“Ella…come back! It’s not what you think!” Jean-Luc’s booming voice bellowed from behind.
She ducked into atabacandhid among the magazines as Jean-Luc went barreling by. Legs shaking, stomach twitching, she shivered, chilled to the bone.
You knew it would happen. How could he resist her? Big boobs, plump ass, gorgeous face. She’s rich, powerful… perfect. What can you offer him? Nothing. But she can make him a star.
The shopkeeper eyed her with a mixture of concern and suspicion.
Ela realized she was sobbing. And, with her stomach heaving, was about to puke. She dashed out the door just in time to retch into the grass beneath a tree. She wiped her mouth, straightened her back, and searched her surroundings to make sure Jean-Luc wasn’t lurking nearby. No sign of him. She exhaled in relief, trying to calm her shattered nerves.
She wandered aimlessly, lost in grief. She’d been so overjoyed to get the extended visa. She’d wanted more than anything to stay in Montmartre with Jean-Luc. But she’d been a fool to think he’d fall for someone like her. Not when he could have Colette Ducharme.
A smothering weight compressed Ella like a tightly clamped vice. She needed to fly home to Florida. She couldn’t face Jean-Luc. She had to escape. Tonight.
Today was Thursday. His night to sketch onla Place du Tertre. He’d be there at six, so she’d wait until seven. She had a key to the apartment… which was in her purse! And she’d dropped it on the floor with her bags.
When she’d seen Jean-Luc cupping Colette’s perfect ass.
Staggering jealousy stabbed Ella’s wounded heart.
She’d get into the apartment somehow. Even if she had to break a panel of glass in the front door. Her passport was in the zippered compartment of her suitcase. And her wallet and debit card were in her purse.
From the upstairs computer, she’d book a flight home tomorrow. Reserve a hotel room. Pack her luggage. And take the RER line to the airport.
Satisfied with her plan, Ella just had to wait until seven. When Jean-Luc would be atla Place du Tertre.She took a deep breath, exhaled through her mouth, and wiped the hot tears from her cheeks.
****
Jean-Luc’s pulse thundered, his breath heaving, as he stopped running and searched the crowded streets for Ella. He’d lost sight of her and had no idea where to look.
He couldn’t believe what had just happened.
In the studio, he’d just finished Colette’s portrait. She’d gone behind the partition to dress, while he cleaned his brushes, capped his paints, and put away his supplies. But, instead of donning her clothes, Colette had emerged buck naked.
For a full-scale frontal attack.
She’d placed his hand on her ass, holding it in place with her own, sliding it all over her curves. With her other hand, she’d clamped his head, pulling his face down for a desperate kiss.
He’d been livid, paralyzed with fury. And—just as he’d started to pry Colette off him—Ella had walked in.
Her exuberant face had fallen in shock. All the light had dimmed in her eyes. Her mouth had dropped open in disbelief as the packages fell to the floor. And the mournful wail from her wounded soul had pierced him right through the heart.
He’d chased after her, racing down the sidewalk. But she’d disappeared. And now, he stood gasping for breath on the street corner, blinded by rage and despair. He couldn’t lose Ella. He had to find her. But where could he even begin?
She has to go back to the atelier—her purse is lying on the floor. With no money or debit card, she can’t go far. She’ll go back to get it. And I’ll be there when she does.
Jean-Luc sprinted back to the atelier, immensely grateful to find that Colette had gone. He called his colleague François, and—with a brief explanation that he had a crisis to handle— relinquished his night to sketch onla Place du Tertre.
Adrenaline coursing through his veins, tense muscles twitching and lurching, Jean-Luc paced the floor of his apartment, his eyes glued to the cobbled stone square beneath the window outside. Where Ella would have to appear.
****
The clock in the store window showed that it was ten past seven. Jean-Luc would be atla Place du Tertre, so Ella headed back to the apartment.
Relieved that it was unlocked, Ella quietly entered the atelier.
She glanced lovingly at the vibrant paintings of flamenco dancers on the walls of the studio, moved to tears at Jean-Luc’s extraordinary talent that she would no longer be able to share. In the corner window, a mannequin displayed her latest couture creation— a funky, feminine blend of distressed denim and exquisite antique lace.I was just beginning to recruit customers. And my English classes were going so well…Ella swallowed an enormous lump in her throat and stoically climbed the stairs.
The setting sun streaked the sky in vivid shades of violet, pink and mauve, casting slanted rays of gilded light over the sumptuous black bed. Her stomach clenching at the memory of so much passion shared with Jean-Luc, Ella stood transfixed, immobilized with pain.
