More Than Words
Page 51
Frankie pressed her lips together. “I thought you should know. He’s been in all the newspapers, on the gossip sites …” She paused. “Looks like he’s partying it up.”
My eyes widened as I stared at her. He was … partying? Oh. A renewed burst of anger invigorated me, and I sat up. “Well, I’m glad to hear he’s not taking what happened too hard.”
Frankie’s brow furrowed, and she shrugged. “He looks drunk in most pictures.”
“Women hanging off him, I suppose,” I muttered.
She bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah.”
A spear of sorrow pierced my heart, but I gathered my inner strength—my inner Adélaïde—vowing not to crumble. If Adélaïde could remain strong through all she’d experienced, I could, too. I would.
* * *
“Wow,” Frankie said as she came up behind me, where I stood before the mirror. “If those crusty researchers don’t notice you in this, there’s truly no hope for them.”
I laughed, running my hands down the handmade, champagne-colored lace dress interwoven with gold beading. The lace pattern featured hundreds of roses, all intertwined, from the floor to the bodice, and there was a delicate gold belt at my waist. It was beyond stunning—a true work of art—and it hugged my body as if it had been made just for me.
When Frankie had first brought it home, I’d noticed the roses—they were subtle, and you had to look closely to discern the flower pattern at all—and I’d been tempted to reject it for that alone. But the longer I’d stared at it, something inside me had warmed. The roses … that weekend … it was a good memory, and despite how Callen and I ended, I wanted to hold that part of us close. Roses had scented that weekend, and now I would wear roses as I officially said goodbye to the Loire Valley and to him.
I would be brave despite my heartache. Though I would never learn the final pieces of her story, Adélaïde had taught me that. Jehanne herself had taught me that.
Frankie looked at me thoughtfully in the mirror, her eyes traveling from my gold strappy heels to my makeup to my twisted updo. “Something’s missing.”
I frowned, glancing back at the mirror. The only jewelry I had on was a pair of gold teardrop earrings. The neckline of the dress was too high to wear anything around my neck. “What?”
“Stay there.” She turned and walked quickly out of the room, and I heard our apartment door open and close. I waited, confused, until she came back a minute later, breathing heavily from apparently running up the stairs, with a white rose in her hand. “Mrs. Bertrand’s garden,” she offered in explanation before bringing the rose to the back of my hair and clipping it in.
I turned, looking at the white flower pinned neatly in my hair.
“Perfect,” she said.
The doorbell rang. “That must be Ben,” I muttered, glancing at the clock and heading toward the door. Ben stood on the other side, handsome in a black tux.
“Wow,” he said, his eyes sweeping over me. “You look incredible.”
Frankie laughed from behind me, nudging my shoulder. “Told you.” She stepped forward. “I’m Frankie.”
Ben grinned. “Nice to meet you.”
“Will you be up when I get back?” I asked as I walked into the hallway.
“God, I hope not. Have some fun,” she said, smiling and winking.
I released a breath. “Okay. Night, Frankie.”
Frankie waved, shutting the door.
Down on the street, a limo was waiting for us. “Ben. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. We were in a dusty basement for a month. We deserve one night in high style, don’t you think?”
I smiled. “Good point, and thank you.”
Sparing no expense, the banquet dinner was held at one of the most luxurious hotels in Paris. Not only would the team I’d worked with in the Loire Valley be in attendance, but many top administrative staff members from the Louvre, as well as donors who had helped fund the project, would be there as well. Maybe I’d even make a connection that could lead to a permanent position.
The ride was relatively short, and when our limo pulled up in front of the hotel, I had to admit how decadent it felt when a doorman opened the door and took my hand to help me out.
Ben and I followed the line of people dressed in elegant evening wear entering the building and stepped into the massive foyer, resplendent in gold and marble, with glittering chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and enormous vases of fragrant flowers everywhere. Roses, of course. Naturally the place would be decked out in roses. I sighed, a soft sound that I hoped Ben couldn’t hear, and forced a smile to my lips.
Ben led me up the stairs to the ballroom, which was even more beautifully decorated, with draping white tablecloths on the long tables, candles set on mirrors to reflect the light, and tall, clear-bottomed vases that overflowed with roses and ivy. Everywhere I looked, soft lights glowed and sparkled, bouncing off the paneled walls. The entire space appeared magical. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
Ben nodded. “It is.” He pointed toward the bar. “Do you want a drink?”
“Just water for now. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I’ll be drunk if I drink a glass of wine before dinner,” I said on a laugh.
