Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(41)

“And anyway,” I point out, “I haven’t heard you talk much about your friends back home.”

She gives me a small smile, and I feel like I may have touched a nerve. She starts tearing off pieces of the baguette, taking her time. “I have friends. I just don’t have a lot of friends. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, to be honest. When my father left and it was just me and my mom, especially for that first while, I wanted to be there for her as much as I could. You don’t understand . . . she was a mess. Way more than she is today. If I couldn’t hold her together, she’d fall apart on her own. Plus, the fact that I was studying like crazy to get a scholarship to college and working when I could . . . I just didn’t have time for anyone else. I mean, in school I met Chantal in my communications class, but she’s the only one I’d consider close to me.”

“And your ex,” I say.

“Yeah, Tom. But he didn’t turn out to be a very good friend, did he?”

“You dated for a long time,” I mention, and I know it’s in poor form for me to bring up her ex, but I can’t help it. “You must have been close.”

“We were,” she says slowly as she pops a chunk of baguette in her mouth. “But not as close as you’d think. At the time I thought he was my best friend, you know? But I don’t think I let him in like I thought I did, and he didn’t let me in either. The more I think about it, the end was probably a long time coming for us.”

“He was still an asshole to break it off with you in the middle of your vacation.”

She laughs dryly. “Well, technically I broke it off because I found out he was cheating, but, yes. He is an asshole. But had I really gotten to know him, I would have seen that coming. Instead, I was blindsided. I’m starting to think that my pride took the biggest hit of all.”

I shouldn’t feel good about that, but I do. The fact that whatever she had with Tom wasn’t real—and certainly wasn’t strong—means she’s still not in love with him, or at least not pining for him.

“But, honestly,” she continues, “I don’t think about it anymore. And in some ways, I’m glad he did what he did. I wouldn’t have had the adventures and independence I’ve gained from having to travel on my own. And I wouldn’t have met you.”

The way she meets my eyes, vulnerable and almost shy, makes my heart beat faster, my dick hard in seconds.

“Uh-oh,” she says, putting down her bread.

“What?”

“You have that look about you,” she says.

I get on my knees and start prowling toward her, pushing aside the food. “What look is that?” I murmur, stopping so that my face is just inches from hers.

“The one that tells me that you’re about to devour me instead of the food.”

I grin. “You know me so well.” I lean in and kiss her softly. “Let’s just eat it all later and call it dessert,” I murmur against her mouth before she sinks back onto the floor, giggling as I start to feast on her.





CHAPTER TEN

SADIE

“Bonjour, madame,” the waiter says to me. I glance up from the menu I’ve been trying to decipher and give him a big smile.

“Bonjour.”

“Would you like the English menu?” he asks, quickly switching to English after hearing my accent.

“Oui, merci,” I tell him, stubbornly trying to stay in the language. Though Lord knows that the last few times I’ve tried to order in French, things have gone horribly wrong.

“Anything to drink? Coffee, water? Still or sparkling?”

“Sparkling, please, and a double espresso. No, make it a triple.”

He gives me the once-over when I say triple espresso, as if gauging how much I need the caffeine, and then scuttles off.

I sigh and stare out the window across the Seine, at the ?le de la Cité and the back end of Notre Dame, and try to summon some excitement that I’m in Paris.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m excited to be here. I love Paris, probably more this time than when I was here earlier with Tom. I feel like I’m reunited with the city after saying goodbye, much the same way I was with Olivier after I hopped off that train.

But part of the problem is just that: I was here first with Tom, so a lot of my first memories are with him. A lot of firsts are tainted. As I said to Olivier the other night, I don’t really think about Tom often, and I’m not hurting over him, but it’s hard not to compare the recent memories. You’d think that being here now, as the lover of an actual Parisian, those memories would be quickly buried.

Except . . . they aren’t.

Because I’ve been here five days now, and I’ve barely seen Olivier at all.

He’s always working.

And I know this shouldn’t be a surprise, and I shouldn’t complain. I knew all this going into it. It was one of the reasons why I was going to keep going on to Spain, knowing that he had a life he needed to get back to.

It’s just hard.

We only have so much time together.

Just over a week before I have to fly back home.

And I knew the days would go quickly, I just thought I would see more of Olivier in them.

So now I wander the streets of Paris, alone, trying to be charmed by this beguiling city, trying to keep the romance alive in my heart.