Read Paris (Entangle Me Book 4) Online
Authors: Maggie Way
Paris (Entangle Me Book 4) (2 page)
This is the house I grew up in, and I always feel a sense of genuine happiness whenever I walk towards the blue front door.
I turn the golden knob and walk into to the smell of noodles being pan-fried. My mom, Elaine, is the cook in the family, and she is definitely making lunch. I walk into the open kitchen, confirming my suspicions. Mom is busy tossing the sliced beef, bean sprouts and noodles on the wok, and Dad is pouring some hot tea. It’s usually jasmine or green tea, at mom’s insistence.
“Doodlebug!” My dad’s wide green eyes light up when he sees me walk in, calling out the embarrassing nickname he assigned for me since I was four. Greeting me with a warm hug, I bask in his comforting dad smell. He pats me on the back before taking a good look at me.
“You look much too thin, sweetheart. But at least you have good colour in your face.”
“I just got over the flu, so I haven’t had the best appetite,” I dismiss. In fairness, all I’ve been eating the last few days are hot liquids – hot chocolate, hot soups, hot tea.
“A couple of days being sick isn’t going to make a difference. You’ve been working yourself to the ground since…” he trails off but I know exactly what he is talking about. It’s been almost three months since that doomed wedding rehearsal, and my parents are almost at peace that I now come to lunch at their house alone, not with Adam.
“I’m eating enough daddy, trust me.” I give him a warm, reassuring look.
He turns his head to call out to mom over the loud sizzling of the fry pan. “Don’t you think Doodlebug looks a bit too skinny?”
Mom turns the stove off and walks towards me. No hug, just a scrutinising look at my body, which is covered up in jeans and a long cardigan.
“You have no stomach, eat more,” she decides, turning around to open the fridge, taking out three bunches of bok choy. The master of hiding emotions well, she always keeps her true feelings close to her chest. I have never seen her cry,
ever
. When people say I’m just like her, I like think of it as compliment as it makes me tough and strong like her. But after Adam commented derisively that I might not be human on the night we broke up, I’ve come to question if it is a good thing.
They liked Adam, and when we approached the four-year mark of our relationship the constant questions about marriage and the future came every time we saw them.
‘When are you getting married?’
‘Do you think about kids?’
‘When would you like to have children?’
‘How many kids are you going to have?’
I think suffice to say, they’re going to have to hold out on those grandkids a bit longer.
Pacing to the cutlery table, I take out the chopsticks and spoons when a familiar face walks into the kitchen.
“Hey sis,” Hansley’s lean arms wrap me in a bear hug from behind. I can smell the thin layer of fried potato and mayonnaise on his black hoodie. “Long time no see.”
“Whoa,” I whisper. “Dude, did you just have some takeout?”
He puts a finger to his lips. Hansley takes me out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Shhh! Don’t say anything alright? Don’t worry, I’m still going to eat tons. Can’t wait to tuck into those dumplings…”
I tsk tsk and push him away gently, walking towards the circular timber dining table. Hansley has the biggest appetite of anyone I know, but I don’t know where he puts it.
“So how’s work?” I ask, laying down the cutlery on the table. Sometimes it still baffles me that behind his hipster and grungy image, my brother is actually a very serious and bookish accountant. My tattooed, spiky-haired, junk food addict brother is a whiz at preparing ledgers and separating debits from credits.
He shrugs. “Month end stuff, busy as always. How are all your fancy weddings going?”
“Well, my tan from Thailand has disappeared. Look!” I push up my sleeve to show my forearm, which still has the faintest remnant of my newly acquired tan from basking in Kamala Beach.
He shakes his head, “No, you look pasty like me as always. We’ve established this, we are genetically bred to look ashen.”
I look into his eyes, which look a lot less sunken than before. He looks really refreshed, almost glowing. I would usually smell alcohol on his hoodie but not this time.
“Who’s the new girl?” I smirk, asking the only thing that can be the cause of his sunny disposition.
Involuntarily, a look of embarrassment creeps up on him. “Nothing, I’m just going through a no drinking spell at the moment.”
“Courtesy of some girl, who is it?”
He continues to look coy. “Nothing, it’s just casual.”
Boy, I bet she would love to be labelled as casual. It’s a fashion style, not a relationship status.
“Wow, she is
so
lucky to have you,” I say dryly.
“Oh come on, you
know
I treat women with respect.” He smiles to himself. “But no, I’m the lucky one to have her.”
I won’t press on it now, but he’s never wanted to not talk about a girl with me. It must be serious.
