Chapter 11

Two Peas in a Pod

Christophe was the absolute best person to shop with. He actually seemed to enjoy it. He’d pick out items to accentuate my eyes or go well with my coloring. He was thoughtful and intensely particular about patterns, shapes, and hues, which I figured was due to his artist’s eye. And much to Celine’s delight, he cared little for what something cost. The two of them became insta-friends once her husband left us alone.

“Just wait, Chris. You will not believe how smokin’ hot Alana looks in this sparkly number,” she called out from behind the dressing room curtain while zipping up the back for me.

Christophe had taken a seat on the lone chaise in the center of the dressing room. He sat relaxed, one knee crossed over the other, an arm stretched across the back of the chaise while he sipped champagne. He waited patiently as we tried on each garment and then showed them to him for his feedback.

Celine nudged me out through the curtain, presenting me to my husband.

Christophe sat up the moment I came into view, his eyes laser-focused on me in the teal getup. The dress hugged my slight curves but still had a good amount of stretch and give to it. It clasped around the neck and zipped up the lower back, leaving a big open circle showing my bare skin. The hem fell only to mid-thigh which wasn’t my natural preference as it showed a lot of leg, but the way he looked at me made me feel like I was covered in diamonds.

“Alana…” he breathed, awe coating his tone. “This is paint-worthy, cheri ,” he finished, never taking his heated gaze off me.

My heart pitter-pattered as butterflies took flight within my stomach. That look in his eyes made me believe I was the only woman in the entire world. I positively swooned where I stood. My knees quaked and gooseflesh rose on my skin.

“Paint-worthy. What does that even mean?” Celine scrunched her nose. “I was looking more for jaw-dropping or panty-melting.”

I looked up at the ceiling and groaned. “Celine, Christophe is an artist. If he thinks I am beautiful enough to want to paint, that means he more than likes it.”

Christophe stood, came over to us, and slowly walked around me, taking in every inch of my body in the dress. He reached out and ran a single finger down my spine in a teasing caress. I shivered and gasped at the sudden, intimate, yet surprising, touch.

He hummed under his breath and when he came to stand in front of me, he cupped the side of my neck, his thumb grazing along my jawline. “ Tu est parfait ,” he murmured, his voice deep and filled with longing.

My breath caught in my throat at the lovely compliment.

“Parfait? Isn’t that a yogurt or ice cream?” Celine asked.

I licked my lips and cleared my throat, emotion threading through my nerve endings a mile a minute. This man had done nothing but treat me and Celine with kindness, respect, and grace. And now he looked at me as if there could be no other more beautiful. I couldn’t glance away from his adoring gaze as it was such a powerful tether.

“He said, you are perfect ,” I clarified for my friend. “ Merci, husband. ”

“Wow. And heck, yeah. My best friend is the best thing that could ever have happened to you, mister.” She pointed a sassy finger at Christophe while smiling.

He put his hand over his chest. “This I know, mon ami .” This I know, my friend , he agreed.

Celine waved a hand to air her face. “Handsome, charming, adores my friend, and speaks French. Alana, girl, you hit the jackpot!”

I bit into my lip and nodded, too flushed with pride and happiness to express all that I was feeling in the moment.

“And you, Celine?” Christophe asked boldly. “Are you happy with Darren?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, went over to the mirror, and assessed the pantsuit she had on. I preferred her outfit over mine as it looked chic and modest. Perhaps I would try a suit next time.

“So far, so good. He dotes on me. Touches me every chance he gets. Buys me lavish gifts and gourmet meals. I mean, you know your friend,” she sighed. “He’s a little vulgar, but he can’t help how into me he is. I’m irresistible don’t you know.” She playfully batted her eyelashes.

“Darren and I are not friends, Celine. We have a business relationship. He has been a regular buyer of my art the last several years. It was a fluke that I happened to come to the auction. Though I’ll be forever grateful to him for that invitation as it brought me to my Alana.”