Once we had our drinks, we wandered out a side door that led to a sweeping balcony. A few people were milling about, but I didn’t see anyone I knew.
As we moved to the edge of the balcony, Ben pointed off into the distance. “Look.”
I turned my head and spotted the Eiffel Tower, just lighting up. I sighed with pleasure. “That sight will never get old.”
He smiled, leaning on the balcony ledge and looking at me. “There’s no city in the world more beautiful than Paris.”
I nodded my agreement as I gazed at the sight of that famous tower, sparkling against the nighttime sky. “Do you ever consider moving here?” While we’d been working, I’d learned that Ben lived in Marseille, a city in southern France. He’d been recommended to Dr. Moreau because of his specialty, but he had a permanent job waiting for him at home.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment. “Sometimes. But I like living near my family, my brothers and sister and all their kids. I’d miss watching them grow up.”
“You’re close to them.”
“Yes, very.”
I nodded. How wonderful to have that kind of loving support. “You’re lucky.”
He considered me for a second. “I know. I don’t take them for granted. What about you? Is your family still in California?”
“My dad and his new wife and my brother are, yes. But we’re not … close.” I did talk to my brother occasionally, but mostly about superficial things. Both of us had sought to be anywhere but at our house for most of our childhoods and then our teen years. Our absence from home didn’t exactly lead to a close relationship.
Sometimes the beginning of love is just a simple matter of proximity.
The words Madame Leclaire had said as Callen and I had left her inn that rainy weekend caused a sharp ache to spear my gut. I took a sip of water to keep from grimacing.
“You look so sad, Jessica,” Ben said, putting his hand over mine on the railing and taking a step closer. I glanced up, seeing the nervousness in his eyes, the concentration on his face. He was going to kiss me.
I blinked, going still as he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was sweet, mostly chaste, as he simply held his mouth over mine, brushing our lips together and then retreating.
I brought my fingers to my lips. “Ben …”
He shook his head, grimacing. “You don’t feel anything for me, do you?”
I turned my hand over and squeezed his. “I feel so much for you. I respect your mind. I admire your kindness and your humor. I think you’re one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.”
“Nice. Ugh, the kiss of death.” But he smiled kindly, if not a little bit sadly.
I shook my head. “No. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, Jessica. I know you just broke up with someone. I’d still hoped …” He sighed, letting go of my hand. “Well, I hope we can be friends. I value that.”
My eyes widened as I stared at her. He was … partying? Oh. A renewed burst of anger invigorated me, and I sat up. “Well, I’m glad to hear he’s not taking what happened too hard.”
Frankie’s brow furrowed, and she shrugged. “He looks drunk in most pictures.”
“Women hanging off him, I suppose,” I muttered.
She bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah.”
A spear of sorrow pierced my heart, but I gathered my inner strength—my inner Adélaïde—vowing not to crumble. If Adélaïde could remain strong through all she’d experienced, I could, too. I would.
* * *
“Wow,” Frankie said as she came up behind me, where I stood before the mirror. “If those crusty researchers don’t notice you in this, there’s truly no hope for them.”
I laughed, running my hands down the handmade, champagne-colored lace dress interwoven with gold beading. The lace pattern featured hundreds of roses, all intertwined, from the floor to the bodice, and there was a delicate gold belt at my waist. It was beyond stunning—a true work of art—and it hugged my body as if it had been made just for me.
When Frankie had first brought it home, I’d noticed the roses—they were subtle, and you had to look closely to discern the flower pattern at all—and I’d been tempted to reject it for that alone. But the longer I’d stared at it, something inside me had warmed. The roses … that weekend … it was a good memory, and despite how Callen and I ended, I wanted to hold that part of us close. Roses had scented that weekend, and now I would wear roses as I officially said goodbye to the Loire Valley and to him.
I would be brave despite my heartache. Though I would never learn the final pieces of her story, Adélaïde had taught me that. Jehanne herself had taught me that.
Frankie looked at me thoughtfully in the mirror, her eyes traveling from my gold strappy heels to my makeup to my twisted updo. “Something’s missing.”
I frowned, glancing back at the mirror. The only jewelry I had on was a pair of gold teardrop earrings. The neckline of the dress was too high to wear anything around my neck. “What?”
“Stay there.” She turned and walked quickly out of the room, and I heard our apartment door open and close. I waited, confused, until she came back a minute later, breathing heavily from apparently running up the stairs, with a white rose in her hand. “Mrs. Bertrand’s garden,” she offered in explanation before bringing the rose to the back of my hair and clipping it in.
