Honeymoon in Paris Read online

  ALSO BY JULIETTE SOBANET

  Sleeping with Paris

  Kissed in Paris

  Dancing with Paris

  Midnight Train to Paris

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2013 Juliette Sobanet

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  ISBN-13: 9781477809815

  ISBN-10: 1477809813

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013939494

  To Jessica, for being there through it all.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  “I can’t believe I’m about to become Mrs. Luc Olivier.” Gazing down at my shimmering white gown and sparkly silver heels, I wondered if, in the history of the world, a bride had ever been this excited to walk down the aisle.

  Or this in love.

  Inside the sleek black limo, which wound through the cobblestone streets of Annecy en route to my outdoor wedding ceremony, my four bridesmaids lifted their champagne glasses to me in a toast.

  To my right were Katie and Hannah, my closest friends from my college days back in DC. And to my left sat Lexi and Fiona, the fabulous girlfriends I’d made during my past year in Paris.

  Lexi—the sassiest of them all—took the liberty of speaking first. “I’d like to make a toast to Sleeping with Paris, Charlotte’s former single-girl blog—which I adored almost as much as I adore Charlotte herself. Your bitter diatribes on men who cheat and on the inadequacies of marriage were brilliant. And just because they got you into loads of trouble, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If your new married self is even half as fabulous as your single self, I think we’re going to be friends for a very long time.”

  Lexi had barely finished speaking when the more reserved and very British Fiona nudged her in the side. “Lex, this may not be the best moment to bring up Charlotte’s former feelings on the institution of marriage. Obviously she’s changed her viewpoint. And we’re quite happy she did, I might add,” Fiona said as she winked at me.

  The girls were referring to the fact that one year ago, after finding out that my ex-fiancé, Jeff, was cheating on me through an online dating site, I moved to Paris alone and began writing an anonymous, man-hating, anti-marriage blog entitled Sleeping with Paris. In this online literary masterpiece—ahem—I shared lessons and personal anecdotes of my efforts to “date like a man” and never again be the fool who falls in love. Of course, on my first day in Paris, I met Luc: the man who, as it turned out, would make it quite difficult for me to follow my own advice.

  Last spring, my blog posts were rolled into a feature-length article in the popular Bella Magazine, and once that article hit newsstands with my byline prominently displayed, my bitter diatribes weren’t so anonymous any longer.

  Today, as I sat there in a gorgeous wedding gown on my way to marry the man I was hopelessly and forever in love with, it was clear just how miserably I failed in my mission not to fall in love. And thankfully so.

  While the blog certainly provided a humorous, healthy release after the betrayal I’d suffered from my previous engagement, Lexi couldn’t have phrased it more aptly: my strong opinions on why women should never enter into committed relationships with members of the male species, and the personal stories I provided as proof, had gotten me into loads of trouble with friends, family, and worst of all, with Luc. As it turned out, broadcasting a man’s shortcomings online and in print before knowing the whole story wasn’t my smartest move (e.g.: throughout our year in Paris together, Luc wasn’t cheating on me as I suspected, but instead had an adorable three-year-old daughter).

  I thought I’d lost him forever… until he caught wind (by a little bird named Lexi) of the redeeming follow-up article I wrote for Bella Magazine’s August issue, in which I professed my own shortcomings this time—and my love for the one man who is different from all the rest: Luc.

  It had only been four weeks since Luc had read the article and swooped back into my life, and only three weeks since he proposed. For a girl who went from opposing marriage on all fronts to one who accepts a surprise marriage proposal and plans a three-week mad dash down the aisle, I honestly couldn’t have been more certain of my decision.

  Snapping back to the present, I smiled warmly at my friends and raised my sparkling glass of bubbly to the group. “I don’t mind you bringing up the blog, Lexi. As messy as it was, it’s all part of my story with Luc. And every mistake along the way led to this moment—where I’m about to start the family I’ve always wanted to have with the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

  “Cheers to that,” Katie said, wiping a tear from her eye.

  In fact, as I looked around at my four best friends who’d been there for every moment of the roller coaster of a year I’d had, and who’d dropped everything on extremely short notice to be here for my big day, I realized that each one of them had tears in their eyes.

  “Thank you all for being here for me today,” I said. “You’re the best friends a girl could ever ask for. And that isn’t going to change when I get married. I promise.”

  “Okay, you’re killing me here,” Hannah said, pulling out a tissue.

  “Seriously, Char. Can we just drink our champagne?” Lexi said, biting her bottom lip. “I really don’t think you want your hot bridesmaids strutting down that aisle with black smudges all over our faces. And if we keep up all this mushy friendship talk, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

  Giggles erupted throughout the limo as we finally took a sip of our champagne.

  Just then, the limo pulled up to the lush, beautiful lawn facing the crystalline Lake Annecy and the surrounding mountains.

  “Oh my God, Char, we’re here!” Hannah squealed in her characteristic high-pitched voice, squeezing my leg so hard I’d be surprised if she didn’t leave marks. “Are you nervous?”