“Maybe you will finally stop going to seedy pubs on Friday and Saturday nights then? Ever think of that?”
“I like my cheap and seedy pubs thank you very much. Besides, who else would Tristan go drinking with?”
My stomach drops at the thought of Tristan being single and ready to mingle.
“Anyway on a serious note, how have you been? We haven’t really hung out much since that night,” he says hesitantly. He knows that he got a bit out of hand that night, with his temper being directed right at Adam.
I shrug my shoulders, happy to change the topic.
“I’ve been good. The new job is keeping me busy, and I like it that way.”
He glances at my speculatively, “But you’re not overworking yourself for a reason yeah? I’m your big brother, I’m supposed to take care of you.”
“Thanks,” I smile at him. “I’m doing a lot better now,
believe
me.”
I’m going to Paris with Tristan in a week, I don’t have much to complain about right now.
Suddenly mom calls out from the kitchen. “Lunch is ready, come and grab the plates!”
Hansley’s eyes light up. “Yesssssssss! Sorry if I steal your dumplings, I’ve got the munchies
so
bad.”
“Go ahead. I had a late breakfast anyway.”
He paces ahead, and I giggle to myself. There’s nothing like family, they’re irreplaceable.
Forty-five minutes later and I’ve eaten enough Asian food to sate my craving for another few days. Mom has outdone herself, providing enough food to feed a small army. Two full plates of beef chow fun, three plates of her handmade steamed pork and mushroom dumplings, a small mountain of steamed bok choy and steamed corn.
I sit back, breathing heavily to take a sip of the hot fragrant jasmine tea. Even Hansley’s munchies cravings are satisfied and he reclines on the wooden chair with a goofy grin on his baby face.
“So what else is new?” Dad asks, looking at me and Hansley.
Hansley gestures for me to go first.
“Well I’m going to Paris in a week,” I declare. It has been almost six weeks since Tristan came by to tell me about this excitement and I have been busy planning it all from home. I can’t wait to see it all unfold and plan this special day for the clients.
Mom’s eyes light up, while Hansley and Dad nod silently. “That sounds fun!”
“With Tristan,” I blurt out and Hansley looks up curiously. Mom and Dad continue eating.
“Oh yes he mentioned he was going to Paris when he was here for lunch the other day,” Mom says. Tristan has come back for lunch? The notion of Tristan still being close to my parents makes me all warm inside.
“I’ll bet you two will have some fun, huh?” Hansley blurts out.
I almost choke on the hot liquid, clamping a hand over my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Good bars, good food. What’s not to like?”
Oh right. “Yeah, I’m sure we will find the time to check it out.”
“I think it’s awesome you two are working together. He thinks so too.”
I smile. “Really?”
“I’m glad he can look out for you; makes me feel more reassured.”
Dad nods assertively and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at how protective the men in my family are.
“Awesome, well it’s been fun. I’m glad he’s back,” I conclude.
“Man he is stoked for Paris, because it was all he could talk about at the poker night last week.”
I am too, I can’t wait to see the City of Lights!
“Ahh Paris. I can’t wait to check it out, except for the Eiffel Tower,” I joke. At least I won’t go to the top.
“Dude, you have to check out the tower from the top. The best views,” Hansley insists.
“It’s just a tower, plenty of towers in the
world
,” I say, failing to suppress my rising panic. “I’m sure it will look great from the bottom.”
Dad looks at me with concern and reaches out to tap my arm gently. “Sweetie, don’t push yourself…”
Suddenly, Mom swats his hand away and looks at me. “Are you still avoiding elevators?”
I nod weakly and she sighs loudly.
“I don’t want this affecting you the rest of your life, it’s gotten in the way of you doing so much,” she says, showing her concern in her own critical way. “Is there anything you can do to cure it?”
I frown, annoyed at this sudden intervention. My family had stopped pestering me about it ages ago, they came to accept it as the norm. Why bring it up now?
“It’s just if this is going to be your new job, won’t it limit you greatly to avoid high places?” Mom continues asking, reminding me where I get my nosiness from.
“I can
deal
with it if it absolutely must happen. If somebody put a gun to my head and made me catch a lift up the Empire State Building, I would do it.”
Very nervously though.
“I’m sure there was something that helped calm you down last time you were faced with heights…” Mom suggests and my eyes widen. Tristan. That day I was in his apartment, I started having a panic attack when I saw how high up I was, and then he kissed me…and then I suddenly lost all my nerves.
“Yeah, there’s got to be something,” Hansley chimes in.
I push my chair backwards, scraping it loudly on the tiled floor.
