French Wanker - Victoria Pinder Page 0,41
I might have a family. I’d figured Marlon was going to move in and we’d be happy enough. “Like I have friends, a home and yeah, the new job I need to find, but I know how to.”
“Right, so you can throw yourself in your job and not care what happens to you.” She crossed her arms and stared at me like I was insane. “And where you and I get together every week, drink wine, and complain about our jobs and not finding a good guy like the one you left?”
That summed up the day-to-day dreariness pretty well. “I have my family.”
She made a tsk sound. “And they are adults busy with their lives. You don’t see them often, and you can fly home for a few holidays or events. So why are you here and not living a fairy tale?”
Sabrina was ripping apart every argument I’d fought inside my soul for hours. I laughed as I repeated another answer I’d constructed. “I don’t speak French.”
She took out her phone and showed the app she was using to learn Spanish. “There are apps to teach you, classes you can take or maybe your handsome, rich, available French doctor can give you private lessons.”
I put my shoes away and shook my head. “I don’t know.”
She followed me into the kitchen and helped herself to an apple.
I guess I was wrong. I had friends to share fruit with, but that wasn’t the same at all as having someone lay beside me.
“Let’s go over Marlon.”
“Ugh.” I took out two bowls of ice cream. I scooped for us and waited for her to start the conversation.
“How was he there and on your flight?”
I handed her a bowl. “He was arrested in Monte Carlo. According to the stewardess, he had the choice of prison or getting out of the country, never to come back.”
“What the fuck did he do?”
I dipped my spoon in my dessert. “He threatened a woman physically, but she kicked his ass.”
“At least it wasn’t you,” she said and continued to devour the mint chocolate chip.
I finished my scoop and walked to the sink. “It might have been if not for Quentin.”
She put her empty bowl beside mine. “And he protected you. Seriously, if you don’t get on a plane and go to him, I’m going to go myself and see if he’ll fall in love with me.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“You don’t want him.”
“I… can’t talk about it.” Sabrina was larger than life. One day she’d find the perfect man for her and leave. I washed out the dishes and set them to dry. “Look, thanks for bringing me home.”
She headed to the door and waved as she said, “If you need a ride to the airport, call me.”
“Okay, thanks.” I followed her and hugged her as she left.
For a best friend, I had a good one. I unpacked my laptop, turned on my TV to stream music, and found some light jazz. Then I tapped my couch I’d settled on and searched, American marrying a French citizen.
No harm in checking, right?
I laughed as I started researching my “what if” fantasy.
I’d walked away, afraid to tell him how I felt.
Honestly, I’d been terrified he’d never love me. I hadn’t thought about how empty my life was until the huge room we were in just made me feel cold and sad. “I’m sure this search will just be bad.”
And there it was. We couldn’t be together right away if he somehow flew to me. And if I flew to him, and in some alternative universe he asked me to marry him, then I was looking at six months of doing nothing but sitting at home. I stared at my white ceiling. “Right, exactly. I can’t work right away. I don’t know the language. And he doesn’t love me.”
I almost closed the computer and then remembered I’d told myself I’d look Quentin up. He probably had more money than just being a doctor. He traveled with a tuxedo and stayed at that hotel I’d never book. I could afford a night, but my budget would be squeezed. He hadn’t blinked.
So, I typed what I knew. La Trimouille. Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer. Vineyard.
And then my skin had a buzz to it. “No fucking way.” I read every word carefully of the vineyard with his name on it in the “about us” section. Noble family that goes back to the 11th century who served in the crusades… Married royalty in Naples… Staunch royalists during the revolution, forced to flee,