  Katie rubbed her ear and shot Hannah a warning look. “She’s going to be nervous if you keep squealing like that, lady.”

  “Sorry, it’s just so gorgeous here! And I can’t believe Charlotte’s getting married!” Hannah shrieked once more, practically bouncing out of her seat.

  The girls’ excited chatter faded into the background as I peeked through the window and glimpsed rows of white chairs adorned with elegant pink-and-lavender bouquets—all leading up to the most handsome groom I’d ever set eyes upon.

  Luc stood at the edge of the lake, grinning his charming dimpled grin, and not looking the least bit nervous.

  I always thought I’d be nervous on my wedding day, but as I opened the limo door and locked eyes with the man I w
as head over sparkly heels in love with, I realized there wasn’t a nervous fiber in this bride’s body.

  ONE

  A warm glow of morning sunlight whispered bonjour as I batted my eyelids open and smiled at the ruffled pillow on Luc’s side of the bed. I peeked over at the clock and grinned even wider when I realized that it was ten A.M. and I had nowhere else to be. It was the last day of our luxurious Paris honeymoon and the last week of my incredible four-week paid vacation. I’d spent a considerable portion of this particular week wrapped in these very sheets in pure, unadulterated, knock-my-socks-off bliss with a man who I was madly in love with, and who loved me more than I ever knew I could be loved.

  Luc Olivier.

  I rolled his name around on my tongue, reveling in its perfect syllables, in the way it made my stomach leap, my heart swell, my legs quiver. And as I closed my eyes once more, I realized that no matter how tumultuous the past year had been, Luc had always made me feel this way, since the very first time our paths had crossed almost one year ago.

  The heavenly aromas of buttery croissants, melted chocolate, and strong French coffee swirled through the expansive suite, arousing my senses, making my stomach growl. In the next room, a light clattering of plates and silverware mixed with the soft beat of Keren Ann’s “Jardin D’Hiver”—one of my favorite French songs.

  It’s a song I used to play for my students back when I was a high school French teacher in DC. But as I slipped one bare leg over the crisp white sheets in our Paris honeymoon suite and felt an early fall breeze flitter across my skin, I remembered that the romantic week I’d been enjoying in the City of Lights was a far cry from my frenzied days in the nation’s capital.

  I discovered my lacy violet nightie hiding in the sheets by my feet and slipped it over my head, but just as I was about to get out of bed, Luc’s rugged face appeared at our bedside. A mischievous grin peppered his unshaven cheeks while his chestnut eyes glinted in the orange morning light.

  “Bonjour, ma belle,” he said, presenting me with a tray of fresh pâtisseries, two small tasses de café, and the morning journal, the way he’d done every single morning of our dreamy honeymoon.

  Is this really my life?

  “Let us take our petit déjeuner in bed, no?”

  I giggled at Luc’s adorable accent and decided it was best not to argue. “Whatever you say.”

  Luc rested the tray over my lap, then removed his jeans and T-shirt before slipping his lean body underneath the sheets, his legs intertwining with mine. The minute his hands reached my waist, he pressed his moist lips into the crook of my neck and left a trail of soft kisses down my shoulder. Tingles rolled down my spine while butterflies twirled through my stomach.

  “If this is what heaven is like, sign me up,” I said. I was tempted to tell him that breakfast could wait, but as I’d learned from our recent mornings together, Luc liked to drink his delicious French café while it was still hot. I couldn’t say I blamed him.

  “I know we have tried new kinds of pastries each morning,” Luc began. “But this morning, I made a special trip over to my favorite pâtisserie on rue de Passy to bring you the world’s best pain au chocolat. I hope you will like it.”

  I raised a flirty eyebrow at him. “You don’t have to sell me on chocolate croissants, Luc. Trust me, I could eat more of these every day than I would ever admit to you.”

  Luc’s charming grin lit up the room. “Me too,” he said before we both took our first bites into the flaky, buttery delights.

  A sliver of warm, gooey dark chocolate hit my tongue. “Oh my God, you weren’t kidding. These are the best chocolate croissants in the world. Why have you been holding out on me?” I nudged him as I took another scrumptious bite.

  Luc winked at me, then took a sip of his café. “I wanted to save the best for our last day in Paris. There is more to come.” A hint of mischief sparkled in his eyes, making me wonder what else he had up his sexy sleeve.

  “Oh? What do you have planned for today?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I leaned in and gave Luc a chocolat-covered kiss on the lips. When we resurfaced for air, I rested my forehead on his and whispered, “You know, if you want to feed me a pain au chocolat in bed every day for the rest of our lives, I’d be more than okay with that.”

  Luc’s lips found mine once more, and this time I plummeted a little further into the depths of his touch, his scent, his kiss. When he pulled away, I laughed at the dab of chocolate I’d smeared on his cheek.

  “Here, let me,” I said, lifting a napkin from the tray.