“I have to excuse myself,” I mutter as I rush out of the kitchen and up the stairs, desperate for some privacy. It’s too embarrassing for me to continue reminiscing about the past.
Tristan does make me feel safe. But it’s not like I can depend on him to rescue me time and time again.
I mean, aside from the flight, it’s not like I’m going to be forced to confront my fear of heights head on in Paris. Right?
The wedding is for Marie Herveaux, a forty-two year-old twice divorced socialite from New York who is getting married to Alain Langlais, a sixty year-old businessman also twice divorced. Tristan was able to secure her because he had planned several fundraisers for her in the past and combined with my reputation and expertise, she was more than convinced to hire us. Hopefully third time’s a charm, but they are definitely sparing no expense. We have a two-day extravaganza to plan for them: an intimate family-only ceremony and dinner reception on Friday at Chateau de Riviera, 15th Century castle about forty kilometres north of Paris. Because Alain is a naturalised citizen, the paperwork side of things has been fairly smooth and I was able to expedite the arrangement of a legally binding ceremony. This will then be followed the next day with a more relaxed, and deliciously banquet-filled reception which overlooks the Seine River for their friends and extended family. Divine, just divine. Tristan has also been entrusted to plan the couple’s honeymoon, which he says will be a pretty amazing surprise for both the couple.
As for the love story behind the couple, it’s really something to be believed.
They’ve known each other their whole lives, yet only fell in love a year ago. Growing up on the same streets of Paris as children, they were childhood friends until Marie moved away to New York with her family. They met and fell in love with other people – Marie married Gregory, an investment banker and she happily settled into her role as devoted wife and mother. Together they had two children. Alain stayed in Paris and married his university sweetheart Annie but they never had children. In fact, it was because they didn’t have any children that led to their divorce. Marie became available but it was not by choice – Gregory was diagnosed with prostate cancer. They had a few good months before he tragically passed away. Marie and Alain reconnected when Marie decided to take an extended break in Paris to be closer to her parents, and neither of them expected to find love in each other. It’s beautiful, really how love can arise from tragedy. It really has the power to heal.
Before we left I was constantly on my laptop or phone making arrangements with the venue, the caterers, florists and makeup people. Fortunately, with the help of Gabe, we have been able to confirm a lot of the crucial details and Gabe was a lot more patient with their thick accents than I was. Now it’s off to the city of love to get this show on the road. Me and Tristan, together in Paris. It’s a recipe bound for success, or disaster.
♦
The plane takes off, and I am now bound for France. The worst bit is over and I am feeling more relaxed now. I have worn three elastic bands on each wrist for this flight, ready to be flicked whenever I need to distract myself and avoid another panic attack. I’m getting the hang of flying without the Xanax, but I can still get nervous. Think that bottle of shiraz might come in handy.
If I have to fly more often, first class is definitely the way to go. Tremendously better seating, much better food, and way better company. Oh and I just happen to be sitting right next to Tristan. I don’t know what is making me more nervous - sitting next to him or being sixteen thousand feet in the air.
While Tristan and I are sitting smack bang in the middle of first class, Gabe is sitting all the way at the back. Why oh why is Gabe not with me? He’s the only one who can calm me down when there’s turbulence.
The seatbelt sign turns off and Tristan unbuckles his seatbelt and gets up, presumably to go to the bathroom. I use the chance to unbuckle mine and take out my laptop, keen to work on my run sheet. As soon as Tristan walks off, Gabe scoots down and sits in his seat.
“How are you two lovebirds doing?” Gabe grins.
I smirk at his enduring nosiness into our relationship status. “Busy. We’ve barely spoken to each other, and I would prefer to keep it that way. I’ve got so much to do.” Not to mention the cushy seating of first class means he is four feet away from me. We are hardly going to popping our heads out to talk to each other, are we?
Gabe leans in, keen to keep badgering me. “Come on, you two are going to Paris together. Something is definitely going to happen!”
“We’ve gone through this already, Gabe. It’s not going to happen, he’s my boss.”
“Uh huh, your boss who kisses you, buys you gifts and stays in shitty motels just to be near you. He would so go there if you just gave him a sign!” He raises his voice, sounding more and more excited.
I put a finger on my lips as I quickly look up to see Tristan isn’t there, fortunately.
“Speak a bit louder, I don’t think Tristan could hear you from the bathroom.”
“That’s a good thing, he can finally hear how keen you are!”
I shake my head at him. “I would much rather be sitting next to you.”
“Well sorry to disappoint my dear, but umm unfortunately seats were limited so I had to book you and Tristan to sit together…what a shame…”
Yeah right! “Who else’s shoulders am I going to lean on when and if turbulence happens?”
