his daughter Chelsea? Would I then have to make conversation with her? What could I possibly say? I wasn’t even sure how much my dad had told her about the reason for my trip. Probably everything, and if he hadn’t, Annabelle likely had. My family was not known for its ability to keep confidences.
“Hello? Are you still there?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “It’s . . . uh . . . me, Chelsea.”
“Oh,” she said. There was a ten-volume set of unspoken conversations in that one syllable. “How are you, Chelsea?”
“Good, really good,” I said. “I’m just calling to let Dad know that I have my cell phone back, so he can call me anytime.”
“Excellent, that will relieve his mind,” she said. There were a few beats of silence, and then she continued, “I hope you’re okay with me answering his phone. If I’d known it was . . .”
She trailed off, no doubt realizing that what she was about to say—that if she’d known it was me, she wouldn’t have answered—would only take us to the basement level of awkward.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I mean, of course it is. You’re going to marry him, after all.”
Yes, a teeny tiny part of me threw that out there in the stupid hope that she would say they’d come to their senses and changed their minds. She didn’t.
“I’m glad you understand,” she said.
I legit had no idea what to say to that, because in truth, I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand any of it.
“Yes, well, I’ll let you go,” I said. Seriously, I could not hang up fast enough.
“Chelsea, if you ever want to talk—about anything—I’m a really good listener,” she said.
Maybe she was just being polite, but it felt like an overreach. Like something someone who wanted to be your stepmom would say when she wanted you to start calling her Mom and baking cookies with her. That was never going to happen. Still, I kept it cool.
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I said. I ended the call before the conversation could wander off into any other uncharted territory. Once I had showered and slipped on a pair of beige Capris and a black thermal shirt, I decided to let my hair air-dry and didn’t bother with makeup, since I had my salon appointment that afternoon. I figured it was better to leave the makeup application to an expert.
I hoped Jason had managed to find a place of his own, even if it was a hotel, because I could not invite Jean Claude back here if there was a man in my teeny tiny efficiency. Of course it could be that we’d go back to Jean Claude’s place, and I found myself wondering where he lived and what his place looked like. I imagined it was as beautiful as he was, filled with art and books. The thought made me smile.
I crossed the apartment to the balcony, half expecting to find Jason waiting, as he seemed to always be underfoot. He wasn’t there. I stepped outside, taking in the sight of the bustling Parisian streets below. I heard the yip of a dog and glanced over the railing to see a woman in a pencil skirt and high heels, walking a tiny little pooch who yapped at everyone they passed. I smiled. It seemed so Paris.
“That is not a real dog,” a man’s voice said. I turned to my right to find Jason sitting on the balcony beside mine, enjoying a cheese plate and a bottle of wine.
I frowned. “What are you doing? How did you get over there? If the residents catch you—”
“Relax,” he said. He lifted his glass and took an appreciative sip of the white wine. “For the next few days, I am the resident.”
“What?” I blinked.
He grinned. It was a wicked, wicked grin that made something in my belly—probably rage—unfurl like a flame licking around a log.
“Hey, neighbor,” he said. He gave me a little finger wave.
chapter sixteen
I WAS CONSUMED by a flash of anger that burned so hot and bright I was surprised it didn’t scorch the earth. I stared at him. “You can’t stay there.”
He looked around as if trying to figure out what could be wrong with the place. “Why not?”
“Because this is my place,” I said.
He nodded. “Yes, and this”—he paused to gesture to his balcony—“is mine.”
“But . . . but . . .”
“Shouldn’t we get to work?” he asked. “I brought us some fortification.”
I was too stymied to reply. He rose and handed