Chapter 14

We spent the morning at Versailles, in awe of the incredible décor and beautiful grounds. We walked around quite a bit, Hunter and I not saying one word to each other the entire time. Jillian looked ready to burst with curiosity. She’d been asleep when I got back to the hotel last night, so we didn’t have a chance to talk. Since she would have known Hunter and I walked home together, it felt like a storm brewing. Sooner or later, the clouds of Jillian’s eager questions would open wide. Which was why I avoided her and Hunter both.

I’d barely seen half of Versailles and its grounds before I bid the others farewell and raced back to the hotel to meet Claude. I returned just in time for Claude’s car to arrive. But to my surprise, he wasn’t even in it.

His driver explained that Claude awaited us at the first rental location. For a guy to own a car in a city like this, let alone employ a driver, seemed impressive enough that I didn’t mind. Relieved I wore a cute skirt and blouse today, I analyzed the neighborhoods we passed. The locals would know where the best neighborhoods were, but everything looked charming to me.

When we arrived, Claude stood outside. He hurried to open my door, then took my hand to help me out. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Kennedy.” He lifted my hand to his lips and placed a kiss there.

Uh. Okay? “It’s great to see you too. I’m excited for today.”

“As am I. We will see three options, all exquisite.” He stepped back and gestured to the structure behind him.

I stared at the modern apartment building and gave a surprised squeak. “Wow. This is in the budget I texted you?”

“Slightly above, but budgets can be adjusted.” He guided me down the walk and inside the propped-open door, where we ascended modern concrete steps. Even the hallway looked like a business building you’d see in Manhattan.

We ascended to the fourth floor. The last door in the short hallway unlocked easily, and I was greeted by a huge open room with high ceilings. For a second, I felt as if on a movie set. The floors and kitchen cupboards were a glossy black, the countertops a glossy white, the walls an opaque, glassy gray. One entire wall was indeed glass, showcasing the view. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower dominated the sky.

“Wow,” I said. I didn’t know if this room needed a party or a lone movie star in an evening gown. A single wall separated the bedroom and bathroom from the rest of the space. The modern platform bed looked larger than anything I’d ever seen. It could probably fit a whole family. And it sat lower than most but not as low as the tub, which looked almost like a recessed swimming pool at the level of the floor. Next to the tub, another glass wall showed off the view.

Modern and sleek, it screamed upper-class Paris. It should be exactly what I wanted. But I saw no history here, no charm. If an apartment could turn up its nose at its own people, this one certainly did .

“It’s beautiful but not what I’m looking for,” I told him. “A little too much future and not enough past.”

To my relief, he seemed to understand. “On to the next, then. My driver waits at the curb. Shall we?”

For some reason, I felt relieved that his driver would be joining us on this outing. Nervousness, surely. Claude had never been anything but the perfect gentleman. Everything about him seemed perfect, really. Like the elegant heroes on those romantic comedies Mom and I watched on Wednesday nights.

Once we were underway, Claude installed in the passenger seat and I in the back, he spoke over his shoulder. “Your companions from the restaurant—they are relatives of yours?”

“My sisters and an old friend.”

“The friend looked like he wanted to commit murder when I spoke to you.”

Ah. So he’d noticed. “Just a neighbor from my childhood who lives here now.” It felt odd describing Hunter with the word just . It felt like describing the universe in all its beauty, layers, and depth in a single word.

“You want to move here to be close to him.” The last word lifted in question.

I chuckled, barely able to hide the bitterness. “More like I want to move here in spite of him. Living in Paris was my dream long before he knew it existed. He just made it here first.”

“He stole your dream.”

I looked at Claude in surprise. Jillian would call me dramatic for using the word stole , but I couldn’t help it if that word perfectly described my feelings. “It’s nice to know someone understands. ”

He turned to face me. “I understand this better than you think. I grew up in a small town near Toulouse, by the Spanish border. There is much history there, but history, she battles the modern parts of the city. I wanted to live where yesterday and tomorrow meet, where each makes the other better.”

Where yesterday and today meet. What a beautiful description of Paris. “You get it better than anyone I know.”

He shrugged. “Many tourists come to escape one or the other, but I believe happiness is found when you embrace both. Paris is good at that.” We stopped at a red light, and he examined me long enough that I began to feel uncomfortable. “Which do you escape in moving here, Miss Kennedy?”

I shifted in my chair. I’d expected the memories of Mom to fade here, the only place I’d ever been without her. But instead, she constantly hovered in the back of my mind, reminding me of the places we could have seen together, the memories we could have made had her stomach not started hurting badly enough to double her over in pain that night.

And the future . . . I couldn’t imagine it. Not at home, not here, not anywhere. The dreaming mechanism in my brain had been turned off and padlocked. Grandpa’s inheritance didn’t bring me joy like it did my sisters because money had never been a dream of mine. A means of survival and nothing more.

