I push open the door. The bell jangles, announcing my entrance, and I quickly slip down a side aisle to avoid notice. There are hardly any other patrons here. Just how I like it.
A couple talks to each other in hushed voices in the far-right corner of the room. A tall woman in a short yellow summer dress stands behind them, and I can see the shadow of someone sitting at one of the small round tables in the coffee shop in the opposite corner of the bookstore. The comforting smells of coffee and baked goods make my stomach rumble. Mmm. Maybe I’m finally starting to feel better, since I could really go for one of those delicious croissants right about now.
But first, a book.
I take my time perusing the shelves, fingering the books on the end caps displaying staff recommendations, and end up in the romance section of the store. A large, hardcover edition of contes de fées—fairy tales—catches my eye.
I reach out to stroke the beautiful picture on the front—a thin wisp of a woman in a flowing gown beside a huge, hairy beast. Even if I didn’t know French, I’d know this was a book of fairy tales, featuring my favorite heroine of all time and her intimidating hero beast.
Taking the book off the shelf, I finger the golden edges of the pages. I draw my finger along the embossed lettering on the spine, then open the book.
I nearly squeal. Each story begins with stunning, full-color illustrations. Yes, this is the book I need tonight. I glance at the price and wince. I make good money at La Maison,but this is more than I usually spend on myself…
I don’t want to go home alone. I need something to occupy me tonight.
I pay for the book, still debating with myself about the coffee shop. I don’t like spending money frivolously. As if reading my mind, the cashier smiles at me and hands me a white slip of paper along with my receipt. “Our treat,mademoiselle.”
I glance at the slip of paper, a small advertisement declaring that all hot drinks and pastries are half off tonight. Huh. I can’t remember them ever doing that before.
“Oh, lovely, thank you.” That makes the decision much easier. I’m buying myself a cup of hot tea and a croissant. After all, he gave me the night off with pay. Who wouldn’t want to be paid for reading while eating a pastry?
I turn to the coffee shop and stop, midstride.
“Everything alright, miss?”
“Yes, yes, thank you,” I say in an almost whisper.
No.
This… can’t be. Am I so focused onMonsieurthat I’ve conjured him in my mind?
Maybe it’s just someone who looks like him. Maybe… this has just been a weird day.
I have to see for myself.
When I step toward the coffee shop, I can see more clearly, the overhead lighting now directly over me. I stand stock-still while my gaze focuses on the patron in the corner. His back is to me… and he’s wearing an entirely different outfit than he was earlier today…
Why on earth would Monsieur Fabien Gerard behere? Of all places? I’m sure a wealthy, well-known man like him would have no use for a small coffee shop like this.
Did he follow me here?
No, of course not, he looks like he was probably here before me.
I remember what the girls said about him. I remember my purpose. I draw in a deep breath and walk over to him.
It can only help my cause if I get closer to him.
“Nicolette?”
I plaster a smile on my face and turn toward him. “Monsieur!” I say with a terrible attempt at pretending I didn’t just seehim. “I didn’t recognize you.” Unfortunately, I’ve grown used to numbing my conscience, and the lie slips off my tongue with unsettling ease.
“Come,” he says, his voice a low rumble. He gestures to the vacant chair across from him. “Sit.”
The note of command in his voice arrests me. My feet move toward him even as my mind screams in warning.
They told you he’d be obsessed.
They told you not to trust him.
