When our order arrives, I can’t help but eye Olivier’s omelet with envy. It’s runny and creamy and, though I’d never admit out loud, definitely a better choice than my beef, potatoes, and fries combo. To add insult to injury, Olivier got a beer. He catches me staring as his drink and our eyes lock. I’m not sure what passes between us. We’re strangers, still now. I knew that. Iknowthat. I’d just never put much thought into it until today.
I grab a fry and take a bite. “I don’t know about this place,” I say without really thinking.
“I’m sure the beef is delicious.”
“I mean Paris. I’m starting to wonder…” I add. “Maybe we should…stop.” I’m not sure what I mean. I just know that this thing between us, it’s not working.
Olivier leans back, eyes wide. In shock. Or maybe pretending to be in shock?
“No,” Olivier says. It sounds so stark I think it surprises even him. “I mean, please, Cassie, we’re here. It’ll be fun. I promise.”
I roll my eyes. “Like you wanted to be here.”
“I did,” Olivier says. I raise an eyebrow. “I do. Of course I do.”
I pick up my glass to keep my hand busy. But then I take a sip and the wine is actually quite good. Smooth and fragrant.
Olivier reaches across the table for my other hand. I watch as he rubs it. It feels more intimate than anything we’ve ever done. “Cassie, I want this to be everything you want it to be. Or at least for it to look like it is,” he adds, glancing at my phone. “Here,” Olivier adds, pushing his beer toward me.
I admit it’s tempting but I’m trying to make a point here. “I’m very happy with my wine.” Before he can insist, I gulp the whole thing down—the glass was only half-full anyway, what a scam—and gesture at the server to come over.
The stuffy elderly couple next to us—he in a tie, she with a flashy ring on every finger—turns toward me, faces twisted in poorly hidden distaste.
“I’ll have another one of these,” I say to the server, my eyes firmly on the two oldies and their judgmental attitude.
Olivier smiles at them apologetically and, for a moment, I consider storming out of here. What a snobbish place full of arrogant people. The thing is, my feet hurt. Instead I decide to check who viewed my Stories.
But before I can do that, Olivier reaches across the table again, this time for my phone. “Let me. You look great in this light.”
It’s hard to resist a picture on this gorgeous terrace. And my second glass of wine has just arrived. I raise it to my lips, adjust my sunglasses on top of my head, and look over Olivier’s shoulder instead of straight at the camera, like my husband is so smitten with me that he takes my picture without me even noticing.
“Wanna check if you like it?” he asks, handing me back my phone.
I do; it’s a good picture. And he was right, I lookgreat. Relaxed, happy, even. I think. I smile as I post it to my Instagram.Paris is always a good idea, I write.
Then I take another sip. I thought I didn’t like wine, but I guess I was wrong.
All along, Olivier’s eyes never leave me. “Look, Cassie, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I want this to be a week that we’ll never forget. But I know you have your own…needs as well.” He glances at my phone but moves on quickly. “If you just give me the chance…I’ll make sure you have the most amazing adventure here.” He looks down at his plate and takes a bite before continuing. “And maybe you could use a night away from me,” he says softly. “In fact, I might catch up with some friends while I’m in town, if that’s okay with you.”
“Without me?” I feel like I should be offended. And I kind of am.
“Well, um, I didn’t think you were interested in meeting my friends. But if you want to, of course I’d love for you to come. It’s just that we’ll be speaking French all night and it’s a bunch of guys. It might be a little boring. But you know what, I’ll text them right now and tell them that I can’t leave my beautiful wife on our honeymoon.”
Do his friends even know about me? I know why they weren’t at our wedding—it was too rushed for that—and Olivier isn’t on social media. Seriously. No one can see what he’s up to.
Olivier slips his phone out of his pocket. “Thursday good with you?”
I put my fork down. I can’t say I care about Olivier’s friends. I only ever thought about how he was going to fit into my life, not the other way around. Before I can answer, my own phone beeps with a new text. The name on the screen makes my heart leap. Darren.Well, hello there!
Hey. Paris looks good on you. A little too good, if I’m being honest. Makes me wonder…
I swallow, hard. This is the text I’ve been waiting for. ThesignI’ve been dying for all these weeks.
“Cassie?” Olivier says.
I can’t look away from my screen. The three dots appear, and I hold my breath.
“Everything okay?” Olivier says.
