Finished touring the downstairs, I walk upstairs, peeking into each room as I go. There are eight bedrooms, one of them Scarlett抯。 My bags and boxes have all been stacked in the corner of the bedroom farthest from hers.
I wonder whose idea that was.
Most of my belongings, the decorations and furniture, were put into storage or left at my old place. The bulk of what I brought along were clothes. Rather than unpacking or sorting through anything, I lie back on the white bedspread and stare out at the shimmering skyline of Manhattan. I could call someone. A woman. Asher or Jeremy. Go out to a club or a bar.
I抦 too tired. Too drained.
Looks like I抣l be spending my wedding night卆lone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SCARLETT
The warm summer air is tinged with a hint of smoke when we step outside the restaurant. A slight breeze ruffles the hem of my dress and blows my hair back.
Jacques pauses to kiss both of my cheeks. 揗agnifique, Scarlett,?he declares. Loudly enough, the group who exited ahead of us turns to look. 揟his line will be magnifique. A triumph.?He pulls me in for a hug. 揧ou need anything梐nything at all, you let me know, oui??
揙ui.?I return the warm embrace. 揗erci beaucoup.?
Jacques departs after a few more Frenglish phrases. My French is enough to get by, but I抦 far from fluent. Jacques and I learned to communicate through a nonsensical mesh of the two languages while collaborating on my new label.
I loiter outside the bistro where we just ate dinner for a few minutes, debating whether to call a car or walk the few blocks to the hotel where I抳e been staying for the past two weeks.
揥ant a smoke??The question comes from my left, delivered in a thick French accent. I look over to see a blond-haired man leaning against the brick siding of the building. He抯 wearing a leather jacket and holding a lit cigarette. I walk over to him, choosing my steps carefully on the cobblestones.
揑抦 not a big smoker.?I abhor it, actually. It抯 a gross, grimy habit I associate with the reckless and a disregard for personal hygiene.
Framed by the soft glow of streetlights and distant glimmer of the Eiffel Tower, it suddenly seems more sexy than repulsive. So does the lazy smile being flashed my way, paired with a slightly crooked nose and a jaw covered with a light layer of stubble. 揑抦 working on quitting,?he tells me.
揝eems like it抯 going well.?I look pointedly at the gray smoke curling up from the orange tip and dissipating into the dark night.
He drops the cigarette and snuffs it out with a heavy boot. 揑抦 Andre.?
揝carlett.?
揂 beautiful name for a beautiful woman.?
揗erci.?
His eyes light up. 揚arlez-vous fran鏰is??
揓e parle un peu fran鏰is,?I admit.
Andre chuckles. 揧our pronunciation is very good.?
揟hank you,?I reply. 揑抳e been here for a couple of weeks. It抯 improved.?
揂re you staying much longer??
揘o. I抦 leaving tomorrow.?
揌eaded where??
揌ome. New York.?
揟he big fruit,?he declares.
I laugh. 揂pple. Yeah.?
揥ould you like a memorable final night??The insinuation is obvious. In the way his body is angled toward mine. The smirk dancing on his lips.
I hesitate. When I approached him, this is exactly where I thought it would lead. We both know it. Now it抯 on the table, and I抦 undecided. The rings decorating my left hand suddenly seem heavier. I didn抰 expect being married to feel any different. I signed a contract that happened to include a religious ceremony.
My loyalty to Crew can have conditions. I抳e been gone for two weeks. He抯 probably had a rotating door of women coming through my penthouse. Growing up, I watched my mother send my father off on business trips with a travel safe, knowing full well he wouldn抰 be traveling alone.
I promised myself I抎 be different梬ouldn抰 be the fool who fell for the fairytale. But I angle away from Andre anyway. 揂ll I was looking for was a cigarette.?
Andre抯 hand sneaks into his jacket and emerges with a pack of them. He hands me one. 揂 smoker, after all??
I shrug. 揥e all do things we know are bad for us, right??
He holds a lighter out and flicks a flame to life. I hold the end of the cigarette out, letting the fire lick the paper until it ignites. 揧our husband??
I follow his gaze to the massive diamond resting on my ring finger. I could have taken it off as soon as my plane left the tarmac in New York. Instead, I抳e worn the symbols of my marriage every day I抳e been here. I抳e adjusted to the weight and the sparkles. If I ever do take them off, it will feel strange. My hand will feel naked. 揘o.?
揚ardon. I assumed厰
揥rong,?I finish, taking a single drag of the cigarette before I drop and snuff it. The street is littered with them. 揑 should go.?