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The last remnants of my double-shot espresso go down too smoothly.
“Mr. Auvray,” I assert, sliding the thick document across the table to him. “You’ll see in our proposal the capital we’ll allocate and our forecasted financial return. Jacque, our business manager, had many questions upon his visit last month. Of course, I’d personally like to tour the property and see how Auvray Le Champagne operates.”
Reaching out, Mr. Auvray opens the proposal, scanning the papers behind his tortoiseshell glasses. I try my best to ignore his interesting choice in fashion, noting his jacket has leather patches in the elbows.
“Eh, uh, Mr. Edwards,” he mentions in his thick French accent. “He will be visiting Paris, Oui?”
“Oui.” I smile reassuringly. “He’ll be arriving on Friday and will be visiting for four days. He will be attending the Versailles Masquerade Ball along with his wife.”
“Ah, yes,” he offers with a grin. “Et vous?”
“Yes, I’ll be there, too.”
We talk more about the proposal, but judging by his body language, it’s a done deal. Mr. Auvray owns several wineries and needs an investor, or else he can say goodbye to his family’s treasure. A few months back when I discussed this with Lex during one of our conference calls, he was keen to expand our business in the winery division. There’ll always be a demand for French champagne, and the market trends have proven just that over the last few years.
“Perhaps yourself, along with Mr. Edwards and his wife, will come to stay in my chateau and experience what we have to offer?”
“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Auvray. I’ll speak to Mr. Edwards and confirm tomorrow?”
Knowing Charlie, anything not involving kids, and she’s there in a heartbeat. Though not wanting to assume Lex will be free, I take the cautious side and make a note to ask him later tonight.
We say goodbye with plans to discuss further when Lex arrives.
It’s Saturday night in Paris, and the streets are buzzing with people everywhere. Many are walking in groups, quite possibly on the way to attend the ever-so-entertaining Parisian nightlife. Restaurants are crowded, several people dining with laughter escaping the circle they sit amongst.
I smile to myself, yet beneath the smile, exhaustion creeps in like a thief in the night. With every step I take, the ache of my joints comes to fruition, a reminder of the earlier rendezvous with Dominic.
My eyes fall lazily upon the local market on the corner of my street. Entering the store, I pick up a few essentials, including some fresh fruit and a bunch of yellow roses for home. The store attendant tries to flirt with me in French again, something he does on every visit. I grin and nod, not wanting to offend him yet acknowledging that he’s young enough to be my son.
With each step closer to my apartment, my feet seem to drag. The royal blue door with the golden doorknob in front of me brings relief, my arms almost turning to jelly from balancing the items purchased at the store.
The familiar scent instantly greets me—strawberry and watermelon from a wax melt I purchased at a market stall a few months back. The silence is welcoming, clearing my scattered thoughts, if only for a short time.
The moment I laid eyes on this apartment, I knew I had to have it. It was during a casual stroll one Sunday when the building caught my attention. The apartment is located on the upper floor in a mid-1920’s building with an exceptional open view of the Eiffel Tower, the Seine, and Pont d’Alma—the very reason it became an emotional purchase.
Living in a rental, my plan has always been to acquire real estate since I love Paris so much. The apartment is spacious with south-facing living and reception rooms opening onto a balcony with a spectacular view. The kitchen is fully functional, not that I’m one to spend hours in there since I eat out most of the time.
Then, there’s the master suite, generously proportioned with a large walk-in closet and bathroom fit for a queen.
The apartment was a blank canvas, making it all the more appealing. I’d sold one of my units in London, yet still holding onto one in case I ever decide to go back. Between stocks I sold at a hefty profit and my generous executive salary, including bonuses Lex awards me based on company performance, money is something I don’t have to worry about, and this apartment soon became all mine.
I finished furnishing it all plus decorating it to my taste. All in all, it has become my sanctuary and a beautiful one at that.
After putting away the items bought, I draw a bath with candles surrounding me and hit shuffle on my music. Sliding into the tub, the hot water is heaven-sent against my aching muscles. I sprinkle some salts and add a luxurious bath product given to me as a Christmas gift last year from a client of ours.
As my body relaxes, my eyelids begin to close—the thoughts consuming me earlier become a distant memory. The sounds of John Legend play softly in the confined space. There’s always something about his voice that evokes emotion or teleports me to a time in my life when my heart co
nquered, and parts of me were caught up in the tidal wave of being infatuated with a man.
I see Dominic lying on the bed beside me, his weighted gaze etched with desire. The caress of his hands against my skin ignites passion only he can awake within me. When we’re alone, nothing is off-limits.
And I’d be a fool to ignore that his words do not affect me.
Long ago, I fantasized about us being more than what we are, but fantasies are just that. Sometimes, we’re fortunate, and they come to life. Other times, they bring heartache and more pain than we’d ever care to admit.
I allow myself a moment to wonder, imagining Dominic as more than just a lover. Yet something blocks the daydream, something unknown which doesn’t make sense to me.
My eyes spring open, steam clouding my vision. Taking a deep breath, I immerse myself in the water and rid myself of the guilt. How dare he make me feel anything but what I should feel.