“You see,” Celine hummed. “That right there.” She turned to focus on Christophe. “The way you talk about Alana is the way Darren makes me feel when we’re alone. Like I’m all he could ever want. I’ve never been treated like gold before him.”

“And the bruises?” Christophe rubbed at the back of his neck, seeming troubled.

She waved her hand in the air as if what he’d asked didn’t matter. “Really, you both are hyper-concentrated on something that’s rather private. We—meaning Darren and I—let our passion for one another get out of control, and I accidentally got hurt.” She shoved up the cuffs on the blazer she wore, showing off her battered wrists. “These were from me, not him.” She lowered her voice. “And right now, I’m wearing these marks as reminders of a really wild night. One that I will be repeating again, hopefully,” she smirked.

Christophe held up his hands in supplication. “Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life or to question what a couple does behind closed doors. I was concerned about my wife’s friend. My new friend. I am glad to hear you are happy in your marriage. But…”

Celine groaned. “But what? Lay it on me. You know you want to ask just like Alana did.” She tapped her foot.

“Just that… If you ever need some time to decompress or would like to visit Alana and me, our home in France is always open to you. I will handle any expenses incurred in such a trip and you will have your own guest quarters with complete privacy where you can stay forever if you wish. Please, keep that in mind.” He walked over to where she stood and pulled a business card out of his pocket. “My direct number and email address. Day or night, call that number. One of us will answer.”

Yep, definitely love.

Out of nowhere, my best friend jumped forward and wrapped her arms around Christophe’s middle, giving him a hug. He patted her back while his gaze stayed on me. His expression shifted to one of resignation as he placed a kiss to the crown of her head.

There was nothing more we could do. Celine had to make her own choices.

* * * *

We finished shopping and Christophe had all of our bags taken to our separate hotels while we hung out on the Strip.

Christophe held my hand as I pointed out all the glitz and glamour, loving the flashing lights and colorful advertising all over the buildings. People were out in droves, drinking and smoking while skipping from one casino to another in order to gamble their money away. Definitely not my preference when it came to entertainment, but I could understand the allure.

A pair of ladies dressed in sparkly hot-pink costumes with large feathers fanned out behind them like peacocks suavely navigated the sidewalks, stopping to take photos with tourists.

“We need a camera!” Celine blurted excitedly, always game for a new experience.

“I’ve got one,” Christophe stated, pulling his out of the backpack-style satchel he carried.

Celine clapped, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me over to the gorgeous starlets. Their outfits dripped crystals that caught the lights, spreading rainbows in every direction.

“Can we take a photo with you? You both look incredible!” she asked.

“For five dollars, sure,” one of them said, and I frowned, sadly deflated. Why would they want money to take a picture? That seemed rather greedy to me.

“Here you go.” Christophe handed them five dollars apiece.

They each tucked the money in a hidden pocket and then smiled wide, their hands on their hips, their long legs pointed out in front of them in poses that made them look ten feet tall. Celine and I were miniscule standing next to them, which was the point, but that didn’t stop us from grinning ear to ear as Christophe took a photo.

“Thank you!” I waved, and the two ladies continued on to the next paying customer.

Christophe chuckled. “Go stand there with Celine. The sun is setting over the desert in the background,” he suggested. Then he coached us into a pose that he preferred, our cheeks touching, both of us smiling, and the sun perfectly shining behind us.

“ Magnifique ,” he complimented. “I’m hungry again. Anyone up for pizza?” He rubbed his hands together as if he could already taste the cheesy goodness.

“Pizza?” Celine gawked. “You mean you’re not going to take us to some swanky place where the items on the menu don’t even have price tags?”

Christophe’s lips twisted into a snarl of disgust.

I snort-laughed at his expression and then covered my mouth. “Celine, my husband loves American food. He is determined to eat all the standard fare before we head to France. When are we leaving for France anyway?”

“I hope tomorrow, mon coeur . I itch to create. I also want to show you our home.”

