The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(122)

"So what do you want to do first?" I asked, turning from my perma-stare out the window toward Jamie.

"Sleep," he responded immediately.

I slugged him with the back side of my hand. "No! You can't sleep. You'll never catch up to Paris time if you sleep now." I looked at my watch. "It's only eleven in the morning. You have to wait until at least eight before you can sleep."

He looked at me, unconvinced.

"It's a rule," I assured him.

"According to who?"

"Me."

"And who are you?"

I crossed my arms smugly. "As if you don't know."

Jamie smiled and played along. "I don't."

"Excusez-moi, monsieur," I said toward the front of the car.

"Oui, mademoiselle," the driver replied.

"Est-ce que vous pouvez me dire exactement qui je suis, s'il vous pla?t?"

The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, puzzled. These Americans were quite the conundrum.

"So I guess that answers the question of whether or not you speak French," Jamie said to me.

I nodded.

"Qui vous êtes?" the driver confirmed, quite certain that he had either misunderstood me or my effort to speak French was flawed.

"Oui," I confirmed. "S'il vous pla?t." Then I turned to Jamie. "I asked him who I was. Since you seemed to have forgotten."

Jamie was completely entertained by the exchange. He turned his head toward the front seat and waited for the answer.

"Vous êtes Mademoiselle Jennifer H.," the driver responded with hesitation, seemingly concerned that a failure to solve the mystery of this dynamic duo might cost him his job.

"Merci beaucoup," I said to him, and then turned back to Jamie with a satisfied grin. "See, there you have it. Jennifer H., expert in international jet-lag saving tactics. Even he knows who I am."

Jamie laughed. "Fine, fine. We'll stay awake. We'll do whatever you want to do. But you better keep me entertained, otherwise I might fall asleep in a fountain or on the steps of a church somewhere."

I smiled. "Don't worry. I know just the place."

"To keep me entertained? Or with comfortable steps?"





29

Guarding the Prisoner


AFTER A quick Parisian lunch consisting of salads and ham sandwiches by the Seine, Jamie and I spent the afternoon touring one of my favorite overlooked monuments in Paris.

"I think I might be the reincarnation of Marie Antoinette," I explained as we walked through the Conciergerie, the old French prison.

"This is really where she was held prisoner before she died?" Jamie asked, running his hands against the cold stone walls of the main corridor.

"Before she was executed," I corrected.

Jamie looked up at the dark, low-beamed ceilings. "Not a very happy place."

I nodded. "Not at all. Especially compared to the chateaux I was used to."

"And why do you think you're her reincarnation?"

I shrugged and continued down the corridor. "I don't know. Every time I've read anything about her, I've always felt a strange connection. An undeniable fascination with her life."

"Maybe you just like cake."

I laughed. "Ah, look who knows a little bit about the revolution fran?aise."

Jamie tried to appear blasé. "I paid attention in history class."

"You mean you paid attention during the History of the World Part I ?"

He waved off my comment. "The novel," he replied defensively.

"Did that have Mel Brooks in it, too?"

He sneered.

"Well," I continued, happy to play tour guide to the amateur American tourist. "Marie Antoinette was captured and brought here to await her trial. Which I think is a complete joke. Like they were actually going to give her a fair trial. She was charged with treason just because she was royalty."

Jamie approached me stealthily and placed his finger against his lips. "Shhh. I don't think your monarchist convictions are going to be well received here." He pointed toward a wax figurine of a revolutionary guard who was positioned to watch over the entrance into the queen's cell.

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, it's a free country."

Jamie considered my comment. "Is it?"

I smiled and shook my head at him. "It is, actually."

He took my hand and pulled me close to him so that our bodies were touching. I could feel my heartbeat getting faster and I wondered if he felt it as well. "So should I call you Marie from now on?" he asked.

I swallowed and tried to force a smile. "Actually," I began softly, "most of her friends and family just called her Antoine."

Jamie leaned in closer to me. His lips were inches from mine. "Okay... Antoine." And then he kissed me. In the middle of the dark and dingy revolutionary prison, our lips met and our eyes closed. My body became warm and I tried to counteract the heat by filling my mind with cold, enraging images of Jamie's wife. But it was no use. Her face would disappear as soon as it entered my mind. I couldn't keep my focus on one negative thought to save my life.

So I pulled away. "Come here, I want to show you her cell," I said, reaching down for Jamie's hand and leading him past the motionless "guard."