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A ding interrupts us. JL checks his messages. “The local office is bringing over a computer. You can log onto your meetings with it. It’s set up with VPN that will hide the IP address.”
“What a relief. And you’ll stop lecturing me?”
“I’ll try. Worrying about you is taking years off my life.”
He continues with more warmth. “I’ll be with you until we leave Paris. I’m concerned about you going back to Chicago alone. Cress and Max are going to Venice. Come with me to Vancouver.”
My heart stops for a second. Since I can continue working remotely, maybe I should take more time and not go back right away. I push aside the temptation. Then I think of Hayden and his underhanded tricks. Being in the office might ease that pressure.
JL points to the device sitting loosely in my hand. “Turn off your phone. No calls, no texts.”
I want to remonstrate, but he silences me with a look that’s a mixture of hurt I won’t go with him and irritation he has to explain. “We need to make things as difficult for him as possible and keep you safe.” Then he takes the phone, puts it in his pocket, and checks his watch. “Calisse, we’re late.”
“For what?”
“To meet Max and Cress for a drink.”
“I need to change and freshen my makeup,” I protest.
He gives me a long, assessing look. “No time. Besides, you are perfect.” He steps close, pulls his fingers through my hair and gives me the sort of kiss that leaves my lips tingling and swollen. Greedy for more. If it wasn’t a mess before, my face is now. After an appreciative look at his handiwork, he grabs my hand and drags me out of the room.
* * *
After an amazing prixfixe tasting menu at Verjus on the Rue Richelieu, Cress and Max go back to the hotel. We have all the wines with the nine-dish offering, and even though I never finished any of the selections, I drank enough that trying to work will be pointless. JL and I decide to stay on at the wine bar in the cellar and try several interesting wines by the glass.
Long wooden tables line the walls. Facing each other, we are so close I can feel JL’s breath caressing my cheek.
“Before I left Chicago, there was a report of terrorist bombings in London. What happened?”
JL winces. “There were four different incidents around the city. A few injuries, and two deaths. One was at Lambeth Palace, but the Archbishop of Canterbury was fortunately not in residence and the damage was minimal.”
My hand slides over his and I hook our pinky fingers together. “I hope you were far away from all of them.”
“Practically down the street from the one in Clerkenwell.” JL clenches his hands and I can see a muscle twitch in his cheek.
“But no one was hurt?”
“Only a couple of cars, and one was a Smart Car, so no loss there. But the bomb was just outside Max’s house. We were at a restaurant, all of us, even the Grant children. And Allan had somehow invited himself along. Yavuz was there for dinner but had left to meet his brother at the train, King’s Cross, I think.” He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, then focuses an intense gaze at me.
“We were just eating dessert when there was a loud explosion. Allan got some intel almost immediately and advised we stay put for the time being. Hours and an ocean of coffee and tea later, we sloshed out to see the damage because the bombed street is where Max and Ian have a house. An immense crater made the street impassable. Difficult for the fire service. And of course, a cold rain started up. We were like icicles by the time we found somewhere warm and dry.”
Pressing my nose into his chest, I have no words.
JL gulps down the rest of his glass of Sauternes and motions the server over. “Un autre, Monsieur?” the man asks.
They start a conversation about what else to taste and decide on an organic red from around Toulouse. I savor the last sweet drops from my glass while we watch the balloon glasses fill. JL sips the new offering and nods. “Très bien.” I wait for him to continue.
“We left for Scotland the next morning. Allan had already arranged for the front of the house to be boarded until they can hire a contractor. After a few days, Ian went back to London to take care of everything. They were planning to sell the house since Max and Cress want something of their own. Not sure about Ian’s plan. He’s hardly in London and could share with his sister, Margaret.”
A quartet of preppy-looking Americans, reminding me of Hayden, has been perched next to us on the backless stools flanking the narrow wooden counters that run along the rough-hewn stone cellar walls. This is not a Parisian hangout. Like us, everyone here is a tourist.
Now one of the twenty-something men leans over. “Did you say you were involved in that terrorist attack in London?”
JL’s eyebrows go up as he crosses his arms. “I was in the vicinity, eating dinner. Why?”
“Just wondered what it was like, being near an explosion like that.”
“Think of an earthquake—shaking, loud noise, things falling on you. The feeling the land under your feet might crack apart at any moment.” He turns his back. The guy taps him on the shoulder, seemingly avid for more detail. JL glares.
