the appetizer drenched in garlic butter, topped with a puff pastry. Even rubber balls coated in real butter and garlic would be tasty.

  I was seated at a banquet table for ten, with eight women in their midtwenties. One wore a fuchsia satin sheath dress and a black sash with fuchsia lettering reading Bride to Be. A pink tiara with a white veil crowned the top of her long dark hair. Her friends wore short black dresses and fuchsia sashes with black lettering reading Ellie’s Bridesmaids.

  Just my luck. Stuck at a table with women who were pro-love and pro-men and dressed like Miss Universe contestants. I didn’t feel quite as stylish in my magenta-and-navy plaid skirt, navy blouse, and jean jacket.

  I stared at the empty seat across from me. I was the only person dining alone on the cruise. Could I be more pathetic?

  The women waved over the waiter for another round, and he inquired if I’d like more red wine. The women’s gazes darted to me, as if they’d forgotten I was there.

  “Sorry we’re so bloody loud,” one girl said.

  I gave them a friendly smile. “No problem.”

  “We’re celebrating.”

  No kidding.

  The band started playing “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” by Beyoncé, and the women squealed with excitement, toasting their song request. I raised my glass, pretending to be part of their private celebration, and took a drink. I couldn’t imagine going to Paris for a bachelorette party. However, it wasn’t far if they lived in southern England. Would be like me going to Chicago. Like I had for Lily’s party. The last bachelorette party I’d attended, three years ago.

  I smiled at the thought of the ten of us girls crammed into two connecting hotel rooms with double beds. I still had the purple T-shirt that read Lily’s Bridal Entourage. She’d been obsessed with the TV show Entourage. It had been the best night ever. After she was married, we still made a point to all meet up monthly, but slowly one person or another couldn’t make it, and we eventually stopped hanging out. I’d never been close friends with any of them except Lily and Ashley.

  I hadn’t talked to Lily in two years, Ashley in over a year. The loss of camaraderie caused an aching feeling in my chest.

  What if I never attended another bachelorette party?

  What if I was never a bridesmaid again?

  Even worse, what if I was never a bride!

  A heavy pressure filled the hollow aching in my chest. I sucked in some serious air, yet couldn’t seem to get enough. I needed air! I sprang from my chair, almost knocking it over. Nobody appeared to notice. I grabbed my wineglass and walked across the lacquered teak floor, trying to maintain my sea legs, my wine sloshing around in the glass. I braced a hand on the door leading to the back deck, steadying myself before stepping outside. A cool breeze slapped some sense into me, calming my breathing, and blew wisps of hair against my face. I pulled my jean jacket closed and wrapped my arms around my middle. A couple wrapped in a tight embrace, sharing body heat and a passionate kiss, didn’t even come up for air to acknowledge my presence.

  I downed half my wine and walked over to the other side, the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the distance. I envisioned Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant standing on the boat deck, caught up in the ambiance of Paris at night. A crew member had flashed a spotlight on couples making out on the quays, inspiring Audrey to take the plunge and kiss Cary for the first time despite not knowing his real name. It didn’t matter how little she’d known about the mysterious man—she’d fallen in love with him.

  I checked my phone again to make sure Declan hadn’t texted or called. Had I seriously expected him to contact me?

  Sadly, I had.

  I needed to accept that Declan and I weren’t meant to be. Besides not living in the same country, and Declan not doing relationships, he’d have been a rebound relationship. And those were doomed from the start. I needed a boyfriend who was emotionally in tune with me. Emotionally in tune with himself. Remembering I still had his room key, I snatched it from my purse and whipped it into the Seine, where it bobbed along on the waves, refusing to sink. I let out a low growl. Oh well, it was more of a symbolic gesture since I’d never have used the key.

  Just because Declan hadn’t been there for me today didn’t mean others wouldn’t be. I’d never be with anyone or have any friends if I didn’t learn to trust and have faith in people. I couldn’t allow my episode at Versailles to be a roadblock in my recovery. I needed to keep moving forward and stay focused on my progress. The fact that I’d confided in Declan about Andy, if even just a little. And I hadn’t had to repeat Martha’s mantra since Dublin, trying to convince myself that I was right. I was strong. I was worthy.

  I considered Martha a friend, but to her I was surely just a client. She counseled hundreds of women and was undoubtedly as sympathetic and caring to them all. I didn’t want to abuse our relationship. I couldn’t
believe I’d lied and told her I’d confided in Rachel.

  I had to take a chance and tell Rachel everything.

  I always made the excuse that discussing my personal life on the job was too difficult and unprofessional, yet the only time I saw Rachel was when we were working. I could have suggested we go for lunch or do drinks one night. I couldn’t force Declan to discuss Shauna, but I could make myself talk about Andy to someone who’d listen. Someone who cared. Confiding in Rachel might bring us closer together. I’d feared she’d think less of me for allowing Andy to mistreat me when she was so independent and assertive. I’d feared she’d judge me and say I told you he was an ass. Yet wasn’t I judging Rachel and her reaction by not telling her?

  I was finally having faith in myself.

  I had to start having faith in others.

  Chapter Twenty

  Upon disembarking the boat, people scattered, some strolling down the moonlit quay, others hopping in taxis. The women from the bachelorette party let out squeals of laughter while boarding a private minibus. The bus door slid closed, and a peaceful serenity returned to the riverbank, the evening gorgeous without the boat’s breeze. I trailed behind couples strolling arm in arm along the Seine, lit by lampposts and the buildings lining the streets above. In my head, I rehearsed my upcoming conversation with Rachel, preparing to call her before I lost my nerve.

  I neared a bridge brightly lit on top, dark and eerie beneath. The crowd had thinned out. I’d forgotten to put my pepper spray in my purse. This was a good thing. Not that I shouldn’t be prepared in case I was confronted by a mugger or some weirdo, but I was obviously no longer paranoid and living in fear. Smiling, I headed up the stone steps. A grassy promenade separated a quiet, tree-lined sidewalk overlooking the river from a busy boulevard.