I shake my head.
“ ‘Maybe we’ll be rid of the old bitch sooner than I thought.’ ” His voice is tinged with frustration.
“That’s terrible.”
“Also completely expected.”
“Is he here in Paris?”
“Geneva Freeport. Closing a deal. I don’t even know why I updated him.”
Matthew fills our two empty glasses as I sink my teeth into the crust of our makeshift cheese sandwiches. The Brie melts on my tongue like butter.
“It was Stella who gave me my first sip of wine. Who taught me to choose a good wine. Who brought me down to sit on the banks of the Seine,” he reminisces. “We used to take riverboat tours with the tourists because she said the best view of the city was from down on the river and she was right. She was always right about everything.”
He goes quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose her.”
“It’ll hurt, but you’ll keep going,” I promise, placing my hand on top of his.
He sighs and glugs down some more wine. “You sound very confident.”
“I have experience losing people.” I’ve lost my mother a dozen times over the years. At least that’s what it always feels like.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Was it hard when your grandfather passed?”
“Terrible. I’m still not over it. Neither is Stella. But to lose them both…” His voice catches in his throat and trails off. “What will I do for the next few hours?”
“I’ll stay with you if you want me to.”
“I do.” He flips his palm over and takes my hand.
When the bread and cheese are finished, we stroll. The pale silhouette of the Louvre emerges above us. The next part of the riverwalk is blocked for a private party, forcing us up the stairs and into the neighborhood next to the museum. We pause beneath a fluorescent sign for a restaurant called L’Appétit Sauvage. I came here once with Pascal, practically dragged him inside, giggling. “I have a savage appetite,” I’d said to him.
“It’s the best thing about you,” he had replied, his eyes dark with desire.
This entire neighborhood is haunted by my memories of Pascal. I wouldn’t have taken that particular staircase with Matthew if the path hadn’t been blocked. But now we’re forced to wander past the glossy red lacquered door of the Christian Louboutin boutique. Pascal brought me here after we drank at least four martinis apiece at Sauvage on our fourth date. The store was closing, but he was friends with the manager. At the time I didn’t question how. Turns out Pascal was a repeat customer.
He led me inside and removed my shoes himself, an act that felt both tender and possessive. He brought over a pair of black stilettos with a five-inch heel covered in spikes so sharp they drew blood on my fingertip when I ran my hand over them.
“I want you to wear these and only these while I fuck you in the alley behind this store,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I want you to wear them and stomp all over my heart.”
In the end it was my heart that was stomped all over. Six months later a new pretty young thing sat in the front row of his class, brand-new Louboutins on her feet, a smug smile on her face. I knew that smile. I knew that if I got close enough, sheprobably smelled of him, cigarette smoke and lust from having been with him in his locked office before class. I know because I had tried the door. I’d been replaced. He confirmed it the next day. “People love what’s new,” he said. “In both sex and in art, don’t forget that,ma chérie.” As if reducing me to a trend made it hurt less.
I shudder as we pass by the store, the memory so visceral I can almost feel the pinch of the ridiculous heels.
“Are you cold?” Matthew asks, noticing.
“Yes,” I say, because it’s easier than explaining.
He looks at his watch. “A couple of hours to go,” he says ruefully. We’ve walked around the back of the Louvre and now we’re approaching the Tuileries garden. Families are gathered on the lawn for dinner picnics, street musicians serenading them with accordions and guitars. Paris is a living postcard.
“We could wander through the museum,” Matthew offers.
“I think it’s closed.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Matthew has a renewed energy, the kind that comes with a new problem that can actually be solved. “Let me make one quick phone call.”