I turned, looking at the white flower pinned neatly in my hair.
“Perfect,” she said.
The doorbell rang. “That must be Ben,” I muttered, glancing at the clock and heading toward the door. Ben stood on the other side, handsome in a black tux.
“Wow,” he said, his eyes sweeping over me. “You look incredible.”
Frankie laughed from behind me, nudging my shoulder. “Told you.” She stepped forward. “I’m Frankie.”
Ben grinned. “Nice to meet you.”
“Will you be up when I get back?” I asked as I walked into the hallway.
“God, I hope not. Have some fun,” she said, smiling and winking.
I released a breath. “Okay. Night, Frankie.”
Frankie waved, shutting the door.
Down on the street, a limo was waiting for us. “Ben. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. We were in a dusty basement for a month. We deserve one night in high style, don’t you think?”
I smiled. “Good point, and thank you.”
Sparing no expense, the banquet dinner was held at one of the most luxurious hotels in Paris. Not only would the team I’d worked with in the Loire Valley be in attendance, but many top administrative staff members from the Louvre, as well as donors who had helped fund the project, would be there as well. Maybe I’d even make a connection that could lead to a permanent position.
The ride was relatively short, and when our limo pulled up in front of the hotel, I had to admit how decadent it felt when a doorman opened the door and took my hand to help me out.
Ben and I followed the line of people dressed in elegant evening wear entering the building and stepped into the massive foyer, resplendent in gold and marble, with glittering chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and enormous vases of fragrant flowers everywhere. Roses, of course. Naturally the place would be decked out in roses. I sighed, a soft sound that I hoped Ben couldn’t hear, and forced a smile to my lips.
Ben led me up the stairs to the ballroom, which was even more beautifully decorated, with draping white tablecloths on the long tables, candles set on mirrors to reflect the light, and tall, clear-bottomed vases that overflowed with roses and ivy. Everywhere I looked, soft lights glowed and sparkled, bouncing off the paneled walls. The entire space appeared magical. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
Ben nodded. “It is.” He pointed toward the bar. “Do you want a drink?”
“Just water for now. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I’ll be drunk if I drink a glass of wine before dinner,” I said on a laugh.
Once we had our drinks, we wandered out a side door that led to a sweeping balcony. A few people were milling about, but I didn’t see anyone I knew.
As we moved to the edge of the balcony, Ben pointed off into the distance. “Look.”
I turned my head and spotted the Eiffel Tower, just lighting up. I sighed with pleasure. “That sight will never get old.”
He smiled, leaning on the balcony ledge and looking at me. “There’s no city in the world more beautiful than Paris.”
I nodded my agreement as I gazed at the sight of that famous tower, sparkling against the nighttime sky. “Do you ever consider moving here?” While we’d been working, I’d learned that Ben lived in Marseille, a city in southern France. He’d been recommended to Dr. Moreau because of his specialty, but he had a permanent job waiting for him at home.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment. “Sometimes. But I like living near my family, my brothers and sister and all their kids. I’d miss watching them grow up.”
“You’re close to them.”
“Yes, very.”
I nodded. How wonderful to have that kind of loving support. “You’re lucky.”
He considered me for a second. “I know. I don’t take them for granted. What about you? Is your family still in California?”
“My dad and his new wife and my brother are, yes. But we’re not … close.” I did talk to my brother occasionally, but mostly about superficial things. Both of us had sought to be anywhere but at our house for most of our childhoods and then our teen years. Our absence from home didn’t exactly lead to a close relationship.
Sometimes the beginning of love is just a simple matter of proximity.
The words Madame Leclaire had said as Callen and I had left her inn that rainy weekend caused a sharp ache to spear my gut. I took a sip of water to keep from grimacing.
“You look so sad, Jessica,” Ben said, putting his hand over mine on the railing and taking a step closer. I glanced up, seeing the nervousness in his eyes, the concentration on his face. He was going to kiss me.
I blinked, going still as he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was sweet, mostly chaste, as he simply held his mouth over mine, brushing our lips together and then retreating.
I brought my fingers to my lips. “Ben …”
He shook his head, grimacing. “You don’t feel anything for me, do you?”
I turned my hand over and squeezed his. “I feel so much for you. I respect your mind. I admire your kindness and your humor. I think you’re one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.”
“Nice. Ugh, the kiss of death.” But he smiled kindly, if not a little bit sadly.
I shook my head. “No. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, Jessica. I know you just broke up with someone. I’d still hoped …” He sighed, letting go of my hand. “Well, I hope we can be friends. I value that.”