“Then tomorrow we will go,” I said in agreement. I too was eager to see my new home and set down some roots for the first time since I was a child.

Celine wrapped her arm around me, hugged me to her side, and rested her head on my shoulder. “I’m going to miss you. Darren’s main office is in California. Los Angeles to be exact. He’d wanted to leave today until you called yesterday. It was really nice of him to extend our stay so we could spend time with you.”

“That was kind of him,” I forced myself to say, because it truly was a nice gesture, even if the man’s personality wasn’t the easiest to befriend.

“Welp, we better make the most of our time together. I’m so hungry after that meager, frou-frou lunch that I could eat an entire pizza myself!”

“I’m willing to test that theory, and I know just the place!” Christophe grinned wickedly.

“Bring it on, pizza boy!” she teased.

My husband hailed a cab and we ended up at a place called Pizza King.

Christophe and Celine went to battle loading up their plates with slices from at least five different pizzas that were included in the all-you-can-eat buffet. There was also a make-your-own salad station which I gravitated toward.

I added two slices of pizza to my plate and made myself a green salad with all the healthy ingredients on offer. It had been a while since I’d gorged on fresh produce.

“Neither of you got a salad?” I set my plate down on the table as Christophe held out my chair. He waited until I sat to take his own.

“No room. I’m not going to let this one beat me in a pizza-eating competition.” Celine hooked a thumb to the side where Christophe was sitting and grinned around a slice he’d just bitten into.

Both of them gobbled up their first piece so fast I wasn’t sure they’d even tasted it.

“ Numéro deux ,” Christophe boasted before shoving half a slice into his mouth.

“I don’t think so!” Celine did the same until both of them were stuffed full, their cheeks puffed out like chipmunks with too many nuts.

“You’re going to make yourselves sick,” I warned and took a delicate bite of the pepperoni, sausage, and cheese before me.

Christophe ordered a couple of pitchers of beer and he and Celine went to town on them.

Over the next two hours, the conversation flowed, the pizza-eating contest wore on, and the tipsy side of both came out. Celine and Christophe were two birds of a feather. Singing songs, cracking up at each other’s efforts to eat just one more piece to beat out the other, and smacking the table every time one of them almost choked. I took Christophe’s camera and took a candid shot of them cheersing with slices of pizza while holding beer mugs in the opposite hands.

They were two peas in a pod, fast friends. I couldn’t have been more blessed. The two people I loved most in the world got along famously.

“I win!” Christophe suddenly bragged.

“Only because I’m literally half your size, you cheater! You should have had to double your slices to mine in order for it to be fair,” she complained playfully.

“ Non, non, non. ” He waggled his finger at her. “I won fair and square. Admit it.”

She crossed her arms like a bratty child and pouted comically.

“Come on. Admit defeat, mon ami, ” he chuckled.

She groaned and made a big deal of slumping in her chair and sighing loudly. “Fine. Christophe Toussaint, you have won the pizza challenge. You are the Pizza King.”

“Pizza King!” He put his hands in the air and cheered like he was at a football game. “ Merci, merci ! I am the winner!” He laid it on super thick, but it was hilarious and cute in his French accent.

“Whatever, brag all you want. Next time when I’ve had a little practice, you’re going down!” She pointed to the floor, and he belly-laughed in return.

I snickered, simply enjoying their company and camaraderie. It would be sad to leave her tonight, but at least I knew she believed she was happy. That’s all I could ever want for her.

“I know! Let’s get tattoos! Christophe, will you spot me some cash if they won’t take Darren’s credit card?”

His eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Of course. But are you sure you want to do that?”

“Hell, yeah! I may not see you and Alana for another year or more! Let’s get matching tatts in Las Vegas. You know, something to remember this trip by. Like our wedding date or something. It can represent the day our lives changed forever.”

I was terrified of the possibility of pain but exhilarated at the idea of doing something rash. “I love it. Let’s do it!”