Hilary loved everything about Christmas. More so when she conked her obnoxious neighbour on the head with a life-size candy cane and bound his prone body in Christmas lights, tight, the same way she wrapped pork loin to roast for Christmas dinner. There was the smallest of splashes as she rolled him into the Seine. He would remonstrate her no more.
The rage dissipates as quickly as it came. Am I being melodramatic? It’s like I’ve had a personality change. The old me would never have bellowed like that. But, then again, the old me chose a man like my ex-husband, so perhaps this new ragey version is for the best. Still, I have to work in close proximity to this guy, so I’d better attempt to smooth things over even if I don’t want to.
I turn to find him gone though. Typical. Men take one look at me and then vamoose.
Manon lets out a surprised bark of laughter. ‘I never imagined my role would be peacemaker. That’s usually more your speed.’
I cup my face in my hands. ‘Have I done irreparable damage?’ The last thing I need is a grumpy neighbour complaining every two minutes when renovations begin.
She scoffs. ‘Hardly. Yeah, sure, you scared him off at the end. He looked like he couldtastefear and he was deciding whether it was palatable or not. Before your outburst, he had love hearts for eyes.Andhe’s a literary nerd, like you! Have we found the new hero in your next love story? A Christmas romance for my heartbroken cousin,non?’
Merde, she’s picked up on it too. Noah is exactly the type I’d normally go for. Rugged, hot, literary nerd. But not any more.
I will not admit the man has me intrigued. ‘Haven’t you got the memo? Romance is DEAD.’
L’affairtook care of that.
2
L’AFFAIR – SIX MONTHS AGO
‘Darling,’ my literary agent Margaret drawls, using a term of affection only when she’s in the very best of moods. ‘I have the most wonderful offer for you to consider. LA production company Kiss Films want to option your novel,The French Billionaire’s Secret. They focus solely on romances, so it’s a great fit. And the money, well, if the project is greenlit, will be a very nice boost, not to mention a resurgence in book sales for the title.’
I stifle a scream as I walk across the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris, which translated ironically means New Bridge even though it was constructed in the early seventeenth century. I continue on towards the Bibliothèque Mazarine, the library I often write in even though the main librarian is a harridan who follows me around to harangue me.
‘You’re kidding me!’ We’ve had bites from production companies before, vague offers and interest, but nothing has ever eventuated into signing on the dotted line.
‘I’m not kidding. I got a call from them last night.’ Margaret goes on to tell me more about Kiss Films and other developments they’re currently working on. It’s a no brainer butI try to tamp down my excitement. ‘Are they really keen or just putting-the-feelers-out keen?’
‘They’rereallykeen. As in already talking figures and percentages keen. As in, it’s-time-to-buy-a-bottle-of-bubbles keen. What do you say? Should we get into negotiations?’
‘Oui, start negotiations!’ I turn around, back in the direction of home in Le Marais. News this exciting has to be shared immediately with Francois-Xavier, who I left curled up in bed, with the beginnings of a migraine. When he’s like that, I do my best to stay out of the apartment so he can sleep it off in total darkness. Instead, I usually work in the library, often finding I’m more productive surrounded by books. Words. Fictional worlds.
‘I’ll get the ball rolling. You start celebrating with that delicious French husband of yours. How’s it all going with him anyway?’
I take a moment to contemplate the question. ‘Uh – it’s going well! It’s just… Francois-Xavier is between jobs at the moment. He’s not sure whether to pursue his dream of studying law like everyone in his family or to do up the rundown hotel he… sorry,werecently purchased in the 6tharrondissement. Things are a little up in the air, I guess you could say.’ Maybe he’s just a late bloomer. He often says he’s the odd one out in his family, so I try and be supportive, knowing it must be hard on him feeling like he doesn’t fit in as easily as his siblings do, who all practise law and have wildly successful careers.
‘You bought ahotel?’ Margaret’s voice rises.
I slap my forehead. Why did I bring this up? ‘Yes, we bought a boutique hotel. It only has eighteen rooms. His dream is to do it up himself and become a hotelier. But…’
‘You can affordthat?’
Margaret knows what I earn to the penny, so I don’t bother lying. ‘Barely. I’d hoped he’d have started the renovation work by now, but it seems he’s lost interest. It’s not his fault,’ Iquickly reassure her. ‘He keeps getting these terrible migraines that knock him out for a full day at a time. Then there’s the issue with his back that pops up every now and then…’ To be honest, the mortgage for the hotel is so steep it keeps me from sleeping at night and it’s eating away at the funds I have squirrelled away. The only solution I have is to write faster and release an extra book per year, to help keep us from sinking entirely. So, if this movie offer goes ahead, it’ll give me some much-needed breathing space. But I know how these things work; it can be years before the film is greenlit and, until then, the option payments are just a small slice of the pie, nowhere near enough to assure me of a good night’s slumber.
‘Anais, is he a dud? You’ve been married a while now and he still hasn’t found his mojo. Be honest with me.’
I smile. Margaret is, and always will be, forthright. ‘No, no, it’s just temporary.’ That’s what I tell myself every morning anyway. The thing is, Francois-Xavier won’t even see a doctor about his headaches or back pain, in that typical manly man way where they pretend to be stoic. Really, I should just make the appointment for him, but I’m already under so much pressure to meet extra deadlines and the added publicity that goes with it. ‘In sickness and in health, I made that vow and I plan to honour it.’
‘This is why you’re writing more! I thought you were inspired by being in love in the city of love!’
‘Well, there’s that too. Paris is the most romantic city in the world. And I don’t want you to get me wrong. While Francois-Xavier isn’t working now, and, ah, hasn’t found his calling yet, it’s just a blip. Our relationship is stronger than ever. We’re still totally besotted!’ Why does the brightness in my voice have such a desperate air to it, as if I’m trying to convince Margaretandmyself? ‘Actually, today is our fifth wedding anniversary!’
‘A double celebration then! Go share the good news with him and keep your eyes peeled for an incoming offer by email.’
‘Will do. Thanks, Margaret.’
With a spring in my step, I make the thirty-minute trek back to our apartment off the Rue des Blancs Manteauxin twenty because I’m so excited to surprise my husband with the news. Sure, Francois-Xavier might not be in the best state to hear it suffering through a migraine, but it is our wedding anniversary, and we should at least acknowledge both bits of good fortune.