“Both, I suppose,” I finally said. “I’d be happy thinking about neither and simply enjoying the moment.”

Claude nodded in approval. “Then Paris is where you belong.”

The second apartment proved smaller and boxy, with walls everywhere and low ceilings but modern fixtures. Built in the 1700s, he said. I loved the historical elements, but I couldn’t see myself here either. “Closer, but maybe a little less history.”

“You want a blend of the two, yes?”

“Exactly.”

“I wish to skip the third appointment, then, and show you my neighborhood. It may be exactly what you’re looking for.”

We drove about ten minutes in the direction of the Eiffel Tower and stopped when a street dead-ended. To my surprise, the driver didn’t turn the car around but pulled into a wrought-iron gate that opened as the car drew near.

“My townhouse,” Claude announced. “Very charming.”

It certainly was. The word townhouse made me instantly think of several homes that shared walls, all crammed next to each other. But I quickly found that wasn’t the case with his. I immediately liked the historical feel of the adorable brick home. “We’re going inside?”

“There are no homes for lease in my area right now, but if you like this one, I will find something similar.”

Interesting. An agent would never take a client to their house in the States, or at least so casually. A European thing, perhaps?

Or maybe he’s being a guy and thinking of excuses to get you into his apartment .

That’s what Hunter would assume if he knew about this. Then again, Hunter ran around with other women yet resented any man who dared speak to me in a public place, like a restaurant. He didn’t have a say. Claude’s driver would be waiting in the car, and I had my phone. If I meant to live in Paris as a lone single woman, I needed to do brave things.

After we parked, Claude led me through the garden, which showcased expensive landscape lighting and mature trees that made me feel as if we’d left Paris altogether.

“It’s beautiful at night too,” Claude said before leading us inside. “I hope you will have the chance to see it sometime.”

A small entryway greeted us, and I had to ease around him so he could close the door. Tidy historical tile and a small, curved staircase filled the entire room.

“Wow,” I breathed, looking up to find that the staircase extended three entire stories and I could see all the way up. My worries faded. This really was exceptional.

“My renovations opened it up,” Claude explained. “Let me show you the living area.”

A sitting room with a TV and expensive furniture flanked a modern kitchen with a long, skinny table with rounded edges that mirrored the shape of an island beneath a glass, bubble-shaped chandelier that reminded me of champagne. This movie-worthy area was meant for entertaining. Perfect. Clean. Far fancier than Hunter’s place.

Even so, this home lacked something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“It’s decorated so beautifully,” I offered, noting the original marble fireplace that contrasted with the modern sofa. “Not too much but not too little.”

“A designer knows he has achieved perfection,” Claude quoted, “not when there is nothing left to add but nothing left to take away. That’s Antoine de Saint-Exupery.”

Perfection . It was the only word for it. The house looked exactly like its owner—not a flaw or hair out of place. Impossibly perfect, with a precise blend of historical elements and modern sensibilities.

Claude let me wander his home. I climbed the carpeted staircase and admired the music room, library, and guest bedrooms. The home spanned not three floors but four—and the entire fourth floor served as his penthouse suite, with skylights and windows that looked over the garden. He even had his own balcony.

“So tasteful,” I said, letting my eyes skip over his bed as I looked around the room. In a moment, I realized that I stood next to a stranger in his own bedroom and we were completely alone.

Claude seemed to have a similar thought because I turned to find him examining me in a way that made my cheeks burn.

“Your home is beautiful,” I said, scrambling for something to say. “If you weren’t already staying here, I would buy it in a heartbeat.”

“As my client, you may stay as long as you like. It is why I have guest rooms. Sometimes it takes months for Americans to get their paperwork in place, and it is expensive to stay in hotels.”

I paused. “You have clients stay with you? Here?”

“Of course. I take care of my clients.” He looked surprised. “You do not receive such a service in United States?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen.” Did he offer this “service” to male clients, too, or just females? Did he even have male clients?

I caught sight of the bed again and yanked my gaze away.

He cleared his throat. “I wonder, beautiful Miss Kennedy, if you would do me the honor of a favor?”

I tensed, every muscle in my body ready to flee.

“This is not something I usually ask, but would you accompany me on a river cruise tonight instead of our café excursion?”

I stared at him in surprise.

“I feel I can convince you that Paris is your future,” he rushed on. “I sense you are feeling conflicted.”

A hint of adorable embarrassment crossed his face as he spoke, and I felt all my doubts fade. Just a real estate agent with a little crush. He’d been nothing less than a gentleman all this time. Even here.

All at once, it hit. A handsome Frenchman wanted to take me on a romantic cruise on the Seine. I’d be able to cross that one off the list with a big, fat check.

Take that, Hunter.

“I would love to join you,” I told him with a happy smile.

“Well, then.” He took my hand and kissed it, royalty style. “My driver will take you home so you can get ready. I’ll pick you up in two hours. I very much look forward to tonight.”