French had slept poorly and was grateful when the sky outside turned pearly gray with the light of dawn. She got out of bed and dressed quickly in her running clothes. It felt good to be up and about after a night of tossing and turning; at some point during the night, the bed had begun to feel like a prison. Had she been in her own home, she would have gotten out of bed and found something to occupy her mind until she felt sleepy again. She had been loathe to do that while visiting Marie-Josée, especially in light of the mystery lover she had discovered stealing into her cousin's room.
She crept out of the apartment and once on the street, began to warm up with a brisk walk. The streets were free of traffic, the only people about were street cleaners and shop owners going to work baking bread and pastries, readying their stores for the morning's influx of customers. She walked down Rue des Pyramides, crossed Rue de Rivoli and entered Jardin des Tuileries where she began to jog.
It felt good to move after several days of no activity. Though the morning was misty and chilly, French was enjoying her run. As she ran through the garden, she blanked her mind, purposely steering her thoughts away from Aidan. For French, running was akin to meditation; she had learned to focus her mind on her body and how it felt as she put it through the paces. When she was successful, she felt oddly rested, calm and peaceful afterwards.
Leaving the garden, she ran down the Avenue des Champs ĂlysĂ©es toward the Arc de Triomphe. The store window displays along the way glittered with glamour and opulence; she found herself window-shopping. She relaxed her focus on the meditative run and her mind wandered. Its journey was short and led directly to the one subject she had purposely avoided thinking about: Aidan.
She couldn't help but wonder what he had been doing to pass the time since she had left. She hoped that he missed her at least a little bit and that he had had trouble finding 'normal' without her. She certainly hadn't felt normal. Her world seemed a few shades dimmer without him in it; even Paris, her favorite place on the planet, had lost its luster.
Her mindset vis Ă vis Aidan had changed this morning. She had begun to entertain the idea that she might try to convince him to continue their relationship when she got back to Boston. She hoped to persuade him that they could endure the strain that had been placed on them by the Patrick Hurst quagmire if they were smart about it. She would promise to keep her feelings about Hurst to herself and that she would never force Aidan to choose between her or Hurst. She would advise him to compartmentalize his life: her in one section, his family, including Hurst, in another. She knew it would be difficult for them both, but the alternative seemed worse. Not being with him in any capacity would be more awful than bore thinking about.
She was unaccustomed to being the person appealing to another for a second chance. Usually, she was the one who created distance in relationships, distance that left the other person feeling unsettled. Aidan had been in just that position for most of their time together and he had always pursued her and urged her to see that they had something special. Now it was her turn. She hoped that he had not forgotten the very persuasive arguments he had presented; it would be much easier for her to win him back if he remembered how hopeful he had previously been.
It would not be easy for her to follow through on her plan. Objective as always, even when she would be shown in a bad light, she knew that her pride would take a heavy blow.
But I would rather lose face than lose Aidan
, she told herself. If the way she had felt the last couple of days was any indication, she would be miserable without him. Maybe the hurt would fade in time, but she knew she would always want him. Anybody she met and became involved with would be compared to Aidan and, she was sure, be found wanting. French just didn't think she would achieve anything close to happiness without Aidan.
Being with him, but set aside from his family would be difficult. She had liked his parents and his brother immensely and she was sure they had liked her equally as much. She acknowledged that it would be strange to be involved with Aidan but not see his family. They meant a lot to him. Staying away from them seemed the best thing to do, though, because who knew when Hurst would show up? If Iain and Maggie were around, Aidan had told her, Hurst and his wife were never far behind. So, the best thing to do would be to avoid seeing his parents. She would of course tell Aidan that he should feel free to spend time with them as he normally would, that she would gladly occupy herself with something else when he visited them.
The one thing that would complicate her self-imposed prohibition on mingling with his family would be children. French didn't know what would happen if they married and had children. She was certain that she wanted a child with Aidan somewhere down the line and he had once told her that children were a part of his vision of the future, too. She knew that Maggie and Iain would be enthusiastic, doting grandparents. She also knew that she would have a hard time with being excluded from family events that Aidan and their child attended.
She shoved the thought from her mind. She was getting way ahead of herself. She needed to talk to Aidan first, see if he would even be willing to resume seeing her. If he agreed to her terms, she would gladly adhere to the rules she had put in force. Not being part of every aspect of Aidan's life would be a sacrifice, but she would take what she could get. French hoped -- prayed -- that he would see the reason behind her plan and that he still thought she was worthy of his affection.
When she arrived back at Marie-Josée's apartment, she found her cousin in the kitchen making breakfast. The women greeted each other and French noticed that her cousin had difficulty meeting her eyes. The mystery lover was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the amount of food Marie-Josée was preparing, he must still be in the apartment. They chatted briefly and Marie-Josée's nervousness seemed to increase. French finally excused herself, telling her cousin she was going to hit the shower before breakfast.
When she joined her cousin in the kitchen after her shower, the mystery man had risen from bed and was sitting at the tiny table near the window drinking a cup of coffee. French gasped when she registered who it was sitting there.
"NicolĂ s?!" she asked, shock, surprise and pleasure mingling in her voice. She was across the room in a flash, throwing her arms around him when she reached him. He squeezed her tightly, laughing and exclaiming his own delight at seeing her.
They disengaged and French took a step back to get a good look at him. Only as she did, did she realize he was only partially dressed. He was barefoot and wore an unbuttoned shirt and jeans. Realization hit her with the force of a freight train.
Nicolàs was Marie-Josée's mystery lover!
She turned toward Marie-Josée and narrowed her eyes. "
NicolĂ s
was the man in your bed last night?"
"Yes," her cousin answered, concentrating far too hard on whisking the eggs in the bowl she held.
"And how long has this been going on?"
NicolĂ s answered in a clipped tone, clearly on the defensive, "Almost a year."
"Almost a year and neither of you told me? This is
unbelievable
!"
Nicolà s's family lived in the house next door to Marie-Josée's family in Martinique. The two families had been very close and were even related in some convoluted way. Marie-Josée and Nicolàs were the same age and had been inseparable as children. People had always said how they seemed more like brother and sister than friends and neighbors. Both Nicolàs and Marie-Josée had attended university in Paris and had shared an apartment for most of the time they lived there.
French could remember Marie-Josée complaining about Nicolà s's womanizing. He was quite a gorgeous-looking man -- tall, with milk chocolate skin, a brilliant white smile and a physique to die for -- and women constantly threw themselves at him. He had gone through a phase where he caught as many of them as he could. It had driven Marie-Josée crazy and she had moved out of the flat they had shared. The two had continued their friendship, still seeing each other frequently and occasionally double dating. Neither of them had ever liked anyone the other dated. French had always thought it odd that Nicolàs and Marie-Josée would each call her and espouse in voluble detail the numerous negative qualities of whomever the other was dating.
She had never paired them as a romantic couple, but now that she was forced to contemplate it, she could see that it made sense. They were already best friends, had all of the important things in common and were just different enough to keep things interesting. Based on what she had heard last night, they were also compatible as lovers.
"No one knows," Marie-Josée explained. "We thought everyone would think we were too closely related to condone our relationship."
