Amanda's Guide to Love (33 page)

Her throat hurt. It
was amazing she could still breathe given the size of the lump that had formed
there. She’d been stupid to think she could provoke him into an emotional
outburst. This was Gerhard—a paragon of self-control.

“After I get the
degree,” she said. “I’ll probably go back to Moscow. Or maybe stay in Paris for
a year. I haven’t decided yet.”

He stared at her.

Ask me to stay.
Please. Just ask
.

“I don’t like Paris,”
he said. “It’s noisy and dirty. And polluted.”

She gave him a long
unblinking stare, and then shifted her gaze to the vast lawn. So much for her
brilliant idea to shake him up a little.

This is it—the
end.

“I’ll visit you,” he
said with the enthusiasm of a child in front of boiled broccoli.

“No you won’t,” she
said with a sad smile.

He didn’t argue.

Over the next week,
she packed up, found a place in Paris, and left.

And now look at her!
How could she feel so
content
only two weeks after breaking up with her
boyfriend of two years? Must be this city, operating its magic. Even the
embryonic state of her thesis couldn’t bring her down.

Lena looked forward
to her dad’s usual seven o’clock call so that she could share her high spirits
with him.

When he called, she
had just arrived in the downstairs bistro.

“So, how was your
eighth day in Paris?” Anton asked.

“Fantastic. But then
again, how could it be otherwise?”

“I wouldn’t be so
smug if I were you. Haven’t you heard about these poor Japanese tourists?” he
asked.

“I thought they were
rather rich.”

“Poor as in
unfortunate. They arrive in Paris with such an idealized image that they can’t
handle its dirty streets, rude waiters, and aggressive pigeons. There’s a
special agency now that repatriates them to Japan before they completely lose
it and jump from the top of Notre Dame.”

Lena laughed. “I may
have arrived here from Switzerland, but let’s not forget I’m a Muscovite. I’m
sure I can handle dirty streets and rude waiters. As for the pigeons, I already
have an arrangement with the ones on my street.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I share my croissant
with them, and in exchange they protect me from other pigeons. You have nothing
to worry about.”

“Yeah, I wish the
pigeons were my only worry, Lena.” Anton’s tone had grown too serious for
Lena’s liking. “You’re all alone in Paris, with no one to go to if you need
help.”

Oh please, not
again.
Next,
he’d bring up her heart condition and how she couldn’t be too careful. He made
a huge deal out of her arrhythmia. Even when her cardiologist didn’t. All the
good doctor had asked her to do was avoid strenuous effort and saunas.

Anton took an audible
breath. “In Geneva, you had Marta and Ivan. They’re like family. They know what
to do, should you . . . feel unwell.”

“Dad, I too know what
to do, should I feel unwell.”

“Of course, you do.
But it’s not just that. Marta and Ivan had you over for dinner every week, you
enjoyed playing with their kids, they took care of you when you had the flu.”

All of it was true,
and she didn’t know how to argue with that.

“I don’t have anyone
in Paris whom I could ask to watch over you like that,” he said.

“I don’t need—” she
started.

“I’m going to hire
someone, Lena. Besides everything else, I’m worried about your safety. There
are people who may want to harm me and . . .”

Anton didn’t finish
the sentence, but Lena knew it was about his haunting fear that someone might
kidnap her for ransom. Or worse—hurt her as a way of hurting him. She didn’t
want to make light of his fears. But she also knew that if she didn’t nip this
idea in the bud, she would find herself encumbered with a chaperon for the rest
of her stay in Paris.

“Dad, I wasn’t yet
seventeen when you sent me off to Switzerland,” she said patiently. “I’m
twenty-three now and I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Hmm.”

Lena chose to ignore
that. “Besides, nobody knows I’m in Paris. To anyone outside our closest circle
I’m still in Geneva.”

Anton didn’t argue
with that, which was a good sign. Lena continued with as much conviction as she
could muster. “I’m perfectly safe here, don’t you see? I’m a Miss Nobody. And
if I ever get lonely, I can just jump on the train and go to Marta and Ivan’s.”

Thankfully, her
mention of the family friends reminded Anton to give Lena their regards, after
which he told her about her grandparents’ Black Sea vacation. The conversation
ended on an upbeat note, and Lena hung up relieved.

“Ready to order,
mademoiselle?”

She looked up. The
waiter standing by her table was in his midtwenties and very good-looking.
Scratch that, he was jaw-droppingly handsome in that dark, intense and yet
wholesome way the ancient gods could be. And it wasn’t just his face. He was
tall—well, French-tall, not Dutch-tall—lean, and broad shouldered. He was
wearing the same café uniform all other waiters wore: a stark white shirt,
black pants, and a long black apron tied around his hips. Lena mentally
whistled at how it emphasized the exquisite narrowness of said hips.

She ordered her dish
and a bottle of mineral water.

“No wine? Are you
expecting someone later or will you be dining by yourself?” the black-aproned
Adonis asked.

“It’s none of your
business, monsieur,” she said curtly.

His question made her
regret she didn’t have company tonight. It made her want to tell him she was
waiting for her boyfriend—no, her two boyfriends. She itched to wipe that grin
off his face and tell him to find another victim for his snobbery.

She composed herself,
straightened her back, and said, looking past him, “Would you kindly relay my
order to the chef and then tend to your other customers?”

“So much impertinence
in one so young.” He shook his head admonishingly. “I’ll be back with the water
as soon as I possibly can. We’re very busy today, you see.” He smiled.

Was he provoking her?
She decided she didn’t care, gave him a cursory nod, and pulled out her iPad.
She had a more important matter to consider than the shoulder-to-hip ratio of
male servers.

She
had to figure out what to write to her mom.

End of Excerpt

Order “What If It’s
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Alix Nichols is a caffeine addict
and a longtime fan of Mr. Darcy, especially in his Colin Firth incarnation. She
is the author of the bestselling Bistro La Bohème series. At the age of six,
she released her first romantic comedy. It featured highly creative spelling on
a half dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet paper. 

Decades
later, she still loves the romance genre. Her spelling has improved (somewhat),
and her books have made Amazon Top 100 lists, climbing as high as #1. She lives
in France with her family and their almost-human dog.

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