25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Olivier

The doorbell rings, and my heart leaps. I glance at the window, but it's dark outside. And the glass is on the side of the house anyway. What if it's Hazel? What if she came back? Wait. Do I even want her to come back? I pace around the room, debating whether to answer. Just like how I've been hesitating to call her for the past two days. I actually did cave and call her once, but I ended the call before it went through. Then, I turned my phone off to prevent any more slip-ups. Because as much as I miss her and long to see her again, I know I can't. If I face her, I'll forget everything she did to me and forgive her, but I can't let that happen. Lying is where I draw the line.

The doorbell rings again. Twice this time. Stepping out of my bedroom, I trudge up to the front door. I take two deep breaths before swinging it open. But it's not Hazel who's standing on my porch.

" Ah, ben tu es là! " Matt says, brushing past me into the entryway. "What happened? You look terrible."

He's wearing his police uniform, which always makes him look older—and more mature—than he really is.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Dude, your boss called because he thought you were dead or something. Apparently, you missed work these past couple of days."

A flush of adrenaline courses through me. "Merde! I completely lost track of time. Jean-Pierre is going to kill me." I meant to call in sick yesterday, but I must have forgotten.

"Yeah, he probably will," he says casually, sitting at the kitchen bar. "What happened? Wait. Have you been crying?"

I look away as I sink into the seat beside him. "No. "

"Brother," Matt says, his voice now uncharacteristically soft. "Tell me what's wrong. It's not like you to miss work. What happened?"

I peer at him for a second, trying to gauge whether he's serious, but there's no mirth or malice in his eyes. "I broke up with Hazel."

"Oh, man. I'm sorry. What happened between you two?"

I swallow hard. "She lied to me. She pretended to be a historian, but she's actually a gastronomy critic for an American magazine." Saying the truth out loud twists the knife even further into my wounded ego.

His eyebrows shoot up. "And you broke up with her over that?"

I stare back at him, wrinkling my forehead. "Yes."

"Man," he says, shaking his head vehemently. "You're such a moron."

"Are you serious?" I fly from the kitchen stool and bang a fist on the bar. "She lied to me!"

"Chill, dude. She's a food critic, not an FBI agent who went undercover and seduced you to take down your family or something. And even that might be forgivable. "

"Huh?" I blink back at him, confused. What on earth is he talking about?

"Well, that's what Agathe told me, at least. She reads too many novels if you ask me, but that's not the point. What I'm saying is, it's not that bad. I mean, honestly, she's pretty great. And yes, you dated, and she omitted the truth, but she probably couldn't tell you since you two met at the restaurant and she was there as a critic. I'm pretty sure those guys have a code or something."

I roll my eyes. "She doesn't work for the CIA, Matt."

"Still," he says with a shrug. "They probably don't want the chefs to know who they are, or it would blow the entire operation."

I shake my head at him, but he's got a point. "Still, after moving in with me, and after we started the whole dating thing, she could have said something. She had plenty of opportunities," I say, my throat going dry as images of those moments flash before my eyes again. "And by that time, she had already eaten at my place."

"Look, man," Matt says, placing a hand on my shoulder. "When you were together, I had never seen you so happy before. I didn't think you'd ever land a girlfriend again after the last disaster, and the fact that you brought her to Mom's birthday says a lot about how special she is. You should think twice about it."

My heart clenches at Matt's words. A few days ago, that was all true. Hazel did make me happy like no one else ever has. And she was special. Even in the beginning, it never really felt fake. I swallow the lump growing in my throat, looking away. "We weren't really dating then…" I mumble.

He frowns. "What?"

"We were faking it so Mom would get off my back about finding a girl." I breathe out a heavy sigh as I think back to that first night when I met Hazel. It feels like a lifetime ago, but really, it's only been two weeks. "Hazel was just a customer from the restaurant who needed a place to crash because the strike overcrowded the hotels. Mom was all over me about having Justine Gardinet come over for her birthday, and I panicked, saying I was seeing someone. Hazel agreed to come as a thank you."

Matt's jaw is practically on the floor. "Seriously?"

I arch an eyebrow. "Could I invent something so far-fetched?"

His frown deepens. "Maybe, if you were one of those authors my wife loves so much."

I raise an eyebrow.

"So, when did it start to become real?"

"For me, since the beginning. For her, I don't know if it ever was." The words might as well be sharpened knives because they're slicing my heart in two. "She said she wanted to be with me for real, and we talked about a future together. But I don't even think any of that was true."

"So, most of this thing was a lie?" Matt says, cocking his head. "Per your request."

Warmth rises to my cheeks. "Well, yes."

" Aaaand you're okay with that?" he asks with a pointed look.

I shake my head. "Look, I know where you're going with this, but it's not the same. What's gotten into you, playing the devil's advocate? What ever happened to brothers having each other's backs, huh?"