  But as I picked up the napkin, today’s paper spilled onto my lap, the bold headline catching my eye.

  “Ooh, that new romantic comedy I’ve been wanting to see—Le Problème avec l’Amour—is premiering in Paris this weekend.”

  “The Problem with Love,” Luc repeated as he slipped his arm around my waist and peered over my shoulder at the paper. “Never heard of it.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to suffer through a girly movie with me. Fiona is in love with the lead actor, Marcel Boucher, so I’ve promised her we’d see it together next week.”

  Luc nodded without responding, then flipped to the second page of the paper.

  The headline staring back at us made me gasp. “Students arrested in massive drug ring bust at the Cité Universitaire,” I translated aloud, not believing my eyes as I continued skimming the article. The Cité Universitaire is the large campus situated in the fourteenth arrondissement of Paris, where both Luc and I had been living only a few months ago.

  “This is insane, Luc. The leader of the drug ring was Pascal Girard, the guy that lived at the end of our hall! Do you remember him?”

  Luc nestled his face into my neck and traced my collarbone with his lips. “The only thing I like to remember about living in that dorm was the day I first bumped into you wearing a skimpy towel in the shower. Do you realize that was almost one year ago? And now you are my beautiful wife. I am the luckiest man in the world.”

  Luc’s words made me forget about our dorm’s drug scandal and instead brought back a vivid flash of my first day in Paris and my first encounter with Luc. It had only been two days since I’d broken off my engagement with Jeff, my ex-fiancé. Even though I was more than a little burned from his tryst with the red-headed beauty he’d met online, I’d decided that no self-respecting Francophile woman would wallow around in self-pity on her first night in the City of Lights. So that evening, in the communal shower of my Paris dorm, Luc’s steamy, towel-wrapped body bumped straight into mine… and we lived happily ever after.

  Well, obviously that’s not exactly how it all played out. But honestly, what relationship didn’t have a few hiccups? I figured now that we’d already gotten the hard stuff out of the way, things would be smooth sailing from here on out.

  Although, no matter how bumpy our relationship had become over the course of my first year in Paris, the steam from that first meeting in the showers never evaporated. And on this lazy morning, only one month after Luc had swooped back into my life, and only five days after we’d vowed to love each other for the rest of our lives, my clothes strewn all over the hotel floor and the half-eaten Lindt milk chocolate bar by our bedside were solid proof of that never-evaporating steam billowing between us.

  I kissed Luc’s chocolate-covered cheek and giggled. “And I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Seriously Luc, you’ve really outdone yourself with this honeymoon.” I glanced around our ritzy suite at the Château Frontenac Hotel just off the Champs-Élysées, realizing how aptly named the hotel was. With its tall ceilings, crystal chandeliers, vases of freshly cut lilies, and regal furnishings, our suite resembled the inside of a mini castle. Of course we’d modernized the castle with bags of sinful chocolate from La Maison du Chocolat just across the street, colorful macarons from Ladurée around the corner, and sexy lingerie from Chez Isabelle, the raciest lingerie shop in Lyon—a place I’d become quite fond of since Luc and I had gotten
back together.

  “You know in French, the word for honeymoon, la lune de miel, refers to the first twenty-nine days after the wedding, when the couple is totally in love and everything is perfect.” Luc ran his hand up my thigh and kissed my shoulder. “I wanted to start off this time by giving you a week in Paris that you would never forget, especially since I did not show you this Paris the first time around. And the good news, chérie, is that this is only day five.”

  Luc’s hand crept further up my thigh, and as much as I wanted to let that hand go wherever it pleased, there was something important I needed to ask him.

  “This week has been incredible, Luc. Really, the most amazing, romantic week of my entire life. I just have one question, though—how on earth are you affording all of this? You just finished your master’s degree, you have Adeline to take care of, and you’re a professor. I just don’t want you to go into debt—”

  Luc placed a finger on my lips. “That is not for you to worry about, mon amour. I promise you, we are not in any debt.” He snatched the journal from my hands and tossed it to the floor. “Now finish your pain au chocolat because we have a busy day ahead of us. Today, ma princesse, I’m taking you shopping on the Champs-Élysées.”

  Now if an American man had ever called me “his princess”, I probably would’ve laughed in his face. But whenever Luc called me his princesse, his belle, his amour, his cœur, I practically melted in a puddle at his feet.

  In my melted puddle state, I decided to table the finance discussion until we arrived home in Lyon. Our lightning-fast, three-week engagement period hadn’t allowed us the time to properly discuss the merging of finances, but surely we’d get to it next week. And if Luc wanted to take me shopping on the Champs-Élysées on our last day in Paris, who was I to argue?

  I traced the outline of Luc’s handsome face with my finger. “Before we hit the Champs, care to join me in the shower?”

  “Do you even need to ask?” The grin to end all sexy grins slid onto Luc’s lips before he removed the breakfast tray from my lap, pummeled me with kisses, then carried me into the shower.