They kissed on both cheeks. “Ha! You only came formon père’s feuilleté. I know you too well!”
“Maybe,” she laughed, hugging him again. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“I have missed you. Nothing was the same after you left. There was no one to laugh at my jokes. A text meme is not a joke.”
“I like your memes, and Terese likes your jokes.”
“Ach! My sister is engaged to a German! She does not laugh anymore.”
René ran his hand down her arm. “Look at how grown up you are! You must tell me about yesterday and the Seurat.”
“Oh, René, it was so exciting.” She caught a glimpse of William awkwardly watching them. “Forgive me, William. Where are my manners?” All smiles, she said, “René Garnier, this is ... my client—and friend—the new owner ofThe Seine at Courbevoie 1885,WilliamDarcy.”
“Ça va?” In broken English René addressed William with a look of astonishment. “I never thought this would be. It is an honor to meetthefamousWilliam, the nude model!”
She held back her laughter. Poor guy.
“Bonjour.” William postured, holding out his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you, René. I don’t know about famous, but definitelynotnude.” He narrowed his eyes at her, jokingly.
“Ha! Not a day went by that this one did not speak of you. I hated you because she would not date me. I could not win her affections, and now I see why!”
“That is a bold-faced lie! Imaybespoke about you everyotherday.” She grinned.
“She said you paint impasto. Oui?”
“Yes, and dabble in illustration—more like doodling these days.”
“Je l’aime. I love it.” He slapped his hands together as though in prayer. “We must talk linseed and knives overchoco chaudand croissant—or maybe a profiterole.”
“Sounds good ... I think,” William said.
René left them standing in the center of the busy café.
He bent to her ear, his warm breath tickling her cheek. “What is choco chaud?”
“Hot cocoa. His is to die for. Let’s sit outside,” she offered.
“I suddenly feel ... very uncomfortable and out of place. Obviously, I’m a third wheel here. Do you want me to go?” he said.
“No! You, uncomfortable? You’re not a third wheel at all. You’re like family to René. He knowseverything.”
William raised an eyebrow.
Taking a seat at the table in front of the window, she carefully considered her response. On those days before school officially began, she’d barely held her emotions together. The regret and guilt over her cowardly, immature breakup gutted her. How many times had she called him only to hang up after the first few rings? “Um, let’s just say broken hearts and cognac-loaded Café Brûlot go hand in hand. He was a good listener, and I was a good crier.”
“Ah. I understand that acutely. I ... forget I said anything.”
She tilted her head, gazing into his expressive eyes, then laid a hand on his wrist. “Wait, are you ... are you jealous of René?”
“No, not at all!” he irascibly protested. “That was a long time ago, and didn’t we state we had moved on?”
“Yes, we did and have, but I didn’t moooove on, in the way you’re assuming, with René. We were just friends. Without him, I never would have made it at Beaux Arts. Besides, you’re engaged, so what should it matter after all these years?”
“Right. Andyou’realso engaged.” His gaze dropped to her hand, and she promptly placed it on her lap. He was gracious enough not to ask, and she was not about to break the illusion of her own betrothal.
“Exactly. Just think of René as though he were a brother from another mother. You two actually have a lot in common besides your medium. René inherited his father’s business, too. Both your dads worked with dough at all hours of the night for extremely demanding clientele. Same thing.”
He laughed. It did her heart good to see that every minute they spent together, Fitzwilliam Darcy was shedding his impenetrable mask. She only hoped that Carrie appreciated this relaxed, authentic side of him. Surely he let his guard down in front of her; otherwise, what type of marriage would they have?