"Dude, that's exactly what I'm doing. My job, as your brother, is to make you see how much of a dumbass you are. And I think you're at a world-class level right now."

I throw him a death glare. "Shut up."

"Seriously, though. You sucked this girl into a fake dating relationship for Mom. You had her come to family functions when she doesn't even speak the language, help you out during the festival, and even kiss you. Basically, you made her fall in love with you one spoonful at a time. And then, when you learn a single lie she told you when you guys met, you throw it all away, even though you're clearly in love with her? Yup. World-class dumbassery, mec ."

"It's not some isolated little thing she lied about. It's her job. A huge part of who she is."

"Oh, because lying to Mom, to your entire family, is any smaller?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "It's not the same."

"Of course it is! You're just biased because you're hurt, and you always think nothing will go your way. You've got it in your brain that you're not ready to love again because of what Emeline did—which was extremely crappy, by the way. Yes, she took advantage of you and lied about it. That's a serious offense. What Hazel did? Not so much."

I stare down at the kitchen floor, concentrating on the heavy rise and fall of my breath. "It doesn't matter anyway. She's gone."

"Because you let her go."

I start pacing wildly. "She doesn't want to be here, Matt. Paris was a disappointment for her. She misses the Florida sun and her sister. She would have— "

"Ah, there it is," he cuts in, shaking his head. "You're just too scared to lose her, and you're afraid of getting hurt. That's why you rejected her first. Now we're getting somewhere."

"Oh, yeah, genius," I say with a fake smile. "Your interrogation techniques are through the roof."

I hate it when my brother is right. Especially when it concerns me. The fear of not being enough for Hazel is very real. What if we start building something, and she realizes it's not what she wants? That I'm not who she needs? What if she can't get over her hatred for the city?

I continue pacing, my mind working at double speed. This whole thing feels bigger than the fact that she concealed her job from me. How could it be, though? Lying is everything I hate, and I can't forgive that. Then again, one look at her, and I want to forgive her every misstep. Deep down, I know that she didn't have any ill intent, like Emeline did. I checked the website. My review is the last one she wrote, which means she didn't review the restaurants we visited together. And I'm certain she wrote it before she stayed with me, which is why I've been debating calling her. But does it really change anything? She did choose to stay with me afterwards, and she could have told me then. No, she should have told me, instead of lying to my face day after day. Not that she talked about her job much, but . . . My brain replays the moments when I spurred her to tell me about her work, and now I feel it, the awkwardness. How she changed the subject as quickly as possible and never brought it up herself. My heart tightens. I don't think she ever wanted to lie to me, and I know how it feels to get caught up in a lie, not knowing how to dig yourself out. To want a lie to become reality so badly it hurts.

I close my eyes, massaging my temples. These past couple of weeks have been a rollercoaster of emotions, but what if we could still have a happy ending? What if she loves me too? If she did, I would be a fool to let her go. To let that go, when I know what we had was special. In my heart, I know Hazel. And I know she just lied because she wanted this to be true just as much as I did. And who cares if she still hates Paris? I can live and cook anywhere in the world. As long as I'm with her, nothing else matters. I don't even know why I didn't consider that possibility earlier. She doesn't have to stay. I can go.

"Dude, you're scaring me," Matt says, eying me warily.

"You're right," I finally say, swallowing. "I overreacted, and I have to talk to her. I need to get her back."

My heart leaps at the thought. I can almost see me there, sitting on her porch under the Floridian sun, kissing her and holding her tight.

"So, what are you going to do now? Hop on a plane to Florida? Do you need a police escort?"

I roll my eyes. Would showing up at her home really work? After how I treated her, it doesn't feel like enough. I was the one who jumped to conclusions. I didn't even give her the chance to explain, much less give her the benefit of the doubt.

"What if she's not interested?" I ask, my eyes downcast. The thought tightens its grip on my heart. Maybe it's too late. Wallowing for two days like an idiot, unable to see what was right in front of me, might have killed any chance of getting Hazel back. "I don't even know where she lives," I admit, sitting down on the couch, cradling my head in my hands. "And even if I do find her, she might not want anything to do with me. "

"At least you'll know," Matt says, resting a hand on my shoulder. "It's better than spending your whole life wondering what could have been, right? As for the address, I'll see what I can find from the airport police. I can call in a favor."

"Really?" I ask, my pulse accelerating.

He smirks. "I should be able to sneak a glimpse at her contact address if I ask nicely."

I spring to my feet. "I guess I'm going to the airport."

He slaps my back. "I'd say good luck, but that would just jinx it so . . . merde . I'll work on that address and I'll text you."

With a smile so big it hurts, I grab my coat and run out of the house, my racing heartbeat matching my every step.