“His! I think you would much rather lean on his manly, sculpted shoulders than my puny, bony ones.”
I shake my head at him playfully. “Sure, as if that’s going to happen, Mr. Cupid. Are you sure you don’t mind sitting on your own?”
“Mind? I’ve been asking Jose to top up my wine. He is very friendly, and it helps that he is wearing tight pants. Hmm! Do you think I should ask if he wants to go on the mile-high club?”
I struggle to contain my urge to laugh out loud. “Gabe!”
All of a sudden I can hear Tristan’s distinctive march coming down the aisle and I put a finger over my mouth. “Alright, he’s back from the bathroom. Shush, no more funny business!”
Tristan comes back and gives Gabe a friendly pat on the back, and Gabe gives him a warm grin as he heads back to his seat. I can’t help but notice Gabe seems a lot more animated around Tristan than he was with Adam – he would always tone down his homosexuality and jokes around Adam but he is definitely himself with Tristan.
Tristan stands over my seat, staring down at me. “All good?”
I nod at him. “Yeah, everything is—”
A loud panicked gasp leaves me as the plane starts rumbling beneath my feet, and my bag is tossed forward. Even the stewardess holding a bottle of wine is struggling to walk in a straight line as she walks to the person sitting in front of me. Turbulence…this is a bad one. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. The plane shakes even more and I feel my ribs heaving as if they are being bound by ropes, straining to fill my lungs.
Tristan leans forward, resting his arm on my arm’s chair. “You’re not…are you?”
“Shush, leave me alone,” I raise my voice, gripping onto the leather edges of my seat as I start panting loudly. This is mortifying, having Tristan see me cower like this baby but I’m freaking out here. My head is a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing my mind into blackness. I want to run; I want to freeze; I want to cover my body in the thick blanket...
I lean forward to bend over my knees when a vice-like grip on my body commands my attention. Peeking up, I see hands on my shoulders. Big-knuckled man hands. More specifically, Tristan’s hands on my shoulders. Crouching down, his face only inches from mine and he is focusing those whiskey eyes right on me. Warmth is rushing into my body, it’s overwhelming.
“Look at me, just focus on me,” he says gently, calmly, as he holds me so tenderly. “Breathe.”
I breathe outwardly, trying to focus on him but the plane shakes even more erratically and my cup of water spurts out violently onto the carpet. My face contorts in fear and I close my eyes but Tristan touches my cheek with his right hand and I open them again.
Oh my
, that static is there again, that heated energy charging between us. Without a doubt it’s there every time we touch. The heat spreads throughout my face and I can feel my cheeks reddening. The way he is looking at me, his eyes all soft and tender as he clenches his jaw. I’m distracted now and I am frozen under his intense scrutiny. God, what I wouldn’t give to kiss him right here and now.
The airplane bell dings, and the male pilot’s booming voice comes through the PA.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please return your seats and keep your seatbelts fastened. Flight attendants and cabin crew, please be seated. Thank you.”
Tristan stays where he is, clearly ignoring the announcement. “I’m not going anywhere, alright?”
He wraps his arms around me and I am enveloped in all of Tristan, and I never want to let go. His inviting vanilla scent, his incredibly warm skin, the way his flannel shirt is so wrinkled but still cleanly washed, the way his chin sits perfectly above my head. It’s all so entrancing. I don’t want to let go of him because it feels like the whole world is melting away and it’s just the two of us. He’s the only one I want right now; this is the only
thing
I want right now. The petite stewardess comes up to us and taps Tristan on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir. You need to make your way back to your seat now.”
Tristan doesn’t budge. “No, I’m not moving.”
“I’m afraid I have to insist,” she raises her voice.
He moves his head up. “No. Not until she—”
I hear him hitch his breath as I lean forward to give him lingering peck on his cheek. His skin is so soft, so warm, and
so
kissable. Now
he
is the one who is paralysed as I put my hands over his and gently push them away, giving him a weak smile.
“I’ll be okay, promise.”
He swallows hard, still looking at me. “Are you sure?”
It takes me a moment to find my voice.
No
, I would like to continue being in your arms and kissing your face, but that’s not going to happen.
“I’m sure.”
Tristan hides his look of disappointment well and gets up back to his seat, the stewardess standing over us. Damn her, how dare she do her job properly!
I quickly buckle my seatbelt, closing my eyes as the plane continues to shake. Except I feel okay, actually I feel better than okay.
I’m excited to land in Paris and see what happens next.