I give Jasper a curt nod. I mean, how curt can a nod be? But in the slight tilt of my head, I hope to convey that I’m averse to his charms. His charismatic nature affects me not.
‘Here’s the car.’ Princess points to a black limo with windows tinted so darkly that it’s impossible to see in. She must sense my thoughts because she says, ‘Tinted, bullet-proof glass.’
‘Are we in danger?’ Maybe Princess is some kind of mafiosa boss. I narrow my eyes and take in her bling. Today she’s dripping in diamonds and swathed in gold chains. She never did tell me what line of work she was in, only that she’s self-made.
‘No, darling, but imagine if we were! What a story we’d have to tell.’
I have to find out. I can’t just willingly, obliviously, step into a fancy stretched limo with the head of a powerful mafia family, can I? ‘What did you say you did for a living again, Princess?’ I make my voice light.
‘Assassin. But don’t worry, I’m retired. Come now, darlings.’
Walked into that one. Damn it.
The stretched limo is the kind of car that celebrities travel in, and so out of the norm for me I can barely wait to tour Paris in such luxury.
The driver opens the door for us. We barrel in, delighted to find chilled bottles of Taittinger. ‘First stop. Le Tour Eiffel!’ Princess takes charge and pours the champagne, and the bubbles revolt, scaling the side of the glass.
‘Not wanting to be the fun police or anything but isn’t it a little too early for this?’ I ask. ‘All I’ve done since we boarded is drink to excess. I’m worried my blood stream now operates purely as an alcohol stream.’
Jasper laughs, as if I’m truly funny, and the sound is melodic, beautiful. It’s quite captivating, I force myself to look away from him. The thing is, I wasn’t actually making a joke. Usually, I am the fun police, the boring one, who counts her drinks and makes sure there’s no hangover on the horizon. Here, I’ve been knocking back festively named drinks like they’re going out of style – probably a numbing device; I have just lost my husband after all…
‘Maybe you’re right.’ Princess nods. ‘We’ll have mimosas, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.’ She presses a button on the door panel. A hidden compartment opens outwards to reveal a mini fridge full of soft drinks, sparkling water and juice.
She dollops a whisper of orange juice into our champagne glasses. Mimosas duly mixed, we clink glasses and relax back into the plush seats, falling quiet as we admire the view of Paris as we get closer to the city centre itself. The city is dressed in its finery for the festive season. There are Christmas trees dotted here and there, and each shopfront is luxuriously decorated.
While our driver battles early morning traffic, I press my face against the glass until my breath fogs up the incredible view – chic cafés on every corner with striped rattan chairs that face the street. Historic buildings and beautiful architecture. A lithe woman wears a long caramel-coloured coat and knee-high boots, looking like a fashion icon as she walks her tiny dog. Could I live in Paris? It’s a dream worth contemplating. Perhaps I’ll crunch the numbers and do some research into the cost of living in a metropolis like this.
My chest tightens. Am I really moving on already, making future plans, just like that? The fairytale Christmas winter wonderland wedding, the man of my dreams, gone like a puff of smoke. The pain catches me unawares, as if it’s been lurking, waiting for me to remember.
‘How are you, Aubrey?’ Jasper asks as Princess flirts up a storm with the driver through the partition. ‘We didn’t get to speak at breakfast.’
‘I’m good.’ There’s such sincerity in Jasper’s eyes I wish that I’d been honest from the get-go about the Miles fiasco, not that anyone actually listens to my protestations. ‘I’m considering where I’ll go after this trip. I haven’t lived in Paris before, only ever had flying visits. Could this be my new home for a while?’
He lifts a shoulder. ‘Why not. Paris has it all. Where else have you called home?’
‘Southeast Asia mainly. There’s a huge digital nomad contingent there and the cost of living is so affordable. My favourite country is Indonesia. There are so many islands to explore and who doesn’t want to live in a tropical paradise?’
‘Funny you should say that. I was in Bali a year ago, doing a story on the digital nomad life in Canggu. Interviewing expats who’d made the island home and how much bang they got for their buck.’
‘Really? I lived in Canggu for about six months.’ How strange that all the places on the planet Jasper could visit for a story and he picks Canggu?
‘I’m sorry I missed you. How did you wrench yourself away from there? I stayed for three weeks and I didn’t want to leave. I found Indonesians to be the happiest people on the planet, always laughing, teasing, ready with a joke.’
‘Yes! The locals are a lot of fun. I miss it, actually. The chaos of the island, the smiley-faced Balinese, four family members squished on a scooter.’
‘Would you go back then?’
Would I? Even though it’s only been eighteen months since I left Canggu, it seems like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then, and it’s like the Aubrey who lived there then – so free and unencumbered – is gone. While I loved my time on the island, there’s no point going backwards. My relationship with Miles proves that.
‘I’ll visit again one day,’ I say. ‘But for now, I’d like to live somewhere new. Just me, a new horizon, a different vista.’
Jasper glances away for a moment. ‘Then Paris seems about as good a place as any to hunker down for a while.’ Again, I get the feeling he’s reflecting about himself at times. Is he missing his ex?
‘It could be. Or maybe one of our other stops along the way.’ I haven’t explored as much of Europe as I’d like, aside from some family holidays and many, many destination weddings as my friendship group hit their thirties. The invites are now mostly for baby showers and children’s birthday parties.
‘You’re lucky to live the way you do,’ Jasper muses, running a finger over his lips. I double-blink and quickly look away. The gesture is subconscious but it draws my attention to the fact he’s got the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen. In fact, I don’t recall noticing another man’s lips before – kissable or not.
I forget to answer again so he continues. ‘I travel, but have a home base in Connecticut.’ He’s from Connecticut? My earlier guess of Vermont wasn’t far off then. ‘When I’m working, I only just scratch the surface of each city. To know the heartbeat, you have to live there long term, at least that’s how it feels when I have to leave so soon.’
