“For the record, I repeat, I amnotjealous of René or Wickham,” he said.
“Of course you’re not. Carrie is way more perfect for you than I ever was or ... would be.” She grinned.
William didn’t comment, just looked up with a half-smile as René approached their table holding a tray of pastry and mugs.
“Best seat in the house!” René said with a smile. “But it looks like rain.”
“We don’t mind,” she said, wrapping a hand around the warm mug after he placed it on the table.
Taking a seat between them, he took her free hand and squeezed it. “Now that you are single again, I may not let you go back to New York,” he said.
Shit! Her heart stopped, and she panicked, shooting him a look. “I ... no! ... I’m engaged to George. Yes. Engaged.”
“But you texted—”
“No! I’m getting married soon! Remember?” Followed by a quick explanation in French.
“Ah. I misunderstood. Yes, George, the would-be pornographer.”
“Photographer!”
“No, chérie. If one is going to be a pornographer, then why use the AI? It is a complete contradiction. A true artist is honest about his creation, no matter howscandaleux. He gives all porn a bad name, then.”
“Then, you approve of actual, live model pornography?” she goaded, picking up her dish and inhaling her favorite pâte feuilleté. “Mon Dieu, what would your Catholic papa say?”
“That is not the point, and you know it! It is a dishonesttrompe l’oeil. I am surprised you would tolerate such a man who would lie about hisoeuvreand deceive the public by declaring he is technologically savvy.”
“No comment,” she said, hoping he’d change the subject away from George.
“I take it you don’t like Lizzy’s fiancé?” William asked.
René chuckled. “I don’t like anyone who pretends to be an artist by using AI, which steals from true artistry. There is no authenticity anymore in the world! Everything is a sloppy illusion.”
“Still passionate, still a purist, still a cynic,” she laughed, but he was right, and now she knew the truth about George’s “art.” He was a depraved pornographic photographer, and it made her sick. She’d tell René the truth eventually, but he’d probably still dislike George—authenticity or not.
“Do you know this George?” René asked William.
“We have a long history. I wish them well.”
“That is vague. Lizzy, your William does not like your fiancé either.”
Chewing, she shrugged, anxious to move on from the topic. “He’s notmyWilliam, but I think he likes your choco chaud, though.”
“I’m no authority, but it’s exceptional, and the croissant is just as Lizzy touted—delicious,” William commented.
“Thank you!” René leaned forward, speaking softly. “The secret is Belgian chocolate,” he then laughed.
“I won’t say a word,” William replied.
“It would turn away my customers if they knew.”
“I could tease you about authenticity, you know,” she joked.
“Ha! Yes, you have me there,” René conceded.
William looked around the busy establishment. “I doubt it would hurt business. It looks like you have a sure thing here. Is this your only location?”
“At present. I wish to open another patisserie in the eleventh arrondissement, near Opéra Garnier, but ... you know, times are tough. The profit margin is small now.”
